Page 167

Would Roark lose himself?

“You are weak,” I spat at Fadey when he stood over me, peering down Baldur’s nose. “No spine to face me on your own?”

“I grow tired of wasting time. I’d like to get on with it.”

“You don’t have the bones. You’ll win nothing today.”

Fadey chuckled. “You cannot convince me you returned from the River Clan empty-handed. I will find the bone of soul craft now that it is beyond the Unfettered wards. When this is over, when I have you and two others, the different veins of craft will lead me to it. I think if fate had been different, I would’ve liked to know you, Lyra.”

The melder raised his sword. I reached for my bond, a chance to bid a final farewell to Roark. I will wait for you in the shadows.

Something like a tangle of rage and panic returned through the connection. My chest felt as though it caved inward from the pressure, the tension, the hissing and pleading to keep my soul alive.

Darkness rose, searching for me, hunting me. A wolf howled in the distance. Kyrre. Wherever Roark battled, he was desperately sending anything he could to find me.

Fadey raised his weapon to strike.

It never landed.

The Stav Guards holding me to the ground released me, turning blankly to the battle like they’d all at once forgotten where they were. Above me, Fadey’s anger carved into his features. He stared at his sword like he could not grasp what brought it to a halt.

A cough, a groan of pain, drew my attention. And Fadey’s.

No. Damn the gods. Sindri stumbled to where we were. Stupid, reckless boy. Blood dripped from his nose, and his skin was pale. He was trying to save me and would destroy himself.

I made quick work of rolling away from Fadey. “Sindri! Run, you must run.”

The boy was not yet fourteen, but he’d taken to the battlefield with the bravery of a seasoned warrior. In this moment, he looked like a frightened child, surrounded by blades, by death.

Fadey shook his head, holding his brow as Sindri’s compulsion over too many souls faded.

The boy turned, stumbled once, and tried to flee. He didn’t get the chance.

Fadey had a grip on the back of Sindri’s tunic and yanked the boy backward.

“I felt you. What wicked craft you have. Powerful. But who are you, boy?” The melder laughed and looked over his shoulder. “Lyra, he looks a little like your dark Draven prince. A relation, perhaps? What have you been hiding?”

I let out a scream—not from pain, this was fury, hot and dark. A ferocious cry for all the ways this man, this monster, had stolen from the innocent. For all the ways Fadey had taken those I kept in my heart.

I hurried to my feet and ran at Fadey.

The melder had Sindri by the hair, tilting his head back. The boy was too weak to fight. I forced my legs to push harder, faster. I wasn’t going to reach him. Fadey already had his dagger at the boy’s throat.

Snarls and growls ripped through the air. I caught a whirl of black fur and gnashing teeth. Kyrre leapt against Fadey’s shoulders, carrying the melder to the ground. Sindri cried out, clutching his neck, where blood spilled between his fingers.

The fara wolf scrambled in front of the boy, spine arched and teeth bared. Fadey was back on his feet, one shoulder bleeding from the jagged bite. His blade was lost, three paces away.

A grunt came from behind me. One of the Stav Guard had recovered from Sindri’s soul compulsion and had rushed at me. Now an arrow was buried in his chest.

Thane, ten paces away, loaded another arrow into a blood-stained bow.

Together, Yrsa and Emi circled two more Stav. The princess touched one man, and fibrous red light pulsed under her skin. I’d never seen blood craft other than spells, but the magic of Yrsa’s blood seemed to burn through her dark skin until the man in her grip had red dripping from his ears, mouth, and eyes.

Emi had switched to wielding her blades, her body likely aching from snapping bones with her craft. She roared her rage with every bloody strike.

Another Stav fell forward. A vacant look coated his features, and coils of shadows billowed off his shoulders. Skul Drek was there, unseen, devouring folk. Another cluster of Stav screamed when Òlmr gnawed on a throat, and spears were flung at the rest. Kael, Brynn, and Auki battled alongside the brutality of the wolves.

But through the smoke, a dark form cut across the battle. His face was coated in dirt, blood, and smeared kohl. Beneath it all, Roark’s eyes burned with something violent. He strode toward me, Dark Watch at his back, ax in one hand, and in the other he carried…gods, he held Virki’s head.