47
Lyra
My face was wet with tears, but I felt cold, numb. I did not try to stop the tears; I couldn’t even feel them fall.
Across the table, Baldur had taken one of the chairs, Queen Ingir at his side, a few seidr runes, dried black leaves, and a small paring knife in front of her.
“I’m sure you’re confused.” Baldur reeked of smugness. “Allow me to explain. It is no secret that the queen had a strong distaste for the king, but I, gods, I dreamed of the day I might finally watch the light leave his eyes. All those years on my knees, my body not my own, all for a prize he did not deserve.”
Baldur’s voice was sharp and rolled off his tongue like every word was rotten.
I lifted my chin, fists curled tightly in my lap. “What prize?”
“Don’t play the fool. The Wanderer. You’re searching for the bones.”
I didn’t deny it. What would be the point?
Baldur drummed his fingers on the table. “All that trouble in staging my own death, only to be drawn back by a simple woman who does not understand the true power of her craft.”
I swiped my tongue over my lips, tasting salt and blood. “Who are you?”
He opened a hand, gesturing at King Damir’s body. “I thought by the state of him, it would be quite obvious? No? All right, you know me as Baldur the Fox, but the name I was given was Fadey.”
Panic rose in my chest. “Fadey.”
Baldur—Fadey—opened his arms wide, chuckling. “Mesmerizing, isn’t it?”
“But how…the prince, he has known Baldur’s face since childhood.”
“Oh yes. Baldur was practically raised here.”
“But Prince Thane would know if you were not him.”
“Not if I were to become someone new, Melder Bien.” Fadey paused for a breath, as though considering how to continue. “Now, studying his mannerisms from the shadows, that took some doing. With Ashwood’s keen eye always watching, I had to learn with great care how the Fox shifted his tone to how he scratched his cock.”
I couldn’t draw in enough air to fill my lungs. Only short, haggard breaths. He’d stalked, studied, then slaughtered the real Captain Baldur.
“Bone crafters are a lesser magic, but can be rather brilliant when given the chance,” Fadey said. “With Baldur’s true bones after his death, it wasn’t so difficult for Stav Uther to rebuild his likeness on me. Body and face. Painful, but rather impressive.”
“Stupid boy.” Ingir shook her head and aligned the rune chips in front of her.
Fadey nodded. “Uther was a Stav Guard who was found dead right before you arrived. He was quite talented with his craft.”
“Until the boy got greedy.” Ingir frowned.
“Pity.” Fadey rubbed his chin. “Once he began feeling like the allowance he was paid was not enough, he began his baseless threats. Talk like he would tell the king of our betrayal. Such a waste of good craft, but he had to be removed.”
I could not stop shaking. “But Fadey’s body was…it was found. He was tortured.”
“Baldur’s body.” Fadey waved a hand around his face. “I thought I just explained what a talented bone crafter can do. Painful process, but a few pieces of my old features made up poor Baldur’s new, tortured face.”
“The king buried him right outside of my wing,” Queen Ingir said. “He thought I despised Fadey, so it was meant as a slight. Little did that fool know.”
I had felt the darkness of her quarters in the mirror land and beyond it. Baldur’s body was in unrest, no mistake. It billowed pitch-black shadows from his angry soul.
“I was never truly convinced the melder child was dead. I tended to believe the rumors that she’d been smuggled from the raids.” Fadey’s eyes darkened. “For seasons, I worked with zealots, Unfettered Folk, even a few greedy ravagers to hunt down any rumor of a melder. I desperately desired freedom, and you were my way out. Replace me with a younger melder, and Damir would hardly mourn my unfortunate demise.”
I blew out a rough breath. “Then why are you still here?”
Fadey smiled, but there was nothing bright to it. “After seasons of never sensing a single drop of his power, I believed the Wanderer’s bones to be lost to myths and lore. Then the blood crafter we assigned to your little village sent word of silver scars in a simple servant girl.”
Gods. Fadey was the man behind Vella’s betrayal; the missives she’d written were to him.
“What did it matter if I was here?”
Fadey scoffed. “You truly know nothing about yourself. Why the very existence of you ended in bloodshed between kingdoms, all to find you?”
I curled my hands into fists. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“In Tales of the Wanderer , who was it who taught the first craft king how to meld?”
My teeth ground together. I did not wish to speak a word, but Ingir dug a small knife into the side of my ribs, piercing the skin. I glared at Fadey. “The god-queen. From desperation to stop the greed of her own husband!”
Fadey laughed with bitterness. “Right you are, Lyra. The god-queen had the talent for the crafts through her high-born blood. There would not be a soul with her strength, her power, for centuries. Old sagas and poems from scholars translated prophecies and vows of the gods, and most believed the god-queen’s power would be reborn in another.” Fadey leaned onto his palms over the table. “You are the first female melder in centuries, Lyra Bien. What do you think everyone was to believe?”
Breath caught in my chest. No. This was madness. “I am not the god-queen.”
“Of course you’re not,” Fadey sneered. “It is not a reincarnated soul, it is her strength the kingdoms desired. I thought it all shit before, then I saw you meld. What a find you are. One touch and you connected to a soul bone deep enough you fell into the melder’s trance. That is when more bones are sensed and found. It took me five winters of melding before the trance overtook me, and it was never as strong as yours.”
Fadey rubbed at his own eyes. Blue tears spilled onto his cheeks, and beneath a thin sheen of color was a bolt of silver that distorted the black center.
I lifted my chin. “Why stage your death if you wanted me here anyway?”
Fadey ignored the question and asked his own. “What do you know about blood craft, Melder Bien?”
I cast a quick glance at the queen. “It heals, summons, wards.”
“That is some, yes.” Fadey paced along the edge of the table. “Most consider blood craft to be the weakest, but did you know it can create a blood tether between two people?”
My pulse quickened. I said nothing.
“Blood crafters often tethered each other during marital vows to show devotion.” Fadey tugged a wooden talisman in the shape of two coiled serpents from beneath his tunic. “It isn’t to be taken lightly, for a blood tether allows one to step inside the thoughts and mind of another, even borrow strength through the bond for a time.”
I went still. “What are you saying?”
“Once you were found, it truly was not so difficult to get some of your blood.” Fadey shared a wicked sort of grin with the queen. “You should not have been so reckless with that blade against your own throat in Skalfirth.”
He draped the talisman in front of my face. Crimson stained the grains of the wood.
“With this,” he went on, “the queen provided a way for me to follow you into your trance.” His teeth flashed. “I know you are completely drawn to the souls of the fallen, and there, my, what secrets you keep.”
Queen Ingir rose from her seat. “How long have you been bonded to Dravenmoor? To their assassin? You tried to slaughter my son!”
Her palm struck my face before I had time to dodge. I staggered in the chair, clutching my face. “No. I never sent any of the attacks.”
“When I finally saw into your thoughts, I saw the soul bond between you,” Fadey snapped.
“Soul…soul bond?” Did he mean the gilded rope between Skul Drek and me? “If you saw everything, you would know I did not understand what was happening, nor did he.”
Fadey rubbed his chin, as though considering my words. “I couldn’t see everything, more pieces of your time there. But it was enough to sense the bones. You have done something that no melder was able to do before. You’ve found a way to walk among the fallen, to sense their resting places like I never could. You will be able to see what I cannot see.”
“The bones?”
Fadey sneered. “I have thought of nothing else but the Wanderer since I learned what Damir was after. I know the bones are scattered, but we’ve found one, and your strange bond with the assassin will be the key to taking it.” He glanced back at Ingir. “We cannot get through the wards, and I cannot see them, merely sense a power unmatched. But with you, now all that will change.”
“You want the Wanderer for yourself?” My voice came out in a dry rasp.
“I do.”
“We do.” Ingir paused in organizing her herbs, her tone abrupt.
Fadey pressed a hand to his chest. “We do. When Ingir’s spell cast sensed a new power, a strong power, we wondered. When I tried to fall into a melder’s trance, but was warded against the burial site by a new kind of magic, I knew we’d found something with unmatched craft.”
I lifted my chin, terrified and furious all at once. “I will never meld them for you.”
Fadey barked a laugh. “Oh, I already knew after this you’d feel betrayed enough you would never help us. But your strength and craft will do well enough.”
“You can’t have it.”
“You won’t have a choice over what bones I take. You’ll be dead, Melder Bien.”
I froze. My bones.
Fadey tilted his head. “You understand, don’t you? I know it is unnatural and you are no warrior, but to meld your bones to mine will give me the power of your soul. I won’t need your help to see and find the Wanderer’s bones, for I will be strong enough to sense them myself. Maybe I’ll even be able to keep your assassin pet.”
“You cannot murder, or it corrupts the soul.”
“Worth the risk to win the power of all crafts and kingdoms, my dear.”
Ingir hummed while she made a circle with rune stones.
Gods, they were going to cut me to pieces.
“I know it is frightening,” Fadey said, almost gently. “But when I gather the Wanderer, no crafter will ever fear cruel treaties. They will live under one king, one voice, as they once did. Your sacrifice will protect our folk for generations, Lyra.”
“You’re mad.” I sat back as far as I could possibly move away from the man.
“No.” Fadey chuckled. “Not mad. Determined.”
“You might think you can run,” Ingir said, adjusting the final rune piece, “but remember we have your brother. We’ll corrupt him.”
Fresh tears burned in my eyes. I would give my life for those I loved. To my soul I knew it.
“You killed your bone crafter,” I said, reaching for anything to stall. “You will not be able to mark my bones with the soul cast.”
Ingir pointed to her rune circle. “There are ways to be convincing, even to bone crafters. Perhaps we’ll pay a visit to the pretty crafter you brought with you. Or her brother. Either will do.”
Tears of hate stung. They’d compel and threaten Edvin or Hilda, keeping them imprisoned when they were only beginning to start anew with their families.
“I will give you painless herbs.” Ingir stood and strode across the chamber to a row of potted plants. She looked over her shoulder. “You won’t feel the blade.”
My heart ached at the thought, the pain Kael would feel when he learned the truth.
The pain Roark might feel.
My lips trembled. Roark, who risked treason now, all to see me safe. Would he mourn the loss of me? Would he return to the stoic Sentry folk feared or resented?
I glanced at the knife Ingir left on the table beside her rune chips. The woman was a fool. There was a lesson Roark had taught me only this morning—to die for the ones we loved was honorable, but to kill for them was beautifully terrifying.
Without thought, I gripped the hilt of her knife and lunged to the other side of the table as Fadey scrambled to his feet. Ingir spun around, taken aback. She gathered her skirt and raced from her herbs, shouting at me to stop.
She would be too late.
Fadey wore the face of a Stav, but he was no warrior. Slow to react, allowing his stun to dull his instincts. I had time to ram the point of the knife through the top of his hand.
A weak strike. He cried out in pain all the same. The blade tore through his flesh. That was all I needed.
My palm covered the open flesh. Craft surged in my nose, my lungs, my tongue, a storm on the sea.
Fadey’s shouts cracked in new fear when he realized what I was doing. Bone snapped, heated.
He tried to wrench his hand away from the table.
Already too many of the small bones in his fingers, his palm, had shifted to molten material, spilling out over the wood. I made quick work of opening another wound on his leg. Fadey cursed me, hissing and spitting, but weakened by the pain of his twisted hand.
I yanked his wrist enough to touch the golden threads of craft flailing off his palm to the open wound of his thigh, where new strands of gold bled off his bones beneath the flesh.
One stitch, two, was all I managed before his opposite fist slammed against my skull, knocking me back.
Still, slivers of bone from Fadey’s hand were melded to the place above his knee, forcing him to hunch.
His skin flushed red with hatred. His eyes flashed like the burn of the molten hell when he tried to remove his hand and stand straight.
“You bitch .” Spittle flung over his lips. “Kill her. Ingir, kill her!”
I ran toward the glass doors that opened to the knolls near the back gates of the fortress. Ingir shrieked and raced after me. I didn’t stop, didn’t look back.
Outside, the sun burned my eyes. I kept running, dodging some wandering guests and curious gazes.
“Stop her!” Ingir’s voice was a broken sob. “S-stop the melder! She…she murdered the king.”
I thought I might retch. Horns blared the longer the queen cried out my crimes. She sank to her knees for good measure. All sides of the sprawling lawns were edged in Stav Guard answering their lady’s commands.
I spun back and forth. No direction was free from the glare of the white wolf symbol.
I was trapped.