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In the silence, heat thrummed through the bonds of my melder. Night brightened, shifted to something more alive.

“Thane,” a soft voice said.

“Gods.” The bold prince whirled around. “Lyra?”

I drew in sharp air through my teeth. My melder, bright and fierce, stood near the bold prince. I curled darkness around her and pulled her close, drawing my nose against her warmth, breathing in her soul. “I lost you.”

“No.” Her palms trapped my face. “You can’t lose me. Not ever. Through this life and the next.”

Need rumbled in the back of my throat. “I want to taste you.”

“Well, if you please, wait a bit until I am not privy to such things,” the bold prince said. “Ly, I think I have gone to the gods. Nothing makes sense, and yet, I hope it is not Salur.” He looked about. “Quite horrid here. Damp and cold and decaying. If this is eternity, I’d rather not.”

My melder smiled with affection at the bold prince.

I wanted to devour his soul.

As though she sensed the bite of violence, she faced me. “Let him go. We ought to speak with them all, don’t you think?”

“You are there?”

“Yes.”

I tightened my hold around her body, and the feel of her drew out the darkest need, the sharpest lust, the demand for more and more of her.

Still, when my melder touched a strand of the bond between us, cold faded against the sharp bite of a fire’s glow.

35

Lyra

There was no sound of clashing blades. Not yet. Alone in the tent, I made quick work of securing boots and a cloak around my shoulders. When I went to run through the door, I was stopped by the princess.

“Lyra.” Yrsa’s dark eyes held a touch of fear. “We can’t go out there.”

“I’m not going to sit here and have Thane make a grave mistake, or Roark, should he see no other way to get to me except killing the prince.”

“Lyra.” Yrsa tugged on my arm.

I shirked her off. “Believe what you wish, but I tell you with clarity, I did not write the missive. You were brought here for a purpose, and I was led to the exact place you found me by the queen of Dravenmoor, Yrsa.”

“What?”

“Yes.” I let my hands fall to her shoulders, my pulse racing. “Elisabet is the one who took me to the willow wood. She told me Roark would come after me. We already were planning to leave, and she knew it, but the Draven council was refusing to let me free of the walls, fearing Jorvans would take me back. There are enemies in Stonegate, and we have ways to defeat them. I am not bespelled by soul craft. Now, let me go and stop those two fools from killing each other.”

Yrsa’s face pinched, but after a few tenuous heartbeats, she returned a brisk nod, took my hand, and together we rushed for the front of the tent.

No blood hung in the air, and no bodies were scattered along the ground, but we seemed to be on the brink of battle.

Arrowpoints were aimed at the heads of two Stav Guard, and two fara wolves—Kyrre and Òlmr—snarled at the other two men. Between the wolves, Brynn and Auki had blades leveled at the hearts of the guards.

Behind them, Thane sat, eyes distant, almost milky. Roark knelt in front of him, the gold of his eyes now shifted to a rich red.

Good gods, Skul Drek had taken the prince.

“Ah, Lyra. Glad to see you unharmed.” Gunter flashed a playful grin, never lowering the arrow he held against the Stav Guard. “You’re not harmed, right? Because I might as well put this sod out of his misery if you are. You know our dear prince will make it much more painful.”

“I’m fine.” I went to one of the Stav. Young in his face, terrified, but clearly distraught over the state of his prince. “Thane isn’t being harmed. The Sentry—”