Page 89

Lyra

Roark took me to where Thorian and Selena had fallen. A hate, jagged and harsh, took hold in my heart.

Stonegate, House Oleg, Fadey—whoever was behind their deaths would pay in blood.

I cried silent tears and washed Selena’s neck and her gentle face where furrows still worried her brow. I placed Draven totems and talismans of luck and safety for her to take into Salur to chase away the tricksters.

Thorian was my shield as a child, a sturdy fisherman who would stand one step in front of me, arms crossed, when other young ones from town would mock my dirty fingers or poorly hemmed dresses.

Roark found a silver fishing spear in one of the royal holds and placed it on the mound beside the man. He gestured Thank you to them both. Thanks for what, I could only guess, and I assumed it had everything to do with their love for me.

“They were kind souls,” I said, my voice rough. “They were mine, and they did not deserve this.”

Roark kept an arm around my shoulders. Their names will be marked with honor in Dravenmoor.

The Draven clan did not wash or remove remnants of battle before the funeral pyres ignited.

They believed that to remain clad in battle wear, with the blood still on their skin, honored the fallen souls for their sacrifice. It was proof to the gods that their warriors had fought well and ought to be handed curved horn after curved horn as they joined the revelry in Salur.

Rows of pyres burned through the courtyard. Some Dark Watch sat on the cobbles or in the tall grass while folk who’d been barricaded in the palace served the warriors ale and water.

Healers tended to wounds, but I was left without words for the way the folk of Dravenmoor stood stalwartly to honor their losses.

It was more than in Stonegate. Here, they did not falter until the pyres were nothing but ash.

They would not let their lost ones leave this world alone.

Elisabet walked the lines of her Dark Watch, handing out bread and cheese and skins of water. Roark followed, my hand in his. I did not know what I was expected to say and followed the queen’s and prince’s lead.

Elisabet kissed the brows of her warriors, thanking them softly for their honor and effort to defend their land. Roark clasped forearms and gave stiff nods until I stopped in front of the captain of the archers.

He was a man made of iron, with a beard split into three braids, and missing one front tooth.

I held out a hand. His face was coated in sweat and smoke. For a breath, the man studied me, then took hold of my palm, squeezing.

“I heard your command,” I said, my voice soft. “When I was locked in their spell, I heard you command the archers to stop them.”

“You are Draven now.” He was brisk and practically grunted his reply.

I would get no more of a response as to why the man defended me, and I was coming to understand that to the clan of Dravenmoor, no more of a reason was needed.

When the pyres died, I leaned against the wall of the palace, away from the crowds, waiting for Roark to finish speaking to Auki about the black wolf who would not stop following him. I chuckled. Even now, the pup sat two paces from my husband, waiting patiently.

Auki was the most fluent with Roark’s hand speak, and it was like a new man spoke with his old friend. The mistrust and bitterness had slowly faded the more they could speak and even laugh at times. Gunter and Brynn were not far behind, but they fared better with Roark’s parchment writings or Emi’s and my translations.

“I live for the day Draven blood will stop spilling for a woman who should not exist.”

My body stilled. Virki emerged from behind a post, a massive gray fara wolf at his side. The man was blood-soaked, and it only added to the cruelty in his eyes.

“I would take care with your words. I’ve discovered I rather enjoy melding mouths shut.”

Virki’s lip curled. “You think you have a place here, but you do not. My nephew believes in soul bonds so fiercely, but he does not truly want you. He yearns for the bond to strengthen his own craft, which it clearly does. In time, he will come to resent you for all the pain you caused in his life.”

His words were a knife to my heart. Cruel words my own mind had said more than once.

I schooled my face into indifference. “Then you do not know your nephew.”

“Perhaps I don’t any longer. It’s been known to happen.”