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Forest winds were cold and fragrant, tinged with the sweet moss that grew on the banks of the small creeks that cracked the soil across the kingdom. Each draw of air filled my lungs like a frosted morning, clean and fresh.

Overhead tree branches intertwined like armies tangled in battle. Dark and formidable, the trees were places where young Dravens learned to hide, to sneak, and to trust the creatures of the forest.

More than once I let my fingertips brush the branches of hedges or leaves of satin ferns. Such a strange feeling—returning home but not truly belonging.

New aches burned in every muscle, from the base of my skull to the small of my back. Lyra was not safe here, no matter my title. Fillip was proof of that.

Pale dawn crested over the rocky peaks, extensions of the Night Ledges that formed a natural barrier around the heart of Dravenmoor. Last I’d laid eyes on these cliffs, my brother was dead and my soul was carved in two.

For a moment my steps slowed until every motion felt a great deal like leaden ore lined the soles of my feet.

Lyra glanced over her shoulder, her brows stitched close.

I didn’t lift a hand to speak, didn’t look away from the cliffs. Damn the gods, I was a fool. During the seasons as the Sentry of Stonegate, I’d lost count of the souls I’d sent to the hall of the gods in Salur. Skul Drek was feared by all. Enough blood marred my palms to name me a monster, but the sight of mountains from my childhood brought me to tremble.

“Roark.” Lyra rested a hand on my forearm. “What is it?”

My scrutiny of the peaks broke, as though her nearness brought a bit of clarity. In the haunting gray of the early bell tolls, the silver scars in Lyra’s eyes glittered like pieces of the fading moon. They drew me in, captured me, reminded me of why all of it had unfolded.

Still I said nothing, but I wasn’t certain I needed to.

Lyra’s face softened. She tucked a lock of her long hair behind her ear and stepped closer. “I imagine it is difficult to see home again after what happened.”

I cleared my throat as though I might speak with my lost voice. Last I stepped through these gates, I was told my brother was dead.

Lyra dipped her chin. “What was he like?”

Nivek was good. Honorable. Nine seasons my elder, so I looked up to him all my life. He did not deserve to die.

“And you don’t know who killed him?”

I shook my head. I know my uncle informed the king and queen of Nivek’s betrayal, but that was his duty as my father’s brother.

“It wasn’t him?”

I can’t say. I am told he was furious when he discovered the prince was killed without a trial. I did not see much from where I was hidden. Someone struck me from behind and I woke here, at the gates. If I find out the truth, their soul will be mine.

“Explains your questioning of the warrior.”

I scoffed. Someday I will know exactly what happened that night.

“I hope you do.” Her words were soft but sharp enough that they burned into my chest. “I wish he had not died because of me. But I can see that he must’ve loved you to take such a risk because you asked it of him.”

I hesitated. He died because he believed in soul bonds and respected them, the way the clan should.

“You have based every decision of late on these supposed bonds.” Lyra bit down on her bottom lip. “You and I have never had much choice in our lives; we should not let some bond of fate take a choice from us now.”

What are you saying?

“I’m saying we are dangerous for each other. I’m saying truth matters to me. I’m saying…perhaps we both deserve a choice for once, and maybe we would be better off forgetting…what happened between us in Stonegate. Forced love is not what I desire.”

Fear was talking. Fear, pain, and likely a bit of anger.

I drew closer, chest to chest, hip to hip, taking a bit of twisted delight in the way her lips parted, her eyes widened.

For a moment, I made no attempt to speak at all, merely held her close, studying the light in her eyes. My palm splayed over the small of her back, my fingers brushing across every divot of her spine.

With care, I lifted one hand and fashioned my words against her cheek. You are my choice. Should I discard you at the command of kings or queens, that would rob me of my true choice.