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Again, I shook my head.

“Fadey.” Thane rubbed the back of his neck. “It was well-known that the man was not a stranger to bedding folk, but…I think we should speak to her.”

I pressed a palm against Thane’s chest, stopping the prince from approaching Lyra.

Someone chuckled at our backs.

Darkwin, still bound by his wrists and ankles, sat against a stack of bushels filled with the strange moonlight blooms. “You all wish to pester her. Leave her be. She will speak when she has a moment of solitude to think through what she’s learned. Pester her, and she will wear those masks she once hid behind and convince you all she is well inside.”

Brynn and the two wolves stood near, ready to ram a blade into Darkwin’s skull should the berserksgangur take hold again. The grimace on her features made it appear like proximity to Kael left her in physical pain.

His voice was not the same light, carefree tone I once knew the man to have, but it was not laced in venom. More aggravation than anything else.

Darkwin used his bound hands to point at Lyra. “And when she wishes to speak, it will not be to you lot.”

“Think you deserve to speak to her, Darkwin?” Thane rolled his eyes. “You tried to force her back to the bastard who wants to meld her bones to his body.”

“I didn’t say it would be me.” His laugh was dead, flat, and cold when he looked to me. “I’ll give you a bit of advice: Don’t be a bloodthirsty fool and leap straight to slaughter for what Fadey’s done to her. Keep your head, Ashwood.”

With all the dark souls melded to Kael, perhaps he could feel the tangle of hate boiling in mine.

No part of me wanted Fadey to take another breath in peace. In truth, what would soothe every piece of my soul would be to know he could not find comfort. I yearned for his steps to ring out such pain that it made him retch. I craved for his screams to lull me to sleep like a sweet tune.

I desired nothing more than to be the one who watched the light leave his eyes, preferably with his own blood staining his skin.

Beneath the hate and rage was a sharp, needling barb. Pain, hurt, betrayal. Emotions that were not my own. Through the threads of our connection, Lyra’s pain seeped into my soul.

All at once, Lyra stopped pacing. Her arms hugged her middle, and her shoulders slouched.

No more space, no more waiting.

With the others silent, I went to the river’s edge. Hands clasped behind my back, I stood beside Lyra. I did not touch her, did not make a move to speak.

Lyra released a long shudder of a breath. “He doesn’t know. Fadey, I mean. He doesn’t know, I’m sure of it. The way he speaks of me, of our connection and the bones, he believes Ingir crafted a blood spell to connect us. But she was using a blood bond that was already there.”

I did not know what to say. What did it matter if Fadey was unaware that he’d fathered the child he’d been hunting? He was a dead man either way.

“You once saw melding craft as monstrous. You hated Fadey for his brutality. Everything about him lives in me—blood and craft.”

I dragged my knuckles down her arm, waiting for her to look at me. You are insinuating that I will come to think of you as something wicked like Fadey.

When she blinked, a tear rolled down her cheek. I used my thumb to brush it aside.

“It is not so hard to make the insinuation.” Lyra looked down at her palms. “I have felt the darkness in my craft. I’ve desired to slaughter with it. Perhaps when we find the Wanderer, I will be no better than Fadey.”

There is a problem with your logic, I began on her palm. Slowly, I slid my hand up her arm, holding one side of her face. I have seen the darker edges of your heart. It has only made me want you more. I have also seen Fadey’s. It has only made me want to rip out his spine. Listen to me now: you are not the same as him.

A bit of the weighty shadow brightened in her eyes and, gods, what worlds I would burn to see the light blaze every damn day.

“I want to destroy him.” Her voice was low, dangerous.

Then I will drop him at your feet and hand you the blade.

“I feel as though I should take pause, knowing our connection, but it only deepens the desire to end him.”

You owe him nothing, and certainly not your empathy and loyalty.

Lyra studied the flow of rippling water for a breath. “I had a father, Horace Bien, and he was kind, strong, firm, and gentle.”