49
Lyra
I ran straight ahead. I would know the truth, but to anyone else, it appeared as though I’d wrongly attacked a Stav captain and slaughtered the Jorvan king.
The wall was my last resort. It took me too far from Roark, from Kael. It took me to open trade routes and ravagers in the wood.
I kept running.
Horns sounded again. The vibration of them rattled my marrow. I tightened the hold on my skirt and quickened my pace, only to snag my toe in a divot of earth.
My cheek struck the soil, grass coated my tongue. I scrambled to my knees, desperate to get back on my feet.
A strong, gloved hand curled around my ankle. “Melder Bien, stop. What has come over you?”
I screamed when the Stav Guard yanked me back. I kicked and thrashed. One arm was pinned behind me as the guard climbed over my back. Too strong, too tall. My sob cracked against the soil.
He reached for my hair. My elbow knocked into his jaw.
“Damn you.” The Stav gave up any attempts to be gentle.
I rolled onto my hip, facing the courtyard, and my heart skipped. Sword in hand, his dark hair like the gloss of a crow, Roark stood, flanked by Thane and Emi.
“Roark!” I cried his name, the sound of it cracked. “It’s Fadey!”
I wasn’t certain if he could even hear. But there was strange relief knowing he was there. Hands still pawed at me, I was still in danger, but the sight of him was a lull in a storm. The Sentry saw me, and I’d been witness to what his rage could do.
Roark bent forward, like he’d been struck. His shoulders heaved for a few heartbeats. When I thought he might fall, Roark straightened.
“ Lyra! ” My name cut from his mouth, but it was stretched and prolonged, like an echo.
The jagged sound pulled away from Roark at the same time something dark, like black blood, spilled from the side of his neck, his shoulders, his ribs. A gruesome, coiled shadow billowed until it took shape with wide, broadened shoulders, long, strong legs wrapped in misty shadows. A phantom with a blade that gleamed like real steel had been the one to shout my name.
Wind and breath slowed to nothing. The guard gripping my body went still.
By the gods. Roark, my safety, my calm…he was Skul Drek.
Or he was part of the assassin in the shadows.
I didn’t understand it and foolishly gaped, as though frozen, as Roark straightened again. He rolled his sword in one hand, then raced down the slope, darkness and misty shadows at his side.
Skul Drek lashed through a few Stav nearest to the queen’s wing. Never drawing blood, merely overtaking their minds, their damn souls, until the guards fumbled on their feet, disoriented.
In the next breath, frigid coils of the inky filaments of the assassin wrapped around me and the Stav Guard. The warrior tried to flee, but the moment he turned over his shoulder, he aligned with Skul Drek’s hooded face. Colorless flesh, copper-flame eyes, the sneer that could slice through the heart.
The Stav Guard had no time to move before daggers of shadows pierced through his chest, spilling through his veins like pulpy, swollen branches over his flesh. Inky black dripped from the Stav’s eyes, robbing him of whatever lived in the marrow of his bones, whatever lived in the man’s heart.
It was more harrowing than slicing through flesh.
When the darkness pulled back, the Stav Guard slumped forward, eyes dull. As though the man had lost any desire to thrive, he slumped onto the grass, almost lifeless.
By the gods, was that what Skul Drek did? He was a phantom connected to souls—did his shadows rob the very life from a heart? Not dead, but hardly alive.
Somewhere in the tumult of darkness, I thought I might’ve screamed. Only at my fear did Skul Drek cease his attack. Almost like he’d gotten lost in his own viciousness, forgetting why he’d come at all.
Palms on the damp grass, I lifted my chin. The assassin held my gaze, fire and starlight. Roark. If I peeled away the darkness, the cruelty, the fear, I could almost make out the face of the man who’d stolen my heart.
“How—” Words cut off when hands hooked under my arms.
Roark—my Roark, solid and warm—tugged me to my feet. I shoved him away, but he encircled my waist.
“No. No.” Thoughts were spinning. I could not grapple with all I was seeing. More Stav approached, but Skul Drek seemed to be all places at once. Darkness blinded the guards, then his shadows struck their hearts, never drawing blood, only taking their essence, the soul that burned unique within.
Roark held me close. He was home, warm and solid, but my mind whirled with the truth, desperate to reconcile what I now knew.
All this time, Roark Ashwood had been the demon at the gates. He’d manipulated me, attacked me, he was made of darkness.
I tried to break his hold. He pinned me to his chest and shook his head, his eyes wild. Blood soaked his neck, and his breaths were heavy.
“Lyra.” Emi sprinted for us. She shoved at my back. “Not now. Go. They’re coming for you!”
Drums and the bellow of horns sounded an attack.
“Hurry. We can take a horse,” Emi cried. “Distract them until we reach the stables. Hold the connection, cousin. Hold it a little longer.”
Roark’s face contorted into a wash of pain, but he took my hand and sprinted after Emi, drawing us across the lawns toward one of the fenced yards for royal chargers to graze. Stav nearer to the outer gates bustled about, uncertain what was happening on the lawns.
Whatever pestilence came with Skul Drek dimmed the palace lawns in gloomy mists, as though a storm had descended around the royal house. It was difficult to see through the haze.
Roark stumbled. On instinct, I reached out to steady him.
Our eyes locked. There, buried in the wild gold, was pain, fear. He looked at me with a desperation I’d never seen before.
I pulled my hands away, stepping back, hurt and betrayal like venom in my blood.
“Attack at the palace,” Emi cried to three fellow Stav who patrolled the outer edges of the grounds. “Sentry Ashwood was wounded. We’re to evacuate the melder.”
She kicked at the horrified guards. Roark’s neck was sopping in blood, and his breaths came heavy. With effort, he gestured at the men to follow Emi’s command, to defend the royal house.
They were taking me. No. I couldn’t leave. “Wait, no!”
“Lyra, get on the damn horse.” Emi shoved between my shoulders, nudging me toward a tall, black gelding. “You are the melder and must be protected. King’s orders.”
Good gods, she was playing such a role. Shouting loud enough any Stav would hear and ignore my frenzy, while heeding hers.
Betrayal stung.
“They have Kael,” I sobbed when Roark hooked an arm around my waist, heaving me toward the horse. “They have Kael!”
A rough gasp sounded in Roark’s throat, like he was choking on the blood coating his neck, or angry to think Kael was taken from me. His shoulders heaved with heavy breaths.
“Roark. Make your choice,” Emi snapped. “We are out of time.”
He faced the walls, then turned to the mists that looked too reminiscent of the mirror world. Sweat dampened his brow. His skin was pale. When his arms tightened around my body, my heart sank.
“No.” I shook my head, fists curling around his tunic.
You above everything . His words moved against my face. Burn it all if it means you still live .
Roark was not gentle when he bent me across the flanks of the horse. Emi moved even swifter. She reeled around, forcing me upright in a position on the back of the horse.
“Emi, gods, stop!” I tried to shove her back as tears bled down my cheeks.
“Open your eyes, Lyra! There is no place for you here, not a place where you survive long enough to tell whatever it is you know.”
Roark kicked a leg over the horse, settling behind me. I was half wrapped in his arms, half clinging to the mane of the horse.
“Go.” Emi smacked the flank of the beast. “I’ll meet you at the willow!”
Without a word, Roark fled toward the gates. Stav Guard were frantic, most rushing toward the palace, others preparing to seal the gates.
He sat stiff and powerful. To those watching the Sentry race away with the melder, no mistake, it would appear like a sanctioned escape to protect the king’s prize. To me, I heard the rattle of his breaths, felt the heat of blood on his skin, absorbed the tremble of his hand pressed possessively on my middle.
Tears burned in my eyes, catching flecks of dust and dirt as we rode until it was difficult to see much of anything.
Ten paces from the gates and a broken, venomous shout shattered through my heart.
“Roark.”
It was the only voice capable of bringing Roark to pause. The horse snorted and Roark twisted around, peering through the wisps of mists the shadow of Skul Drek kept stirring.
Thane, sweat-soaked and weary, let his sword fall from his grip.
Roark winced, and pressed a hand to his chest, a simple gesture, a plea for forgiveness.
The prince’s face twisted with pain, and Roark Ashwood turned his back on Stonegate, racing us into the wood beyond the gates.