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“But if you believe fate bonded us, then there is little—”
You misunderstand soul bonds, I said, pausing to run my thumb across the ridge of her cheek. It does not force a love match, merely reveals the potential of a match in another soul. A bond can wither if left unattended. More must be done to make it truly unbreakable.
Lyra kept a keen watch on my hands, as though she did not want to misunderstand a word, then lifted her chin to meet my study. “What more must be done?”
I shook my head, uncertain how to explain the sjeleven sealing ceremony and what it meant. It’s not important right now, but trust I know how to recognize the difference between a bond and what I feel in my heart, Lyra.
“How can you tell the difference? I am questioning every damn thought I’ve ever had. You…kept this from me when you could’ve told me, even portions of it.”
Her voice trembled. I held the side of her face, studying her, catching sight of the shadow of uncertainty in her eyes. The same look she had when I’d dragged her from the borders of Skalfirth. Gods, it felt like an eternity ago.
What I feel for you should not be possible because my soul is split.
“What does that have to do with it?”
One corner of my mouth curved up in a reluctant grin. The curse was done to prevent me from being able to restore my soul bond.
“But I saw the connections. I saw the bond,” she said, her voice rough and low, almost reluctant to admit she had seen a connection between us.
As did I. Your sheer stubbornness captivated not only me, but every darkened, cruel, unfeeling piece of me. Something I do not believe has ever been done.
Lyra looked down. “I wouldn’t say I captivated Skul Drek. I think I annoyed him…you.”
A deledan is a split soul and meant to be a weapon, not meant to feel much more than duty. What I feel for you should not be possible. Despite everything, you took ownership of all of me, but I do not know if it is the same for you.
Lyra scrutinized me, as though scouring my words for more lies. At long last, her face fell, her shoulders slumped. She placed a palm over my heart. “I’m not certain I know you, Roark. Not as I thought I did.”
A sharp pain dug into my chest, but I did not flinch, did not look away. How could I fault her? All the time she thought she spoke to the Sentry of Stonegate, all the fear she held when she melded and faced Skul Drek, instead she was speaking to a traitor and an enemy prince, a cruel soul sent to slaughter her.
I gave a brisk nod, then held out one hand for her to take and spoke with the other. We need to keep moving.
After a moment of hesitation, Lyra clasped my palm in hers. I would take it as my own small victory. I would take it all as proof her heart was not wholly closed against me. Any other alternative would simply not do.
The narrow path opened to a wider back road, both sides lined with ominous oaks. Blankets of leaves shielded us from the warmth of the morning sun. Thick roots jutted out from every knobby trunk like great sea serpents diving beneath the tides.
We took the final bend and, all at once, faced the front gates of the royal township of Dravenmoor.
Moss-coated dark stone walls in a poisonous shade of green. Every ten paces jagged iron spikes rose through the stone with skulls piked on the tops—ravens, wolves, even human skulls of those unfriendly with Dravenmoor who’d come too close to the gates.
Totems made of peeled twigs, toad bones, and raven blood hung from iron hooks at every spiked post, signals to those approaching that these lands were guarded by craft and blades.
Lyra’s regard trailed down a long twine rope tied with numerous bones. Her fingers tangled together, and I did not think she even realized she was about to snap off her thumbs.
Fears would be dealt with, but not now. Not here.
Shoulders back, I guided us beyond the walls. Each step was a pace into a past version of my life long gone. Amid the gloom and mists were sod-topped roofs that rounded like knolls. Cottages dotted the outer edges of the trees. Small farms lined in black oak fences had totems hanging from their arched doorways much like those on the border gates.
The main caravan of the Dark Watch must’ve already entered the gates, for the heavy doors were open and raucous applause roared over the walls.
“Will Gunter truly watch over Emi?” Lyra asked, a shudder in her voice.
No mistake, I’d wondered the same. My cousin fled these gates after nearly murdering her father. Hateful as my uncle might’ve been to his daughter, for some, Emi’s crime would always be the more grievous.
We should hurry was all I gestured before striding past the long wooden gates of farms and cottages that lined the outer walls.
Young ones leapt onto the tops of fence posts and waved, pleading for a token or bit of the wild honey warriors were known to bring back from the ravines.
Abandoned, cursed, and brutalized by these people, I’d often tried to twist memories of my homeland into something cruel and wretched. Now it seemed so ordinary. So…familiar.
