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.