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.

50

Lyra

Sunlight parted the canopy of branches overhead when Roark slowed the gelding.

He shuddered and doubled over, knocking me forward across the withers.

“Roark.” My throat was rough and dry from shouting. I scrambled to catch him before he toppled off the side, but merely managed to fall with him.

The horse whinnied and plodded off in a start, circling the copse until it settled for a bit of long grass. My ribs ached from where I’d struck something hard. Roark had landed on his shoulder and his body shuddered.

Darkness peeled off the trunks of trees, gathering from the edges of the wood, from every corner. Thick and cold, a shape was tangled in the billows of pitch—Skul Drek. The shade of his vibrant eyes was undeniable, and there for a mere moment before the darkness shrouded Roark.

His muscles clenched and pulsed, but as soon as the robe of shadows took him, it faded like morning mists.

Roark’s teeth clacked as his body convulsed, his muscles locked. He cracked his eyes and waved one hand, trying to speak.

“What?” I rested a hand on his chest, watching his fingers.

Over and over again, he repeated one word. Fealty. Then lifted his opposing finger.

The fealty bond with Thane. The prince could find me through Roark.

A tap found my wrist. Roark’s warm, shocking eyes locked with mine. He moved his fingers against my palm. Take it.

I shook my head. “No. You’re…you’re a traitor.”

Roark shuddered, his jaw tensed. Not to you.

“It will destroy him, Lyra.”

I jolted and spun toward the trees. Emi, disheveled and coated in smudges of ash and dirt, stepped between two trees. She blinked, a tear falling to her cheek. When she swiped it away, a streak of mud smeared over her face.

Emi took out a knife from a sheath on her thigh. “The place where the fealty shard was taken must be removed or the craft binding the vow will kill him. If you care for him at all, even if it is only that you want answers, sever it.”

“You do it.” The thought of cutting through Roark’s bones was nauseating.