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I tossed my hood back. Thane shifted, clearly unsettled holding my stare. Give me back my wife.

Thane watched every jerky gesture. “She is not yours. And now that she’s free of your corruption, I will see to it she has nothing to fear again.”

Last warning, Thane.

The prince had the decency to look a little discomfited. Then he turned to the Stav at his back. “Take the Draven bas—”

He had no chance to finish his command before a rush of ice washed over my skin and darkness engulfed the prince from head to foot.

Together we fell away from the blades, tents, and hatred, and into the cruel shadows where souls spoke.

34

Skul Drek

Where was my melder?

Danger, threats, rage. My melder was not at my side, and there were wretched souls who took her. Did they try to darken her soul? I would end theirs if they had merely considered it.

“What have you done? Is this Salur? Damn you, now no one will protect her!”

Over my shoulder a glow was there, a man’s soul, bright as the flames of the stars. Not my melder.

No.

A hateful sort of grin spread when the soul found me in the darkness and had the decency to cry out in fear. Lovely sounds from a prince so bold.

“All gods.” He made an attempt to move away.

I rushed around, stopping a princely soul from fleeing.

“You going to finish what you started, then?”

Brave and bold, this princely soul.

All around, the glimmer and shine of friends and foes kept he and we entangled. Talk would be brief, lest blades begin to open the gates of the gods.

“Where is my melder?” I strummed the boiling threads of gold. The ends faded into the shadows, lost to me.

For now.

“You…you can speak? How?”

“Soul to soul. Where is my melder?”

“Soul to soul?” The bold prince ran his hands across the glow of his form and shook his head. “Your melder? No, no, you cannot have Lyra.”

“What do you see here?” Brow pressed to his, I forced his attention to the webs of my soul, every piece of it belonging to my melder. “Mine, bold prince. My melder is mine.”

“And who are you? Roark? Skul Drek? A demon from the molten hell?”

“I am he, and we are we.”

The princely soul shoved back, and only then did the glimmer of a silver thread take shape between our souls. “You almost sound like I imagine he would. This is corrupted craft, twisted. It goes against the gods.”

“Or does the bold prince only wish it to be? Would it be easier to sour your heart toward he and we if all you see is a monster?” I pounded a fist to my chest. Darkness plumed around us. “I am he, and we are we.”

Why could the princely soul not understand?