Roark looked at me with potent hatred; I could practically taste the sour burn of it. He stepped closer until our chests brushed. For a breath, two, I was frozen, locked in a spell.

“Stop this,” I whispered. “Take me.”

Ashwood pulled me into him. Shoulders to hips, I was pressed against the bastard who’d caused this. I thrashed and tried to pry myself free, but where I stepped, so did the Sentry, as though he were my broader reflection on a glass pond.

Ashwood’s eyes held a new fire, a touch of warning, and gooseflesh lifted on my arms beneath his grip.

Women hugged their children to their breasts, sobbing. Men had gone for anything they could swing—stokers, carving knives, platters. Mead stained the floors, and breads and iced cakes were crumbled and smashed along tables.

Roark held up a fist and the Stav ceased their fight, wrestling the last of their opponents to the floor until the commotion faded into eerie quiet.

“Ly,” Kael shouted. “Don’t you dare.”

Roark adjusted his hold, so my back was against his chest.

“You want them to live?” Baldur smirked. “Then impress us, and we leave Skalfirth with no more blood.”

“How?” My breaths were heavy against the Sentry’s body.

A woman materialized from the crowd. Clad in a fur cloak hemmed in red, the attire of Stonegate bone crafters. Her golden braids were styled in a crown around her head, and her mouth set in a taut line as she paused ten paces away. The flicker of lanterns in the hall glared over the shocking blue in her eyes.

She was Draven.

There were distinct markers of the Draven people—eyes in rich shades, so bright they practically glowed, and with her hair tied back I could make out a design of a double-headed raven on her neck, a ceremonial mark I’d once read was given to every Draven child by their third summer. For each household in Dravenmoor, different symbols might be added, much like the runes inked behind my ear.

Doubtless if Ashwood tossed back his hair, I would see his.

“You do not want your so-called brother to die, right?” Baldur tilted his head toward Kael.

Kael glared at me. I could nearly hear him demanding I shut my mouth and let him take the consequences. He was a stubborn bastard, but I could be even worse.

“I don’t want him to be killed,” I said firmly.

“Then save his life in a way only a melder can, and he’ll receive his wish to join the Stav Guard.” The captain unsheathed a dagger on his belt. “Fail to save him and we’ll be short another crafter, and the people of this village will have nothing but stars overhead tonight. Those who survive.”