“Lyra, by the gods.” Thane’s voice shattered the dripping shadows of the mirror land and snapped me forward into the moment. The prince looked at me when an archer fell from his perch in the trees. “Woman, now that is the proper way to shoot an arrow.”

I blinked, stared at my palms for a breath, then grinned as I nocked the next arrow. More than rank melding, more than fealty bones, I could meld damn arrows to the bones of our enemies.

“There’s Edvin.” Hilda’s fingers curled into fists. I wasn’t certain she even breathed.

True enough, her brother stood among the Stav, one of the only men who wore nothing but a loose tunic and a leathersmith jerkin. Edvin swung a stone mallet, cracking jaws and spines and knees.

Never had I seen the quiet-spoken bone crafter with such hatred in his movements.

My muscles clenched with every arrow the prince shot over the wall from his childhood hut. I took longer to fire since I guided the strands of my craft to my targets, but the shots were clean. Deadly.

It was a mark to Thane’s character and devotion to his folk that he was here, fighting unseen for them. The more the fighting raged, the more violence coursed through me. Not so long ago, I would keep to the back of the great hall, head down.

Now I wanted to stand beside the prince and charge into battle to defend this keep.

“Last arrow,” I said when Thane’s hand brushed mine on the quiver.

The prince handed it to me. “Your accuracy is impeccable.”

I pushed it back toward him. “But these are your men. You do the honor.”

The prince studied me for a breath, then winked and nocked his weapon, firing into the battle.

In the frenzy of searching for Kael, I found Roark instead.

Gods, the Sentry was mesmerizing in the way he moved. Like a secret on the wind, he fought with a finesse and agility the ravagers could not meet. In one hand, Roark had his battle-ax, in the other a short blade.

He spun and ducked and jabbed. The Sentry dug fissures through skulls in one breath, then turned and opened chests in the next.

The Death Bringer.

It was no wonder so many looked upon him with a sort of reverent fear.

Ravagers fled toward the trees. The Stav pushed them back, cheering and calling out their threats.

I looked nowhere but at Ashwood.

The Sentry stalked a ravager, a man who was scrambling backward on his hands and heels. He was shouting something I could not hear, but it was enough to bring Roark to pause for a breath, two. Then, with a mighty heave, the Sentry swung his ax, catching the curved blade between the ravager’s eyes.

With a jolt, the ravager’s body went slack.

The siege was over.