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“This I know. As does my melder.”
“She does not seek the same power?”
“She seeks peace.”
For a long moment, the queenie said nothing. “Then I may be able to help you. Lore says four pieces of the Wanderer were scattered, to honor the souls of his family he betrayed.”
Three young ones and his god-queen. “This I know.”
“I might know where something, possibly one of the remnant bones, was hidden. Once, it was believed each remnant had connections to the kingdoms or craft, Dravenmoor included.”
Cold brushed across my shadowed face when the darkness thickened, as though the world of souls responded to the untamable need to know more—anything—about the first soul of craft.
Darkness lived in those bones. Not only the strength of all, but the corruption and greed of the first king. The dark melder could never be allowed to find them.
“Where is the bone of which you speak?” The sound was rough, raw, like a thousand screams had escaped my throat.
Brilliant eyes locked with mine, a collision of ferocious tides and the blaze of an inferno. “Even if I tell you, understand, our clan will not allow you to leave with the melder. To them, she is a risk should the Jorvans find her again.”
“Are we to do nothing?”
“No. We merely need time to think of how you can hunt the bones yourselves, I suppose. The council will want her hidden. Frankly, when news of Damir’s death reaches our walls, most on the úlfur will likely wish to chain her out of sight or put a blade through her heart.”
“Keep her soul bright, queenie. That was the vow.”
“And I will do my part, but you must do yours. There is a way to protect her within our gates that could give you time to plan your next steps.”
“Meaning?”
She staggered, the brilliance of her soul fading. Time for conversing was drawing to an end. Craft drained the soul. Too long and the pull against our bond of blood grew weak.
Her words came out in a rush. “What is a custom that we revere as sacred? One that makes her Draven by law?”
A wash of ice crept across my shadowed flesh. “I do not know if my melder would desire such a thing.”
“That is a problem for you to solve, then. It is not a perfect solution, but it can buy you time.”
“You fought against her and now say these things? You tell me this to keep her alive without trouble?”
“Perhaps you will come to realize that you do not know everything about me. I am keeping my vow, not only one with you, but also one I made long ago to keep a king’s son alive.” The queenie looked over her shoulder. “Time is growing short. I feel myself falling away. Do not leave the melder alone for much longer.”
My teeth clicked once, twice. I towered over her. “The First King, then. Where is the piece of his bones, queenie?”
The Soul Render had grown diaphanous, nothing more than a gilded mist. But before the shadows devoured her she spoke, soft and harsh. “Beyond the Night Ledges. In Unfettered Territory.”
9
Lyra
Silence thickened in the corridor until the pressure of it knocked against my skull. Brynn stood at one shoulder, Auki at my other.
Brynn told me I’d stolen a crown from her grasp, then said nothing more. Together, they’d dragged me deeper into the royal house in silence.
Unlike Stonegate, there weren’t endless stairwells and doorways here. Instead, long passages encased a large center courtyard. Rows of willows, natural creeks, and full shrubs with green blossoms were visible through the narrow, bubbled glass windows.
The grounds might’ve been lovely and serene save for the pairs of Dark Watch warriors striding down the dirt paths and the two Dravens forcing me farther from the protection of their prince.
When we rounded the corner, I let out a rough breath. Gunter Blackvale leaned against the post of an arched doorway, one knee bent so his boot pressed flat against the wall. He didn’t look up to acknowledge our presence, seemingly wholly invested in using his knife to peel around the beds of his fingernails.
