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Alone, the silence was thick, almost crushing. My finger traced the smooth wood on the back of a chair, uncertain what to say. “Who is Òlmr?”
Roark stepped against me, chest to chest. Oakbriar’s fara. I am told they have a fierce bond. If commanded, Òlmr will see to it that no one gets close to Emi. He lifted his fingers to my cheek, speaking gently, tenderly. Will you speak with me?
The petulant side of me desired to turn away, to proffer a sliver of pain the same as I carried.
But the draw to him, the pull that never faded, had me leaning in to his touch. Gods, I was furious, frightened, and weary. But I could not deny my craving for this man was wretchedly vibrant, a near impulse to be closer, to fall into the safety those arms once provided.
I lifted my chin. “We both have much to say.”
Roark slipped his fingers through mine and lifted my knuckles to his lips, kissing me there. Then he took us from the room, deeper into the Dravenmoor royal house.
12
Roark
I could recall every moment in the shadows where my darker soul resided, a thing I’d never been able to do well before. Now every word spoken between my soul and the queen’s was in my mind, as though I’d been in two places at once.
Strange, a little unsettling, but there was a power that came from knowing my own brutality was now mine to control.
I glanced at Lyra. I would need to tell her everything.
The trouble with recalling the words spoken with the queen was that I knew what she’d insinuated as a solution to keep Lyra safe while we plotted how to hunt the bones. Somewhere low in my gut was a tangle of barbs. After all that had happened between us, no mistake, Lyra Bien would not be pleased with the proposition. Then again, she trusted me in the ravines, and she’d gone toward my darkness when the archers attacked.
Her hand was nestled tightly in my palm, her body close, as we strode to the east wing of the royal house. Tapestries of fara wolves and black willows lined the corridor. A divot in one wall drew a reluctant grin at the memory.
I’d thrown a pigskin ball at Gunter, and the sod had been distracted by movement in the courtyard and missed the throw. Instead, our ball struck a favored clay basin of my mother’s. It shattered against the wall and left a small divot in the wood from the force.
I turned away from the mark. Haunts lived in these corridors. Memories of a life long gone, a time when all I feared was whether playmates would make a fool of me on the sparring field.
We rounded the corner, and I came to a halt, my breath trapped in my chest.
“What is it?” Lyra squeezed my palm, on instinct or with purpose, I didn’t know.
I didn’t respond for a few heartbeats, lost to the onslaught of pain.
The door was carved in the shape of a kvistr tree, a towering, rare oak with lavender leaves that only grew along the ridges of Dravenmoor. Lore of the land insisted the shade of the branches would deepen to satin black in the presence of royal blood. A signal the gods approved of the royal house.
As a boy, my mother would whisper tales of the days she and my father took Nivek and me as babes to the tallest kvistr. Doubtless she took liberties with how rich the shade of leaves appeared, but she’d insisted that the purple had deepened to a pure pitch, that there was never a doubt her sons were the pride of the gods.
A thick board locked the door from the corridor. How long had it gone unopened? Since that night? No mistake, to enter was too painful, too raw.
“Roark?”
I tore my attention from the door and moved down the corridor, one hand giving a simple response. My brother’s chamber.
Lyra looked over her shoulder but remained silent until we reached another door. It was arched much the same, but carved along the edges were blades and round shields with runes in the center.
The second prince was always the hope of the Dark Watch. Nivek was to claim the throne, and I was to one day lead our armies.
How cruelly the Norns of fate had twisted our tales.
Walking into the second chamber felt a great deal like stepping through a door to the past. Against the wall was a large bed that I’d always felt swallowed me whole with its size. Shelves held small daggers, runes on wooden pieces, and strange colorful stones I’d loved to collect near the river.
Wooden drawers were covered in a layer of dust, untouched. A few larger axes and swords were stacked in the corner, along with folded trousers, boots, and tunics meant for a man.
For the days my clan anticipated my return from Stonegate. No doubt they’d hoped I would return with the melder’s head, not my heart in her hands.
Dark shades were drawn, and I made quick work of lighting several tallow candles along a table. To let in the natural light by opening the shades would offer anyone who wanted Lyra dead a chance to retaliate, much like the bastards in the courtyard.
