Page 15

Tears burned over my lashes. Gods, I hated him for being such a beautiful fiend. Deceit, manipulation, and bloodlust, yet through it all my heart still yearned for more of him, for a bit more time.

A sharp whistle broke over the low growls of the wolves. Both ears on every beast pricked upward, and the tension in their coats and haunches eased. From behind the line of fara, a man emerged onto the grounds from an arched doorway of the palace.

He was clad in a fur-lined cloak, the way he moved was direct and intimidating. The man’s height was formidable, but the contours of his shoulders and arms gave up that he was no stranger to swinging a blade.

His eyes were a shade of rose, vibrant and eerie, and he kept his long auburn hair shorn on the sides but braided down the center of his skull. I could see the sneer, even beneath his beard.

“Seems the fara have some sliver of respect for you.” He let out a condescending chuckle. “Half expected them to attack at first glance. Suppose it should be a consolation you still possess a touch of your true blood.” He paused, those strange eyes locking on me. “Then again, I’m not certain you even remember what your blood means.”

Roark straightened. Based on the tension in his corded neck and the pulse of his jaw, this man was not a welcome face.

Slowly, Roark raised one palm for a single word. Uncle.

All gods. Emi’s father. Where was she? Gunter vowed to look after her, after us both. But I had yet to see them.

Fists curled, my fingernails dug into the flesh of my palms, and with every pump of my heart, I frantically scanned the stairs, the gates, the trees, for any sign of Emi Nightlark.

Her father laughed with a touch of bitterness. “You’ll need your little pet to speak for you, boy. I’ve no idea what you’re saying.”

Speak to her in such a way again, and you will become feed for your beasts. Roark glanced at the wolves, unbothered by his uncle’s inability to understand him.

When he gave me a look, like I ought to translate his threat, I shot him a glare. “I am not telling him that.”

Roark had the audacity to smirk.

“I hear you come with more than just the melder,” his uncle said. “Where is my wife’s daughter?”

Any levity in Roark’s features faded. He took a step closer, standing between two fara wolves. As though it were the most natural thing to do, Roark rested a palm on top of one wolf’s head.

The beast flinched for a breath, then seemed content to be touched. A truth that seemed wholly bothersome to Emi’s father.

My cousin is under my protection, Virki, he said, lifting his hand from the wolf so he could use both to speak. You are not permitted to go near her.

I swallowed and translated in my own way. “You will stay away from Emi. She is not yours to harm anymore.”

Virki’s lip curled, as though my very voice made his hatred boil. “Harm her?” He pulled back the cloak, revealing a long, gnarled scar on one side of his throat. “Was it she who was harmed?”

Roark narrowed his eyes. You gave her good reason. You won’t touch her.

This time, I repeated his every word.

“Think you can come here and command how I handle my household?” Virki’s face flushed. “I’ve kept this kingdom alive after your betrayal.” In three swift strides, Roark’s uncle stepped forward, chest to chest, teeth bared, much the same as his wolves. “Do not mistake your place here, boy. Or you might meet the same fate as your brother.”

A flash of darkness cut across Roark’s eyes, but before he could make a move or response, the same door to the palace swung open.

“Virki.” Elisabet, her hair tamer than it was at the ravines and shoulders now draped in a long cloak, stepped forward. “I see you’ve reacquainted yourself with your prince, though I am uncertain why you brought your pack.”

“I don’t much care for outsiders, my queen. Thought they deserved a test. The wolves calmed, as you can see.”

Elisabet peered down her narrow nose. “I would hope you would not be so foolish as to bring harm to royal blood of Dravenmoor.”

Virki did not face the queen, simply held Roark’s glare for another drawn breath. “Of course not. But I am uncertain why this woman still breathes at his side. Or has your son forgotten what happened to the last prince who protected the melder?”

“Our prince has much to answer for.” Elisabet clasped her hands in front of her body. “And until we have those answers, I’ve offered my word. The woman remains untouched.”

“You would shield her, Bet? After everything?”

“You must have forgotten how insistent the darker half of a soul can be.”