Page 87

Shouts from the Dark Watch ordered for arrows, blades, every attention to halt the capture of the melder. No mistake, Roark would abandon the innocent lives in the palace to save mine. A little longer. Hold. Hold.

A snarl and rabid growl came from somewhere over my shoulder. A single heartbeat, and the sound of snapping jaws was overpowered by a shrill cry of a man’s horror.

The hook in my veins snapped. I fell forward, gasping. Free.

I spun around, desperate to scramble away, but stopped.

The large paws of the excitable fara pup slashed at the Stav Guard. The young wolf bit and scratched and tore at the man’s throat, face, and hands. In the distance, I took note of Stav archers aiming at the pup.

“Jorvan archers!” I screamed and pointed at the trees.

Fiery Draven arrows rained over the Jorvan forces, sending them back under the cover of the trees. I scrambled for the wolf. A dark, searing rage burned in my skull. They used Kael against me; they taunted me.

For that, this guard would pay too. They all would.

I would see to it that Ingir of House Oleg knew her mistake.

The pup snarled and snapped his jaws. Beneath the beast’s attack, the Stav Guard screamed and writhed, desperate to shield his face. Already open gashes marred his skin. I snatched the pouch from the Stav’s hand to avoid any further hooks from damn blood spells.

“Dammit!” The moment I touched the pouch, a barb of pain shot through the gaping wound in my palm.

I let it fall to the grass. Another gash opened and crossed with the split wound over my palm, and burning dripped down my wrist.

Teeth clenched, I shoved aside the pain, knelt by the screaming Stav Guard’s head, and rammed my fingertips into his open wounds.

He roared his agony.

Craft flooded my blood with such ferocity that I swayed.

Usually when I melded, the threads were golden, dainty, lovely. Be it from the rage, the hatred, or something else, I didn’t know, but the threads that burst from the Stav Guard’s flesh were boiling red.

I did not care what my craft did to him, I simply began to stitch. Bone split under my fingertips, shifting down his face, around his skull. New shards fastened on his jaw, below the socket of his eye.

The wolf bit down on the man’s shoulder, shaking his large head like he might be trying to rip the arm free. The Stav Guard let out a gurgled cry, already his mouth had grown misshapen beneath my touch.

Soon he made no sound at all. His teeth were melded shut, one gnarled, solid barrier to his mouth. I screamed at his manipulated face, ignoring the blood, the wounds. His eyes still had light left in them.

I reached deeper. Craft sought the threads of his bones, shifting and breaking, melding and remaking. Until the small bones of his throat came to light. Narrow threads, thin but strong, were there. I pulled one through a wound in his neck, then wove it back in, searching for the upper bones of his spine.

Stitch after stitch, bones turned molten and joined with others until there was no opening left for him to breathe through. Shards and fragments of his throat were melded across his airway, joined front to back.

The Stav Guard jolted and his chest puffed, desperate for air.

I pulled back my hands, the lust for his death fading the longer I watched his soul flee to the gods.

Bile burned in my throat. The Stav Guard thrashed and trembled, clawing weakly at his neck. Even the pup stepped away, his bloody lips locked in a snarl.

I retched.

Arms encircled me and pulled me against a hard chest. Inside was the beat of a heart I knew so well. Steady. Strong. Mine. Roark was covered in blood, but still he held my cheek to his heart until the body beside me stopped moving at long last.

I tilted my head to see what I had done.

The Stav Guard was destroyed. By the wolf and his melded bones, the man had been slaughtered.

Down the hillside, Jorvan warriors fled toward the distant ravines. Left in their wake, the fallen were sprawled across the lower township, blood staining the stone paths and meadows around the gates. I did not know how many Dravens fell.

Look at me. Roark’s gentle words brushed over my cheek.