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Heavy hands shook me.

My eyes fluttered open. Roark hovered over me, a shadow in his eyes. His brow was damp, and his body nearly collapsed over me when he crushed me to his chest.

Behind me, Kyrre growled and pressed his thick skull to my spine.

You were crying out, Roark gestured after he caught his breath. Your skin was cold. And this started bleeding again.

My husband lifted my wounded hand between us. The bandage was soaked, and the blossoms Emi had placed inside were blackened.

My shoulders rose in heavy breaths. Slowly, I told him of the dream—the attack on my mind—and how Fadey seemed to infiltrate my soul and my body with the help of the Jorvan queen.

Roark’s arms crushed me to his body again, his pulse as furious as my own. Damn the bones. He needs to die.

I pulled back. “We can’t reach him. He’s not wrong. No one knows he’s a melder. There isn’t a way to get close to him without drawing him out with the bones.”

Roark didn’t raise a hand to speak. I did not part my lips. What more was there to say?

Fadey had found us. This would only end if he or we found the power of the first king.

30

Lyra

I looked out the window of my chamber, my insides tangled like sharp briars. A darkness burned in my heart. Perhaps it was caused by the bond to a cruel soul, or perhaps since that night the Sentry of Stonegate stole me from my simple life, along the way I’d added to my own villainy.

I loved fiercely—my husband, our misfit band of Dravens, Thane, Yrsa—but I hated in equal measure. Violent hopes for Fadey and Ingir, and even for men like Virki, who still treated Roark and me like a pestilence.

What villains we’d all become.

Once I’d been content to stride through life, head down; my greatest worry was if devilish Pukki would obey my commands or not, and now I craved the deaths of powerful folk, I wanted their suffering.

And I wanted my peace to live a long life with my killer of a husband until we fell into the hall of the gods.

If ever we succeeded and walked free of this alive, what sort of woman would I be in the end?

The door opened and my heart jumped. Elisabet stood in the frame, a dark queen. Her black circlet was surrounded by her braids, and the ebony gown she wore looked like a robe of glossy raven wings.

“I wonder if I might have a private word with you, Lyra.” Elisabet grinned. “Walk with me?”

We strode in silence through the courtyard, arm in arm, occasionally nodding and greeting folk and Dark Watch as we went. The queen said nothing once we reached the wood near the burial mounds and did not look my way until we rounded a bend, going deeper into the trees.

My stomach tightened. “Highness. Roark may be looking—”

“My son remains in a meet with Yanson regarding missing blades.” Elisabet’s vibrant stare shifted to meet mine. “You wouldn’t know where a few weapons have gone, would you?”

Dammit. No doubt she knew those missing blades were tucked under Gunter’s bed, wrapped in furs, ready for us to flee the moment we could find our opportunity.

Words fumbled on my tongue, a mortifying sort of stammer.

The queen waved her hand as though vanquishing the question and returned to silence again.

Elisabet stepped through a drape of willow branches. Tucked behind the curtain was a meadow within a circle of willows. Heavy branches drooped and created a wall of leaves, only a narrow path carving down one hillside.

Why were we so far from the gates? I looked over my shoulder, but the queen tugged on my arm, drawing my attention.

“I wanted your thoughts on something, Lyra.”

“Um, on what? Forgive me, my lady, but should we be this far?”