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Bone craft manipulated bone into blades that were nigh unbreakable. It crafted healing tonics from bone powders, and poisons from boiled marrow. Blood craft used blood for spell casts and rune work. Soul craft took power from the dead, and was the common gift of Dravenmoor, the kingdom across the ravines.
Violence was no stranger to me, but it grew harder to keep the lust for blood tamed. I was the Sentry of Stonegate, and the Sentry was meant to be the stoic measure of restraint. In this moment, I wanted to be more of a monster than those who’d slaughtered Uther.
All of it was done to find the child who’d disappeared. A child whose magical craft brought three kingdoms against a small village in the knolls.
A melder’s craft was only found perhaps once a generation, and rarely in a woman’s blood. It was a collision of all three crafts—dangerous, coveted, and owned by Jorvan kings through treaties made long ago.
“Ly, I swore an oath. Those scars in your eyes are safe with me. My loyalty is not divided between you and the kingdom. All I hope is to use my craft and sword to keep you safe.”
I’d never seen him, not personally, only heard the whispers of how brutally he would kill to protect his royals. But watching him shove to the front of the line, there was almost a familiarity about the man, a sense of his power that peeled back my ribs and settled into my soul.
The wash of gold in his eyes was shockingly vibrant. Molten pools of ore that would burn should one draw too close.
Kael paid little mind to the blade at his throat and looked at me. “No tears for me. We’ll meet in Salur, where there are no farewells.”
She studied me, no doubt cataloging every scar, every twitch of my face. I, in turn, committed the small dust of freckles over her slender nose, tells of fear carved into her brow, her mouth, almost like each one was a forgotten memory.
Kveða við min mórðir. Skip búask ok á morgun. Ek sigla til min folǫg.
To claim something as his—a strike, a kill, a horn of ale—Ashwood tapped whatever he wanted three times.
The Sentry placed his palm against my cheek. I stiffened, eyes closed. But all he did was tap my face three times.
Pulse racing, I touched where Ashwood held his hand. Three taps—his gesture for claiming something as his. It meant mine.
His hand was near my cheek when he spoke, slow and sharp. By me. I grimaced. “As you say, my lord Sentry.”
I made a grunting sound and turned my back to Baldur and his snobbery. He would kiss the king’s ass for any sort of advancement. No mistake, he’d suck Damir’s cock if asked.
A heavy, strained sort of laugh grumbled from the spectral. “You don’t really believe that. Learn this now, Melder—not everything is as it seems. Those who seem trustworthy might be enemies. Those who seem enemies, well, they might be the fiercest allies.”
“Fine. I’ll get the Sentry. He can toss you into a now-frigid bath. Naked.”
There was no reason to draw near to anyone in Stonegate. But brushing a word against Lyra’s skin caused a bit of pleasure to burn in my veins when her breath caught. As though I unsettled her as fiercely as this gods-awful woman was peeling back my ribs, peering inside to see my every secret.
“I did hear a ravager spoke to the Sentry. Mad fool kept shouting about duty, like Ashwood was here to serve them.” He chuckled. “The bastard died with a look of shock when the Sentry cut through his skull.”
I huffed in annoyance. “Get off me, Sentry. I tire of looking at you.” Doubtful. “Bastard.”
“Sometimes souls just understand each other, Darkwin,” Emi returned.
There was nothing about my soul that wanted to know the deeper edges of Roark Ashwood. It wasn’t until I was alone in my chambers, reading the last page of hand speak, that I admitted such thoughts might be more of a lie than truth.
Touch her again, and I will stand by as she melds your jaw shut and you take your food through your nose.
When his hand cupped the back of my head, letting me break, I’d never felt safer.
She knew how to become faceless in a crowd, never drawing the eyes of too many. She kept drawing mine.
You are not to leave your chamber unaccompanied. She scoffed. “My escort was nowhere to be found.” Then you wait. “I should not be held prisoner because you wish to puff out your chest on the sparring field.” One half of my mouth quirked. You were looking at my chest?
“I’m not a fool, and I didn’t mean to interrupt your time away from your nursemaid duties to the melder.” Roark tilted his head, then replied with his fingers against my cheek. A secret delight of mine. A duty I enjoy.
All pieces of you are not so bad. “I think you nearly gave me a compliment, Sentry.” You read my words poorly.
I gripped his hair, holding him steady, and used my other hand to speak to Lyra. He needs to know what happens when he touches you. With the same knife she used, I pressed the edge against one of Tomas’s little fingers. The sick sound of steel cutting through flesh and bone was buried beneath his roars of pain. I palmed the severed fingertip and sneered at the sobbing man. Without pause, I slammed my palm over his mutilated mouth, shoving the bloodied tip onto his tongue.
Now I’d had a taste and unlocked a deeper need to have more. No doubt, if I gave in, Lyra Bien would consume me—heart and soul.
I swallowed bile when Tomas spit out the mangled piece of his fingertip onto the floor. At my back, I caught sight of Thane leaning into Roark. The prince’s voice was low, as though he wanted only his Sentry to hear, but I caught the soft words. “I know the symbolism of the swallowed finger, Roark. That is a damn Draven punishment to those who harm a woman already claimed by another. Take heart no one else cares to study their rituals or you would be blamed entirely.”
Half of Skul Drek’s face was hidden in darkness, like a mask of night, but his eyes flashed like he might’ve grinned. “You brighten the night, Melder.” A coil of shadows flicked the golden band between our hearts.
“After you,” Kael said once we were in the corridor. “But you might want to let down your hair.” I flipped my braid over my shoulder. “Why?” Kael lowered his voice. “The Sentry left his bite behind.”
You are no coward, Lyra. You are no monster. Your soul is too bright.
She stepped closer, arching her neck so our noses nearly touched. “You never truly know a heart until you see the darkness inside. I might like to see yours.”
I cried out when the phantom reared over me as he’d done before, his flashing, cruel eyes a hairsbreadth from mine. “Soul to soul, I called you. If you desire to die, then do so.” Soul to soul?
He tilted my chin, forcing me to look at him. Tears? What must I do to return them to your eyes?
You have me on my knees, what should we do about this? My core ached. “Make good on that promise, Roark Ashwood, and kiss me.”
My blood burned in my veins. Darker edges of my soul sliced to the surface like jagged bits of stone. I was going to do horrid things. Vicious things. I could hardly stand the wait.
Darkness encircled me. Cold breathed over my skin, and I was drawn in deeper, like an embrace of shadows. Like the phantom had pulled me close. His burning gaze steadied me. “Your soul is mine. I won’t lose it.”
Roark paused at the door. Darkwin. Fail her, and I tear out your spleen.
You above everything. His words moved against my face. Burn it all if it means you still live.
I believe you are his sjeleven.
I was supposed to despise you, hunt you. Instead, you’ve brought me to my knees, begging for more of you.
Break me, I no longer care, as long as it is you who wields the destruction.
