“Dravens do not despise us because we absorb the strength of fallen souls. They have done worse with their twisted craft.” Damir’s mouth tightened. “They are angered because they cannot overpower us. They want to slaughter melders to level the battlefield, Lyra. For without melders, soul bones would never be. You see why you must not step outside the gates without protection? More than me, they will strike at you. That is saying a great deal, for Queen Elisabet of Dravenmoor would sooner slit my throat than talk peacefully.”

I knew little of the Draven royal line—only rumors passed on by Skald tales or hungry traders in Skalfirth that the queen was a fearsome woman who could rend the soul of her own people with the flick of her hand.

“Craft was meant to be unified.” Damir’s voice drew me away from my thoughts. “Dravens do not agree. They use their soul craft to manipulate and punish their folk. It is cruel. Look at our Sentry. His people tortured him, left him scarred and brutalized as a mere boy.”

I blinked, a little horrified.

“What we do here is for the protection and benefit of our folk,” Damir said.

By creating his manipulated Berserkir army. I rubbed the chill off my arms. “If I may ask, sire, why give such power to the Stav? Forgive me, but why not meld soul bones only to you?”

“If I found soul bones powerful enough to leave me invincible, perhaps I might.” Damir chuckled. “Stav deserve the honor of the gods as much as their king. This brings us back to rank melding. Within the fortnight, four Stav Guard will be named captains. Their honor is a soul bone, which you will place within them. The same as you did for Stav Darkwin.”

Damir uncrossed his ankle and leaned his elbows onto his knees. “There is more you must do, Lyra. What I am about to ask, I urge you to speak truthfully. When you meld the bones, tell me, is there anything you feel, anything you see in your mind’s eye?”

My throat went dry. Stun must have been painted across my face. Damir grinned like he’d won some grand victory.

“These lands are filled with the fallen of the first kings. Warriors who had craft from the Wanderer. Fadey explained there is a feeling, a sort of glow, that led him in the direction of unmarked burial mounds from across the centuries.”

“He did not go into the shadows?”

Damir cocked his head. “Shadows?”

Gods, what was the shadow and phantom I saw? “Nothing. I have felt something, but did not know what it meant.”

Damir’s face softened. “That is your craft reaching out to bridge the living souls to the fallen. You will follow it and tell us where to forage.”

“You use these bones for rank melding?”