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Roark kissed my pulse point, holding his lips there until his body went still. Warm pulses of his release filled me, over and over. I burrowed my face against him, kissing his head, his cheek, holding him against me.

Roark didn’t lift his head but held a palm to my face. I love you. You are the brightest piece of my soul.

Tears blurred my vision. I eased his head to my heart, holding his stubbled cheek to my skin. Claimed. Safe. Whole.

22

Lyra

A feast was the last event I desired to attend. There was something dangerous brewing, not only here where the living walked, but also in the mirror. Fadey was growing stronger. How? I didn’t know, but we could not stop him, dining at Draven tables.

With a bit of nervous reluctance, I’d dressed in a finely woven wool gown, the hem lined in fur, with a bodice stitched in vibrant threads.

Roark looked the part of a prince. He’d secured his hair off his face with tight braids and beads made of polished bone. His tunic was so black the gleam of the torches did not even catch in the threads, and over his shoulders was a fur cloak, pinned with the double-headed raven.

I’d nearly broken his hand the nearer we got to the great hall. Moments before we entered, Roark paused, insisting one of my plaits had come undone.

There was nothing loose about my braids, but no doubt, he could see the touch of green rising on my cheeks, feel the sweat on my palms, or perhaps our bond gave up the torment and fear of my soul.

Didn’t matter. He gave me a reprieve, and I was grateful for it. The pause gave us time to further discuss the strange tether Fadey had fastened around me during the last visit to the mirror.

“Connections between souls are always burning through craft. They bind us to others,” Gunter whispered from his place leaning against the wall opposite us.

“We already went over this. Nothing about Fadey could form a soul connection to me.”

Gunter seemed unappeased, like something troubled him but he did not know how to speak it. “I just don’t understand it. The moment I knew I was a soul weaver, I studied bonds. How to form them, how to destroy them, how they can be manipulated. All manner of wicked things, mind you. I wish I could’ve seen it to know how he’s managed to keep this tether to you.”

“Yes, well, I feel much the same.”

Gunter glanced over his shoulder, watching for anyone beyond our small circle. Brynn, Auki, and Emi formed a subtle ring around us, always on guard.

In truth, it was endearing.

Roark had loyal friends before he was exiled. They remained so now, and it warmed my heart knowing that perhaps a touch of the agony he felt over losing Thane might be filled with Gunter, Brynn, and Auki.

When he was satisfied no one was listening in, Gunter faced me. “There are several ways to connect to a soul. A mother’s or father’s soul will have a connection to their child’s. Different than a soul bond, but a connection all the same.”

It is how the queen and I are still able to speak soul to soul, Roark gestured.

I nodded, silently urging Gunter to go on.

“Auki and Brynn have a connection as brother and sister. Each tether between them smells similar, so I know they share blood. That is part of my craft, I can find bonds between kin. Wedded souls would have different scents, especially if it is not a true soul bond that unites them as mates into Salur.” Gunter sniffed Emi with a touch of dramatics. “Yes, you have several connections, Nightlark. One is almost as gamey as this sod’s”—Gunter tilted his chin at Roark—“so I know you share a small bit of blood as cousins. Your other bond is much sweeter.”

Emi’s mouth tightened and she looked away. Did Gunter speak of a connection to Princess Yrsa, the love Emi left behind in Stonegate?

“If there is no other connection between you, all I can assume is Fadey has a great deal of your blood for the queen to continually use in her spell casts,” Gunter said, but it was with reluctance. Like he wasn’t certain he believed his own suggestion. “It isn’t necessarily bad since the blood is finite. But don’t allow them to get more.”

Roark ran his knuckles down my arm, a signal we would need to enter, and took hold of my hand.

“Don’t let me fall,” I whispered.

He grinned and leaned down, pressing a kiss behind my ear.

Inside, the hall was decked in ribbons and fragrant vines. Rafters were wrapped in black satin, and a banner of the Dravenmoor sigil was draped behind the royal dais. Elisabet sat on a high-backed seat with thick pelts and furs over the arms.

Atop her head was a jagged circlet made of onyx steel, and every finger bore a ring of silver or jade. Her eyes were thickly lined in kohl, and her long fingernails had been painted the shade of purple midnight.

A formidable queen.