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I knew it to my soul.

A blade crashed against my sword. My muscles strained beneath the strike, but it did not last.

All at once, the Stav Guard scrambled backward. His attention was aimed somewhere over my shoulder, his eyes wide in fright. Before I could strike at him, he spun on his heel and bolted toward the knolls.

What was happening?

Another Stav slammed into my shoulder in his own retreat, blood on his lips and fear in his eyes.

My heart stuttered when I heard the laughter. It was almost gleeful and far too young to be on a battlefield.

Gods, no.

Sindri stood at the edge of the field in the direction from which the Stav Guard kept fleeing.

Nivek’s son held a dagger in one hand, and the other he held outstretched. His bright eyes flashed as Stav Guard fumbled, crying out in frustration, and it seemed as though the men were fighting against their own blades.

Like something—or someone—was forcing the Stav to turn their own blades against themselves.

Dammit. The boy’s craft commanded souls. No doubt he’d done something to his watchguards to leave the camp. No doubt he wanted to avenge his father. No doubt he did not understand how swiftly his body would fatigue from craft.

“Sindri!” Jordis screamed. She was locked in a fight with a Shield Rider, her panic painfully clear in her eyes. She stumbled backward, and the Rider struck. Jordis blocked the strike, returning her focus to her own fight.

I bolted for the boy, to keep him alive, to keep his mother alive.

Until blinding pain spread across the back of my skull. My head rang, and I fell to my knees.

Somewhere in the haze, I could almost make out the hissing rasp of Skul Drek demanding that I keep my soul bright and lift up my blade.

Where was he?

I blinked against the shock of heat across my skull. My fingertips touched the place just above one ear and came back bloody. I’d been struck.

My body moved as though underwater, slow and sluggish, but I managed to curl my grip around the hilt of my fallen sword and stagger to unsteady feet. I turned halfway around and my blood froze.

Five paces away, Fadey tossed back a dark hood, his face as stone.

His eyes held nothing but disdain for me.

“I tried to warn you, Lyra. I tried to reason with you to avoid this.” He opened an arm, a gesture to death and blood and bone. “But you thought you could be victorious. Over me?”

Fadey hardly seemed scathed from the battle and moved like a true warrior, skilled and deadly.

I gripped my sword tighter to hide the tremble in my hands. On impulse, I studied his movements, watched his footing. “You’ve lost your support. Ingir is dead. Hundur too.”

He only sneered. “Saved me some trouble.”

I blew out a long breath, crouched lower, and rolled my grip around the hilt of my blade. Across the field, I locked on heated copper eyes. Skul Drek, enrobed in darkness, a plague on the field, found me.

I saw the obsession flare in those eyes before he fell back into the darkness, slicing through the souls of the field, desperate to reach me.

“You’re out of time, Fadey. Ingir’s spells are undone.”

“If you think your creature can touch me, then you are a fool. I came knowing Ingir would greet Salur, Lyra. He can try to take my soul, but he will fail.” Fadey clicked his tongue as though disappointed. “Out of respect for our shared blood, I’ll make your death quick.”

Unseen, hands gripped me from behind. Two Stav Guards grabbed on to my arms, forcing them wide. I kicked and struggled against their hold. Another guard yanked my braid and wrenched me back to the grass.

Fadey stalked closer. His men had my body pinned, my neck exposed. Gods, would he take my head here, display it to the battle? Hunt for Thane, Yrsa, Sindri? The boy was not far, and he did not know what awful danger awaited him.