Kael folded his arms over his chest, the chains clinking with the motion. “I’m not as worthless as you think.” He held up a finger, ticking off each word as he spoke. “I have bone craft. I am a skilled fighter. I am of legitimate noble blood. And Jakobson apparently offered a payment to keep me from slaughter.”

“What? The jarl…offered payment?”

Kael sniffed and looked away. “Disown me in name, but it seems the sod has some sort of affection for me. Nightlark told me before Baldur left, the jarl paid a fine with the request for the king’s mercy. So, stop risking your bony neck.” He glared at me. “As desperately as you want me to keep breathing, remember I feel the same about you. No more idiotic plans, no more pissing on the Sentry’s limited generosity. At least not without telling me.”

For a moment, I said nothing. Slowly, a grin crept over my features. I nudged Kael’s ribs with my elbow. “Accomplices?”

He looked down at me like he did not want to indulge me, but it took a mere five breaths before Kael chuckled. “Accomplices always.”

“By the way, I’m quite proud of you.”

“Why is that?”

“You finally called Jakobson a sod.”

Our levity lasted a moment longer before a shadow crossed over us. His presence was a force, a silky darkness that lifted the hair on my neck and turned my insides. But the maddening piece of it was I wasn’t certain if they overturned out of disgust or intrigue.

Kael straightened out of respect in the same moment I looked over my shoulder. “Sentry Ashwood.”

Roark had washed the dirt and blood from his face and wore a clean, black tunic. In his hands were a set of chains much like Kael’s.

Emi stepped around the Sentry. “It’s time to be on our way. You’re to be bound, for your own safety, Melder.”

I snorted, but bit down on the tip of my tongue. Arms outstretched, I didn’t look away as Roark bound the iron around my wrists. His molten eyes poured into me when he gripped the chain and tugged me against him.

His hand was near my cheek when he spoke, slow and sharp. By me.

I grimaced. “As you say, my lord Sentry.”

14

Lyra

Loath as I was to admit it, traveling beside Roark was not horrid. The man knew how to avoid the rockiest paths. He moved like a wraith, drifting from shadow to shadow, and kept us out of the heat of the day better than others.

On the winding earthen paths that carved through the damp and mists of the wood, it was in those moments when I learned the Sentry’s face could seem…gentle.