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Blood and gore soaked his skin, but I doubted he minded. Roark brushed damp hair from my face, inspecting my face for wounds.

“I thought he was Kael,” I whispered. “It was a blood spell. I couldn’t stop.”

Roark scanned the pouch beside the dead Stav. He nodded and pressed a kiss to my brow.

I clung to his tunic, desperate to slow the race of my pulse. “I’ve never…never hated so fiercely. I wanted him to s-s-suffer, Roark. I wanted him to hurt. I am as cruel as Fadey.”

Roark’s arms tightened around my shoulders. He held me for a long moment before tilting my chin. The calming brush of his fingers would always be an anchor in the storm.

We never truly know a heart.

I grinned. “Until we see the darkness inside.”

I might like to see yours. Roark tugged on my bottom lip before gesturing against my skin. Never feel guilt for keeping yourself alive. Never.

I was not so certain that keeping myself alive was what I had done.

“Lyra.” Emi skidded at my side and flung her arms around what little was left to embrace beyond Roark’s hold. “By the gods, what was that?”

“Blood craft,” I mumbled against Roark’s tunic.

“Shit.” Emi crept over to the bloodied pouch and sniffed. “That’s horrid. Yrsa always told me the more rancid the smell, the darker the spell cast.”

Footsteps drew closer. Òlmr’s snout sniffed my face, then moved to the black wolf pup, licking away the blood on his head. The smaller fara swished his tail and nipped at the elder wolf. Brynn and Auki lowered to a crouch, a look of horror written on their similar features at the sight of the Stav.

I turned away, all at once unwilling to watch what tentative bonds of friendship we’d fashioned snap once they realized the truth of what melding craft could do.

“Now, this is more like it.” Gunter’s voice broke through my fears. He laughed mercilessly and nudged the dead Stav with his boot. He beamed and waved a finger between me and Roark. “I’m not certain which of the two of you have stolen my breath more.”

“Pardon?” Auki sniffed. “Did you not see how my three best wolves tore a captain apart?”

“Damn.” Gunter huffed. “I do love when you sic the wolves.”

“What’s with the look, Lyra?” Brynn tilted her head. “You truly should see how Auki calls to the wolves. I’ve only been able to speak to Òlmr and at times one elder fara together. Three is quite impressive.”

She thought I was not impressed with them?

I blinked, confused. “I would like to see it…sometime.”

“Were you harmed? The head, perhaps? You look as though you do not know where you are.”

“I just thought, well, you all were raised to despise melders, so I thought if you saw what I’d done…”

Gunter snorted and nudged the corpse again. “Lyra, we’ve been waiting for something as fearsome as this since you arrived. In truth, I’d heard such ruthless tales of melders, I thought you’d be slaughtering the lot of us by the day.”

“Auki saw one of our warriors after Melder Fadey got to him during the raids.” Brynn swallowed and looked down at the Stav. “He no longer had a face, and his chest was turned inside out, like his ribs had grown backward. Gunter’s not wrong. We know what melders can do.”

“Simply glad you did it on our side this time.” Gunter gripped Brynn’s shoulder. “Any losses?”

“Two wolves, three keepers. Another took an arrow but still lives.” Brynn looked toward the palace. “Time will tell how she fares.”

“My father said the count of ground warriors is near a dozen. Village folk, we don’t know yet. I hear they killed old Aldr on his farm when they crossed the border. But his grandchildren made it to the palace,” said Gunter. “Pyres will light the courtyards.”

Battles were beginning.

How many more funeral pyres would we face before they were done?

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