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“It’s true,” Brynn said. “I didn’t know what to do. You both fell over and those…spread all over him.”

I glanced at my palms, my vision clearer. My veins were raised, pulpy, and black.

“Your eyes are awful too,” Darkwin offered glumly. He did not mince words, and I didn’t know if it was from the soul bones or because he simply didn’t have the strength.

Yrsa stepped forward and held out one of the thick bangles we’d used to purchase Sindri’s debt. The piece was wide and polished, so it served as a makeshift mirror.

Looking back was fiery red. Not my eyes. The same dark veins webbed out from the sockets, down my face, over my throat.

“You said it happened when his darker soul touched Fadey?” Yrsa asked.

Lyra nodded. “Immediately. Like I said, I think Fadey came to draw me away with the intent to hurt Roark. What did he do?”

She clung to my palm like she would never release it.

Yrsa knelt beside me and opened a small pouch she’d pulled from inside the cloak on her shoulders. “I know a cast that can reveal if any curses or spells were placed on you. I just need a drop of blood.”

The princess pricked my finger. Yrsa never proclaimed to be a strong blood crafter, but she was one of the most knowledgeable of the craft. Always reading and learning and memorizing herbs for casts.

She took the blood and spread it along a strange blue leaf. Eyes closed, the princess touched the edges until the smear of blood turned black.

Yrsa’s shoulders slumped. “They’ve cursed you, Roark. Well, what I’d guess is that Fadey has blood casts around him, so when you touched him, the curse took hold.”

“What sort of curse?” Emi asked.

“I don’t know.” Yrsa tugged on the end of one braid. “I’m not skilled with curses, more healing spells. And I don’t fully understand your soul craft.”

“Can we get it out of him?” Lyra’s hold on my palm tightened.

The princess looked a little defeated. “There usually are counter curses, but I don’t know what they’ve done well enough to even begin crafting an antidote.”

“It’s something in your soul,” Lyra whispered.

I rubbed a palm over my chest, hate and violence too close. I feel like I am more him than me. It feels like the darker soul has not settled, but is hovering just below my skin.

A throat cleared. Jordis. Her long hair was braided now, and she’d lined her eyes with kohl like many of the other Unfettered Folk. “Lyra, Gammal’s returned. She may have something for you.”

Jordis shot me a sympathetic look, then stepped out of the cavern.

I staggered to my feet, every limb feeling as though it was weighed down by stones. Lyra slid her arm around my waist, allowing me to brace against her as we walked out to the camp.

Sindri looked at me with a touch of horror, his hand on Kyrre’s head. The pup whimpered. I let my chin fall, avoiding the scrutiny, the fear of others.

“Elskan.” Gammal held a bit of thin parchment in her fingers, her eyes milky and distant. “Sit. Sit.”

“Did you see something?”

The old woman swayed. “A soul of shadows burns in chains made from vengeful hate. Freedom is found through the blood of the maker of this cruel fate. Take care, for should the chains not be shed, a dark soul is as good as dead.”

A soul of shadows. Me. I was a dark soul. The barbs, the bright tether, it had to mean something had poisoned my soul, and my soul would be the price to pay if we did not find a way to remove it.

Lyra’s gaze was burdened. No mistake, she understood the riddle as well as I did.

I slipped my fingers through hers and pressed our knuckles to my lips. The burn of cruelty was there, but somehow I managed to dredge up a touch of tenderness. This is not our end. Do you believe me?

She nodded, glassy tears in her eyes. “Don’t break that promise, Ashwood.”

No lines. I kissed her knuckles again.