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I tried to lift my hand to rub the ache behind my eyes, but my arm came to an abrupt halt. Panic lanced through my chest when my other side was bound much the same. I jolted, twisted, tried to break free of the bindings.

A hand fell to my arm. “Lyra, stop. You’re safe. You’re all right. Stop.”

My vision cleared. “Yrsa?”

The Myrdan princess did not look particularly regal. Her black braids were tied high behind her head, and her brown skin was painted in kohl and green shades, meant to aid in disappearing behind trees.

Her smile was one of pity. “Lyra. You’re alive.” Yrsa sniffed and forced a stronger grin. “You’re all right now. We won’t let them touch you. We have several Stav with us. They won’t get through the watch.”

I shook my head. “N-n-no.” Simple as the word was, I could not form the sound and it was more a slurred groan than anything.

“Water,” Yrsa commanded someone out of my line of sight.

A ladle was pressed to my lips. I choked on the gulp. Gods. There, in front of me, was Prince Thane.

Much like Yrsa, Thane looked ready to rise as the kingdom’s assassin. His tunic and trousers were the purest black, and strapped across his chest and shoulder was thick leather lined with knives and daggers and a seax at his waist.

His golden hair was tied in a knot behind his head. That damn cunning smile had not changed. “Lyra Bien.” Thane chuckled and helped me sip the water. “It is good to see you alive. I wasn’t certain I ever would again.”

Relief at familiar faces promptly faded. Thane would believe me to be the killer of his father. Damir’s bones had been melded until his skull had caved in. Thane would not know of Fadey. All gods, this was a trap. Likely a moment of healing, all to give me strength before they took my head.

“I d-d-didn’t kill him.” My voice was a rough rasp, but the water aided in clearer words.

“What was that?”

“The k-king. I didn’t kill him.”

Thane’s eyes shadowed. “Ah. My father. Yes. You know, mere days ago, I might not have believed it. Which is why I am so glad you were able to send your missive and explain. Gods, Lyra what you must’ve endured. Having your soul controlled in such a way.”

Missive?

I shook my head again, but Yrsa moved to the other side of the cot and added a strange, gritty paste to my throat. “This will help clear any remnants of twisted craft. Or so Hilda told us. She looks forward to greeting you again.”

I looked down at the bone tonic. Hilda, another bone crafter taken from my village, was still alive. Sincere relief came from knowing, but it did not explain how the prince and princess were here, how they’d found me, and why they’d come.

“This wound, however.” Yrsa inspected the wrapped bandage across my palm. “I don’t know where it came from, but it was made with dark blood craft. I’ve already begun an attempt to counter it.”

Words burned to ash in my dry mouth. I wanted to scream at them that it was Queen Ingir’s work, but I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Thane took hold of my uninjured hand and squeezed. “Do not fret, Ly. We are far enough that Dravens will be at least a day’s ride behind us. Soon you’ll be safe behind the walls of Stonegate.”

I tried to shoot up from the cot, but the bindings held me down, and only a raspy “Please” slipped from my cracked lips.

Yrsa’s mouth pinched. “Lyra, rest. You’re safe and you’ll feel better soon. It won’t be long before your soul is free of their horrid chains.”

By the gods, what did they mean? I let my head fall back, my eyes clamped shut in frustration, but soon the fatigue, the heavy pressure on my chest drew me into a hazy fog once again.

“We ought to let her sleep” was all I heard from Yrsa before sleep dragged me away.

—

“There you are. Better?” Yrsa beamed at me again when my eyes fluttered open. She was working a pungent blue paste over the festering blood craft wound. “I think I’ve managed to stave off the corruption in the flesh. I may not be the most skilled blood crafter, but the infection seems to be subsiding. Another day, perhaps, and whatever spell cast was in your blood will break apart and fade like any other illness normally does.”

I swallowed, my throat burned with fire, but slowly I sat up on the cot. “In…Ingir.”

Yrsa paused her work. “What did you say?”

I pointed at the wound. “Ingir. When you…when you attacked.”