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I buried my sword through his stomach. His body spasmed, tethered by my darker soul and impaled by my hand. He coughed and bloody spittle struck my face. Too soon, his suffering ended and Virki went limp.

I unfurled one fist and the shadows released him. Wolves whimpered nearby as the bond to their keeper faded.

I had no time to care and rushed to where Thane cradled my mother’s head. Gunter and Yanson knelt beside her. I slid by her side, inspecting the wound. Too deep. Too much blood.

“Roark.” Her voice was rough, broken.

Soul bone. We can make you a soul bone. I spoke frantically; Thane did his best to help relay the words.

“No.” She smiled. Blood stained her teeth. “No, I…I miss…miss my king.”

I shook my head, one palm on her face. I don’t want to bid farewell again.

A tear fell from the corner of her eye. “We never will. Remember…live. Be…be free. I will greet you in…Salur, son.”

The queen died with a smile.

Yanson pressed a palm to her face. “Save us a curved horn, my queen.”

Thane gripped one of my shoulders. The prince said nothing, merely stayed there, a steadiness in the storm.

“Roark.” Gunter drew my attention. “This isn’t over. Look.”

Blood froze. Jordis and Lyra fought beside each other, but through the lines of Stav and Dark Watch, a figure cut through, aiming at Lyra.

He kept a hood over his head, but I’d traveled with Baldur for seasons and I knew his stride, his movements. Fadey moved as Baldur did.

Each breath burned as if torn from my lungs. She lives, I gestured in a rush. Burn it all as long as she lives.

“Go to the melder! We fight for her now!” Yanson raised his blade. Nearby, Dark Watch roared their agreement.

Possessive shadows cut through the dying battle, searching for my heart. He would not touch her. Smoke from fires at camps, mists from an approaching storm, and shadows from a vengeful soul blotted out everything.

I could not see Lyra. I lost sight of Fadey.

She lives. I repeated the same thought in my head as I led the warriors forward.

Ingir was dead. Virki was dead. Fadey was the last to fall.

And he would. I would not accept anything less.

51

Lyra

Smoke burned my eyes to tears. I swiped the back of my hand over my face, smearing blood and sweat. Jordis killed the Jorvan queen in the same moment that Emi took Hundur. I was drawn to Skul Drek’s icy shadows the moment they were freed.

But I’d lost sight of Roark when he rushed after his uncle.

I forced my eyes to stay open, to blink through the burn.

This was the ending. This was the final step in the path of fate. Like a whispered truth, I knew this day ended our world. This day destroyed kingdoms.

Cries of battle were fading. Little by little, the slide of steel against steel weakened. Roars of attack were more grunts of exhaustion and pain. I did not know who had fallen from Dravenmoor. I did not know where to find my husband, so I followed his darkness instead.

Shadows of Skul Drek tore through bodies, striking at souls. Dark Watch warriors would be there to meet them as they fell. A hum of heat tugged at my heart, a call to find him, to bring him to me. The only hint to tell me Roark Ashwood was still alive.

Murky storm clouds mingled with ash and smoke. Soon darkness would call horns of rest, of retreat. If the battle ceased, it would be brought another day. I refused. This ends here. This ends now.