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Yrsa’s dark eyes went wide. “What attack?”

They did not know?

The tent flap opened and Thane appeared, a new ewer of water in hand. “She graces us yet again with her presence.”

“Thane.” Yrsa spun around. “She said the blood curse was from your mother after an attack.”

The prince paused, clearly confused. After a long moment he shook his head. “My mother has not left her wing at Stonegate during her mourning. Remember the missive. Lyra, you told us your mind might be muddled from the fading soul craft, that you might not recall even reaching out for our aid.” Thane sat at the foot of the cot and leaned his back against one of the thin tent posts. “I’m impressed you were able to have clear enough thoughts to send word at all. I’ve read of soul crafters who once took over souls during battle. I can’t imagine what it was like.”

“I didn’t send a missive!” My voice found a bit of strength, but it sounded raw, as though I’d swallowed a spoonful of sand.

“You just don’t remember.”

“Thane.” I blew out a long breath, wincing against the ache in my hand when I pushed up in the bed even more. “What missive did I supposedly send?”

The prince removed a folded parchment from his pocket. “You explained it all. I know you did not intend to kill my father, Lyra. Do not hold any guilt. After…after I saw the truth, I should’ve suspected straightaway.”

Yrsa held the parchment in front of me, allowing me to read it without untying my wrists.

Prince,

I have little time before the corruption takes me again. My soul is forced to serve our enemy’s desires. They plan to come against Stonegate, believing you weak and a coward.

The day of the full moon, I am allowed to walk a path beyond the gates in the willow wood. I will not be of sound mind for long.

I speak true. Why would I plead for the son of the king I slaughtered to bring me back?

You are my only chance.

L

Yrsa folded the parchment when I stared at the top of the tent.

“It is no fault of your own,” Yrsa said softly. “Soul craft is mysterious to many of us, so how would we know it could do such a thing?”

“Yes.” Thane rose, his jaw tight. “We were all duped.”

“No.” A tear fell from the corner of my eye. “No, Thane, you’re wrong. I am no prisoner of Dravenmoor.”

“Lyra, do you think I did not search out if such things were possible? Soul craft can possess other souls, did you know that? They weave them together somehow. Force compliance.” Thane’s face was flushed. “Who knows how long he had us all locked in his plans.”

Hurt and betrayal were speaking.

I wanted to scream. “Thane, you must listen to me. I did not write that missive. I didn’t. I am not Roark’s prisoner, I am his…I am his wife.”

“Gods, Lyra.” Thane spun on me. “We heard all those poisonous lies.”

“And sent the Stav Guard to retaliate.”

The prince wore a look of sincere befuddlement. “What are you talking about?”

I closed my eyes, feeling the weariness of the fading tonics. It was a heady relief to believe Thane the Bold had nothing to do with the death of Thorian and Selena, but I did not have the time nor the strength to explain it.

The longer I was parted from Roark, the more I felt the rage of his soul.

Whatever affection my husband held for the Jorvan prince would not survive the obsession and bloodlust of his darker soul.

“Try to think clearly, Lyra,” Thane insisted with a touch of annoyance. “If the Stav went to battle, I’m sure I would know, for I would be with them.”