The king cursed. “Stupid fool. We will provide Stav aplenty for King Hundur.” Damir paced, his every step drew another whimper from the queen. “You were struck by ravagers?”
Thane shifted in his chair. One of his fingers traced the rim of the drinking horn. “They fought more like warriors, but they were led by Skul Drek. In fact, my numerous wounds are a shrine to the assassin. He could’ve done worse.”
My jaw pulsed in a touch of fear, knowing how truly near to Salur Thane had been.
“Worse?” Ingir wailed. “Look at you.”
“Well, if you must know, Mother”—Thane waved his drinking horn about—“the bastard might have more fear for our rule than we thought. Seemed the moment he saw the royal seal on my cloak, he thought twice about killing me.”
“Dravenmoor would know we’d storm their gates if the prince of the new empire were killed.” A deep grumble broke from Damir’s throat.
No one knew for certain where the assassin hailed from. Attacks against bone crafters and Stav Guard who willingly used soul bones merely left assumptions and suspicions pointed toward the enemy.
Thane sat back. “I’ve already received a lashing from the Sentry for sneaking away, I do not need more. I needed to see the roads cleared personally or I could not allow Yrsa to travel them.”
Thane was an honorable idiot. I would tell him as much the moment we were free of this damn hall.
He was right to fret over the princess. It mattered little to those standing against their union which of the pair died to prevent the vows. Thane merely drew the ire of the enemy first.
Damir spun on me. “I am told you took swift action to secure a soul bone in my son to save him.”
Yes. Gestures with Damir were direct and straightforward. Simple enough for Baldur to translate.
“The sort of thinking we need around this damn palace.” Damir butted his chest with mine. “You should be the king’s inner guard, Roark.”
It was the same request I’d heard since my eighteenth summer when I showed greater aptitude than most with the blade.I am honored, but will remain at the service of the prince.
“Why?” Damir had never pressed more. “Your station and rank would improve, along with your power to command.”
“I’m more tolerable, perhaps?” Thane’s voice dripped in irony.
Damir shot his son a narrow look, and before he fell back into shouts and rants, I offered a response I’d practiced more than once.
To serve the prince is to serve the future of the Oleg line.
Damir returned a tight glare when Baldur repeated my words, missing a few here and there.
“True enough. I will let it go, for now.” The king turned to face some of the courtiers who surrounded the despondent queen. “We will honor the Sentry and the melder for their quick actions to save the prince. King Hundur and the princess will be arriving within the fortnight, then we will feast, and praise our gods that the line of Oleg lives on.”
A thrilled sort of applause filtered through the hall.
Lyra deserved the honor. I deserved nothing. Thane never should’ve been beyond the gates.
His near death was mine to shoulder. Not praise.
30
Lyra
I did not know how tospeak of Skul Drek. Truth be told, I was half-convinced Thane’s injuries, the deaths that followed, were wholly my guilt to bear. But the warnings of the phantom would not leave me.Let him rest.
The Wanderer.
The damn Wanderer King was meant to be a myth based on dozens of sturdy kings. A saga to explain the origins of craft. He was not meant to be a man who once lived in these knolls, with bones buried in this land. Bones coveted and sought for the power of the Wanderer’s soul.
Once Thane was no longer at risk for the gods’ table, the king pressed me on whether I had sensed any bones in the ground. The way Damir spoke, I wasn’t certain Melder Fadey stepped into the mirror land. It seemed more like the former melder had inclinations or instincts where new bones might be found.
I wanted to know why Skul Drek could step into the mirror like me, then kill beyond the gates as well as a Stav. I wanted toknow why he spoke to me, why a thread of craft seemed to tether me to him whenever I melded.
