Convinced they were not being poisoned, I let my shoulders slump. “Why can’t I stay with them?”

“You are the melder, that means you have chambers of your own.”

“Is King Damir going to execute Kael?”

Emi sighed. “The king will be more inclined to keep you breathing than kill him, and you’ve proven well enough you’ll spill your own blood to protect him. Darkwin knowingly concealed a melder—it is against the ways of the Stav. He’ll face consequences for it; you know that, right?”

I gave Emi a terse nod and followed her toward a wide archway that opened into narrow corridors.

Drawn by the sear of his gaze, I looked once more over my shoulder.

Roark’s eyes burned like molten steel, his jaw taut like it was made from the stone at the gates. The way he looked at me, I could not tell if the Sentry feared for my life, or if he could not wait to take it himself.

Tall ceilings were made with rafters crossing this way and that, and more wrought iron chandeliers held dripping tallow candles. Bone blades, arrows, and whalebone bows decorated the walls, all symbols of King Damir’s bold bloodline that won the land of Jorvandal through the centuries.

Emi stopped in front of a door painted in thin vines with violet blossoms on the corners. “Rest tonight.”

“I doubt I will.”

“Try. In the morning wait for the escort to arrive, then you’ll meet the king and queen.”

“You won’t take me?” I was ashamed at the tremble in my voice, ashamed there was a strange, twisted piece of me that took a bit of comfort in the familiarity of Emi Nightlark.

“I am to see to your brother and the others.” She hesitated. “Would you like me to return?”

“No. I hope you are sincere and keep those I love safe.”

“You’ve no reason to trust me, or any of us, but I hope you give us the chance to try.”

Without another word, Emi strode back down the corridor, unbuckling her vambraces and a few tight braids in her hair as she went, leaving me with the dreaded weight of loneliness.

15

Roark

Emi sat with her back to me, her pale hair free and loose down her back. She was a woman who appeared harmless, dainty even. I knew better and stiffened when she caught sight of me in her mirror.

“Roark. Always lurking in the doorway.” She spun around on the stool, the sharp blue of her eyes narrowed into icy slits. “Afraid to come closer?”

I waved my hand. Always. Did you see the melder to her chamber?

“I did, along with the other crafters to theirs.”

Good. I hesitated. I apologize for Skalfirth.