Page 21

“Want means nothing. What was done is done. Now shoulder the weight of it.”

“You do not know how many lives were lost, how corrupt our enemies had become. We needed a way to protect the souls of the fallen from their soul bones. The king truly believed to split his soul was the only way to protect them.”

Anger. Hate. Shame. It burned through me in layers of cold, blackened mists. Teeth bared, I pressed the ice of my brow to the heat of hers. “And once you created him, I wonder, did you take pleasure in learning you could control his every move, the way you did mine, queenie?”

Her eyes followed my long fingers, watching me pluck the burning tether no longer owned by the queenie.

“I did not want this. I never wanted to harm your father or my son. You are all I have left.”

“Yet you have anger knowing that the bonds that tied us together have snapped, and your creature no longer answers to you. A thing your first creation never managed to do. He could not break free of you before you ended him.”

Her breath hitched. “Do not mock me. Whatever light still lived in my soul died when your father and I made that impossible choice.”

“You killed your bond when he fought back, is that it? Decided to make another?” One fist pounded against the shadows where a heart might be in my chest. “Thought you’d have better luck controlling this soul, was that why you slit his throat?”

“Cease talking of this!” The queenie covered her ears, shoulders heaving.

For a time no words were spoken between us.

“You slaughtered your first bond to create your monster son. Now you lost control of even him. What a waste of souls you’ve caused.”

The queenie scrambled off her knees. “You do not know the things of which you speak! My soul died that day.”

The outburst was…surprising. Thoughts stirred of a time long gone. A kingly death. A curse. A desperate need to keep a boyish prince breathing.

Bits and pieces were forgotten, but there were memories of shouts, of pain, of tears, of queenly sobs.

“Where is my melder?” I spoke in a sort of jagged snarl. “I have need of her. I must take her away.”

“Why?” She spoke softly. “You are keeping truths from us. What drove you from Jorvandal so violently?”

Memories of plans, of schemes with my melder. The Thief King sought the Wanderer’s bones, sought to take his soul, sought to rule over all.

He planned to force her to steal the souls until she met the gods.

No. The Thief King was now gone to Salur. I’d felt his soul not so long ago, corrupted and bitter, but there all the same. I closed my eyes, pulling back mottled shadows, hazy memories.

The dark melder hurt my melder.

My eyes flashed. “If I speak true, you’ll darken her soul the way you did your king’s.”

“Someday I hope you come to believe differently about the day your father died.” The queenie shook her head. “I could’ve killed the melder already, yet I have kept my word. We know what the Jorvan king seeks beyond those wretched Berserkirs he crafts. You know we’ve understood for seasons he desires bones he believes are from the Wanderer. Now, what happened?”

A long growl slipped from my throat. Stolen souls corrupted the living. The Thief King reveled in the power of it. Undead warriors, unable to control the madness of corrupted souls.

I held no sadness knowing the Thief King was gone.

But worse was rising. And they wanted my melder, lest we find the lost bones first. Destroy the bones. Let the first king rest.

“Roark.”

A name, familiar and painful.

I am he, we are we.

The queenie stepped nearer to me, her voice soft. “Tell me. I vow the truth will remain between us, but tell me so I might…help us all.”

“Speak true, queenie?”