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After Emi whispered my words, the queen tilted her chin. “I believe they will be headed toward the tip of the Black Fjords, to avoid the ravines. Supplies will be gathered for you and those who ride with you. It’s possible you may be gone for quite some time. May the gods keep you safe.”

She pressed the heel of her palm to my brow in a blessing, then turned away.

But not before I was certain that the slightest hint of a smile teased the queen’s mouth.

—

True to her word, the queen had blades and satchels with food and skins of water in the stables within a bell toll.

The rest came from the supplies we’d smuggled on our own in the last days.

Clad in black, I swung a leg over a dark gelding. Uncontrolled shadows draped over my shoulders. When no hint of Lyra remained in Dravenmoor, I contained my hate and drew back the split soul.

But it still burned, growing more desperate, more violent by the moment.

“Lyra has come into her own brutality,” Emi said, shoving a knife inside her boot. “She will fight, Roark. We’ll find her, then you can finish whatever damage to the Stav she’s surely begun.”

My teeth ground together, and my fingers tightened on the leather bridle.

There was no question who would join me. Brynn, Auki, Gunter, and Emi sat astride their own charges, cowls over their heads, kohl lined around their eyes and down their cheeks.

Òlmr and Kyrre remained close, ready to run through the wood.

“You were Stav once.” Gunter led his stallion to my side. Both his seax blades were crossed over his back. “Where do they camp?”

Find heavy trees. I spoke with one hand and pulled my hood low over my nose with the other. They use them for protection.

The others had learned my gestures well enough, but Emi translated all the same. No words should be missed.

“Want us to kill on sight?” Auki asked.

If it means getting Lyra, burn them alive for all I care. I nudged my horse forward, and we disappeared into the darkness of the trees.

32

Lyra

Something weighed down my chest. Every draw of breath felt burdensome and smelled of pine spice and warm honey. My eyes fluttered, heavy with fatigue. Little by little the weight lifted and the tingle of numbness in my fingertips faded.

I peered through my lashes. Dim light filled a small space covered in dark canvas. A tent. I was in a damn tent.

Blood rushed to my skull, but when I sat up, it felt as though the world tilted on its side. With a groan, I fell back against a burlap pillow, my hand on my stomach to stop the swirl of bile.

“Hush, now.” A cool cloth dabbed against my brow. “The herbs leave the mind a bit muddy.”

I froze. Through the haze, memories returned with wretched clarity. Elisabet left me in the woods. A satchel of supplies. Then the attack. I remembered nothing more, but it didn’t matter.

Someone had taken me from Dravenmoor. From my husband.

And a sinking weight in my belly told me the queen was behind it all.

Muffled voices filled the space, speaking as though underwater. I let my head roll to the side, and the voices drew nearer.

“No marks? On the wrists? Nothing?” A man.

“There’s nothing except new runes on her back.”

I knew that voice. A woman. I knew her. From where did I know her voice?