“When your enemies ravage, what name do you whisper?” A low, throaty chuckle followed. “You have seen the signs of me in the darkness of the wood.” Again, the phantom sniffed the air, then flashed sharp, jagged teeth when he grinned. “Remember, a soul for a soul.”
Signs in the wood? An enemy who ravages with a whispered name?
All at once, my blood went cold. Gods, no. It…it wasn’t possible.
I trembled and lifted my gaze back to his vicious eyes. “Skul Drek.”
He gnashed his teeth.
No, Skul Drek couldn’t be here. He was a creature, an assassin, not a shadow of a being. I was so lost in the horror, the confusion, I did not notice he rolled the sword in his grip.
“Four were stolen this night, Melder. So, four I will take.” Skul Drek paused, his mouth tightening. “Ready your blades.”
“Whatever you plan to do, please don’t. We have little choice and—”
My words choked off when Skul Drek drifted deeper into the smoky, thin mists. “Ah, but this is what we are made to do, Melder. Battle until we destroy each other.” His fingers twisted around the thread of craft drawing me into him. “But this is cruel, and this time it will hurt to kill a melder.”
Darkness devoured his horrid eyes, and in the next moment, I was flung backward into the salt of the mists.
My head was lost in a haze and it took a moment to realize I was moving, but not walking on my own. I was pressed against something hard, warm, something that breathed of smoke and oakmoss. I tilted my chin.
The dark stubble on Roark’s jaw scraped against my brow. The Sentry had me in his damn arms.
My cheek was pressed to the steady cadence of his heart. I bit down against the urge to nuzzle against his throat. It was wholly unfair for a man so stoic and harsh to smell like a spring morning after rain.
If Roark knew I was awake he made no show of it and shouldered into my bedchamber.
His long strides took us across the sitting room, a gentle crackle from the inglenook the only sign of life in the room, then into the bedchamber. With care, the Sentry placed me on the edge of the bed.
I pressed the heel of my hand to my head, vaguely aware Roark was pulling back the furs and quilts over my bed. “What happened?”
He paused and raised a hand.Parchment or hand speak?
I gestured at his palms. “I told you, I’m a quick study.” With his words, at least.
The Sentry stepped back, giving me room to settle against the goose down pillow before he spoke again.You fell from the melder’s trance, and didn’t wake until now. Four soul bones was too many.
The way he formed his words was sharp, almost like he was spitting them through his hands. A true show of repulsion for the soul bones—perhaps for me—but written in the groove between his brows was something akin to concern.
Roark hovered over me.How do you feel?
I forced a grin, a weak attempt to mask the pain of exertion, the way my fingertips were frigid in numbness, the bone-deep ache from using such a force of power. The fear of the phantom’s name I could not stop repeating in my head.
“I feel as though I have raced the length of every corridor no less than a dozen times, but I am well enough.”
His vibrant eyes were narrow, but he did not back away as he gestured slowly,Liar.
I ought to send him back to the ceremony, keep our distance and disregard, but a sob broke free when I shifted too swiftly on the mattress.
Ashwood stepped closer, lowering to one knee. Overcome with the pain of the meld, the fear of the mirror, I hid my face against his chest, tears soaking his tunic.
When his hand cupped the back of my head, letting me break, I’d never felt safer.
27
Roark
Keep down.
