Already, rawhide drums thudded a steady beat in the corner alongside the songbird tune of a panpipe and the plucking strings of a tagelharpa. Too many bodies shoved inside. Folk from across the kingdoms traveled to and from Stonegate for trade, and to catch a glimpse of the capital of Jorvandal.

Mothers with their daughters laughed and daintily sipped from drinking horns near tables. No mistake, until Thane took his vows with Princess Yrsa, the daughters of Jorvandal would be tossed in front of the prince’s feet.

As though Thane had any say in the matter of his bride.

I led Lyra to a back table. A line of young Stav Guard tasked with watching the doors stiffened on our approach, all arching their faces to avoid my scrutiny.

Lyra huffed when I placed her into a chair at the table and snatched a horn from one of the trays being passed around. Ale sloshed over the rim after I pounded the horn on the table too hard.

She glared at me. “I never expected my first revel would be spent hidden in the corner, drinking alone. Might as well take me back to my tower and lock me away, Sentry Ashwood.”

I would love nothing more.

She snorted with derision and took a long gulp, wincing through the bite of the drink, muttering something like ass under her breath.

This would be a damn long night.

“Ly!” The boom of Darkwin’s voice lifted over the heads of the patrons.

Emi stood at Kael’s side, and behind them were the two bone crafters taken from Skalfirth. Truth be told, I hadn’t seen them since arriving at Stonegate. Damir would let them stew in their misery until the next full moon, for the sake of his melder, no doubt, but soon enough they’d be taken up into society to strengthen the king’s influence.

The man—I could not recall his name—looked practically murderous behind his sister.

“Kael.” Lyra waved, a look of relief replacing her disdain for me.

Darkwin paused at the table, dipping his chin with a hurried, “Sentry Ashwood,” then sat beside Lyra. Kael adjusted his new Stav blade with the wolf head pommel and made room for Emi and the other crafters to find a place.

“Hilda.” Lyra took the woman’s hand and squeezed. “How are you?”

The bone crafter woman had dark eyes that collided with the paleness of her hair. They hardened when she lifted her gaze and met mine. “I was torn from my husband after being wed a month.” Hilda pasted a false smile on her lips and peeled her attention to Lyra. “How would you be?”

I did not feel guilt over what was done. That would be reckless and hint that I cared about crafters.

I didn’t.