Heir of Twisted Lies

1

Lyra

Pressed against my ribs was a dagger stained with blood that had long since dried black.

Water lapped at the thick logs of the makeshift boat. The rails were uneven and the floorboards were roughly cut with cracks, leaving my feet soaked in the rimy water of the Black Fjords.

It felt like ages since I'd been tossed into the vessel and forced to cross the neck of the cove, toward the enemy border of Dravenmoor. In truth, we'd only sailed through the whole of one night. The upper forest of Jorvandal had been long ago blotted out with a velvet shroud of night, and now, in the pearly mists of dawn, nothing but unknowns lay ahead.

I hugged my knees against my chest but lifted my chin, staring at the warrior aiming the blade into my ribs. Four lanterns hung from separate posts on either side of the boat, and the amber light cast angry shadows over his features. From beneath the pelt of a brindle fox covering his head, he kept watch over me through the narrow slits of blue eyes, sharp and cold as a first frost.

"What are you staring at, Melder?"

It was the first word any of the surrounding warriors had spoken to me, and I could not find the strength nor desire to reply. Instead of looking away, I merely studied him. As though marking every scar, every line of his face, might help make sense of all this.

From beneath his pelt, more than one lock of golden hair fell over his shoulder. Nearly the same shade as Kael's.

My heart burned, a knife to the center.

Kael. My brother, my truest friend, remained trapped behind the impenetrable walls of the Stonegate royal keep in Jorvandal. Fadey, the once-dead melder, was alive. Along with the cruel Queen Ingir, Fadey had stolen Kael from me.

Panic, despair, and rage were cruel foes, the sort that drew their blades swift and deep. I felt them all lodged deep in the sinews of my heart, and I could not stop the sharp, jagged breaths from sliding over my lips.

I wanted to scream and bite. I yearned to turn the blade on the Dark Watcher eyeing me like I might lunge at any moment. I ached to curl inside myself, somewhere dark and distant, and never emerge lest a new reality take shape.

"If you're going to be sick, spew it over the side," the warrior grumbled.

Focus. Piece by piece, my resolve to not bend in front of the Dark Watch splintered beneath the weight of reality. I peeled my stare from the watcher and looked to the palish sky, recalling the moments that brought me here, shivering and seething among the Dark Watch army.

Damir, the Jorvan king, was dead, and blame for his murder was placed at my feet.

And now they had Kael.

I abandoned Kael.

No. I was forced to leave.

"Make ready to dock." Somewhere across the raft another warrior called out the command.

Darkly clad bodies rose, stretching arms overhead, cracking necks side to side, and readying more blades in sheaths and scabbards.

When I stood, my blood felt too cold in my veins, my feet had long gone numb, and I nearly crumbled when my knees bent. My long, dark braid had loosened from the winds, and no matter how I braced against the bite of it, the cold dug into the marrow of my bones.

A gentle hand curled around my wrist. Glassy, vibrant blue eyes locked with mine. Emi Nightlark, a woman I'd considered a friend-before everything fell apart-stepped beside me.

"They're going to try to keep you separated," she whispered. "Stay by me."

I didn't have a moment to puzzle out what she meant before both of us were shoved forward toward the rail of the boat.

"Get moving," the Dark Watcher snarled, his lip curled like a snapping wolf's. His contempt flicked between me and Emi, like the sight of us turned his insides.

Emi curled an arm around my waist and whirled on the man. "You'd be wise to stay your hands from the melder. You are being watched very closely."

As if the warrior could sense the sharpness of distant disdain, he looked over his shoulder.

On the far side of the boat, a man stalled while packing a leather satchel with rope and what seemed to be a bone-hilt knife. The commotion drew the molten gold of his eyes to the silver scars in mine-fire and starlight.

Him. He'd taken me from the Stonegate fortress, insisting my life was of more value than Kael's. He'd taken me.

Roark Ashwood. My hunter. My protector. My lover. My liar.

For a heated moment, Roark looked nowhere but at me, then he slowly tilted his regard toward the warrior. Shadows doused the fire of his eyes, a sharp reminder of the secrets and lies the man carried soul deep.

At my side, the warrior shifted uneasily and rested a hand on the amber pommel of his blade.

He cleared his throat and used his chin to gesture us forward. "Move, then."

Emi tightened her hold around my waist and leaned into me. "Keep Roark in your sights."

Truth be told, I wanted to flee from them all, even Emi. As his cousin, she'd kept Roark's secrets as well as he had. She'd deceived me and her own lover.

Pain and betrayal urged me to pull away, but something fiercer, something deeper than instinct, kept me at her side. Like the friendship forged behind the walls of Stonegate crafted a bond made of sturdier things than the mistrust between us now.

Then again, Emi was not the one who'd shattered my heart.

When my boots sank into the damp sand of the shoreline, I looked behind me. Back to him.

Roark shouldered the satchel, his jaw pulsing with tension so fiercely I was certain it ached, but he studied my every move, my every breath. Like the shadow he'd always been, he remained on the brink of attack, a villainous predator.

The Dark Watch of Dravenmoor had been subtly trying to separate us along the journey from the wood to the Black Fjords. What I knew of Roark Ashwood was that should he be pushed too far, blood would spill.

He seemed on the brink of bloodlust even now, and I hated how I felt the need to go to him, to soothe whatever fury burned under the surface. After it all, how was it that I still yearned to be near the man?

Once, I was taught folk could never truly know a heart until they saw the darkness kept inside. But there was more to it. No one ever mentioned that to love the darker edges of a heart would consume everything. And never did I anticipate that the dark heart I fell in love with would belong to a damn prince.

A vicious truth I'd discovered not even a full sunrise before.

Was he a gallant prince from fables and sagas, like the glittering lovers that Gammal read tales of to me in the youth house so many seasons ago? No. He was the sort of prince so vicious the heroes of lore would cower at his feet and name him the villain. A man hauntingly beautiful and more inclined to slit a throat than to touch it gently, save in rare moments with me.

With me, those fingers traced my skin with a sort of reverence. In those moments, he owned me-body, heart, and soul.

I tore my gaze away and looked forward to the path ahead. Somewhere during the journey, with nothing but my tumbling thoughts to lead, Roark's lies grew into a poison tainting those sweeter memories of us together. Every cruel omission of the truth stained the tenderness of his touch, the burn of his eyes, the taste of his kiss.

How much of it was true and how much of it was to gain the trust of the melder?

It would be wiser not to feel, not to desire.

There was no longer any existence where twisted lies were not tangled between us.

"Keep pace." A tall brute of a man waved the Dark Watch warriors forward. "We need to be off road before sunrise. Move your asses."

More than one warrior shoved past me and Emi, knocking our shoulders. I was pushed aside, proving who claimed their true ire.

More warriors filtered between us, and soon Emi was drawn into the rows of Dark Watchers, at least ten paces ahead. A touch of panic brightened her eyes when she looked back, and I thought she might've called my name before she was blocked by a taller warrior.

Alone. Among those who'd be glad to ram a blade into my spine.

I quickened my steps and followed the procession up a slope from the shore until the fjord was shielded by trees and thick branches, a militant wall caging me away from any chance of freedom.

"Where do you think you're going, Melder?" A lanky Dark Watcher slipped against my side.

Another warrior chuckled and strode up next to my other shoulder, trapping me between them. "Slow down. Let us get to know each other better. Perhaps find a good reason why you ought to keep breathing."

Panic was tight in my chest. I held no power here, but I would not be slaughtered while whimpering. "Do not touch me."

He merely widened his grin. "Ah, but we know you prefer Draven cock. Must be something about you if-"

"You will step back," I said through my teeth. Craft flooded my veins, heady and cold. A taste like swallowing the tides of the sea coated my tongue, and a hint of smoke and ash burned in my lungs. I clenched one fist, readying to strike should he reach for me again. "I have melded a man's mouth shut. I have broken a Berserkir until he met Salur. I will do it again."

Something like hate darkened one of the watchers's cerulean eyes. "Do it. Gods, I hope you do. Give us a reason to end you . . ."

His words died off. Roark stepped in front of me. His stance was one of ease, almost like he was irritated that he needed to intervene at all.

Roark raised his hands to gesture a simple but direct command. We have the queen's word the melder enters the gates unharmed. Do you stand against your queen?

The watcher swallowed. "I . . . I don't understand."

With an agitated twist to his mouth, Roark looked to me and waved one palm.

He wanted me to . . . translate for him? I blinked, then repeated his words to the watcher.

The man seemed befuddled for a breath. "She can speak for you?"

Strange how she picked up my words swiftly. Others rarely can, not since my own clan ripped out my voice.

Damn him. Heat flooded my cheeks as I repeated Roark's words, but I left out the reek of bitterness in his silent tone.

The watcher's brow furrowed, but after a moment he stepped back. "She needs to keep up" was all he said before he fell in line with the rest.

For a few heartbeats, even surrounded by Draven warriors, it felt like Roark and I were alone.

I studied my hands, unsettled by his nearness. I'd felt the warmth of his bare skin pressed against mine, the heat of his mouth on my flesh, and now I hardly knew how to be in his presence.

For a man who'd sworn such violent devotion, he seemed wholly unbothered by the threats of the warrior. Tomas Grisen, the sod whose jaw I once melded shut, had threatened me, and Roark had forced him to eat his own finger.

Unbidden, a bite of pain lanced through my heart. Perhaps, surrounded by his own folk, the formidable Sentry was beginning to recall why his clan despised melders.

We need to move, Roark gestured and opened an arm for me to take the first step.

I didn't speak, merely followed the Dark Watch procession. What was there to say? Fate would never be on our side.

Better to end whatever had only just begun before more lives were lost.

2

Lyra

Briars and nettles blanketed the forest floor. Night settled over the trees like a satin shroud. Evening mists entwined the thick oaks and evergreens like claws slicing through the earth. A heavy chill in the air lifted the hair on my arms and caused each puff of breath to billow like a cloud in front of my lips.

I hugged my middle. My thoughts were too wild, too frenzied, to think of something so inconsequential as the cold.

Roark kept a steady pace. His knuckles had gone white from grasping the handle of his bearded ax with such ferocity. Any notion of comfort among his clan had faded.

As though he sensed my study, Roark looked my way. A shudder lined his breath when he turned my palm up. The gentle brush of his fingers against my skin spoke words only meant for me. I need you to remain close.

I winced but kept my voice low. "You were the one who settled away from me on the boat at the fjord."

Roark closed his eyes for half a breath, then barreled on, almost frantic. I cannot let on to the depth of my feelings for you. Not here. Last I confessed feelings for a melder, blood was spilled and my voice was lost.

Damn the gods. He was playing a role, a vicious prince who brought the melder along as something more like a prize he'd won.

Signs of his unease were all at once clearer-the way his shoulders never relaxed, the way his eyes kept scanning the rows of warriors, waiting for attack. The way his breaths were sharp and uneven.

Roark Ashwood was silently reliving the horrors of his past.

And I hadn't even noticed.

Unable to stop it, I felt a knot of anger tighten in my lower belly, sharp as broken glass. Anger for the raids that destroyed both our houses. Anger for a boy who'd done nothing but confess he felt something for a girl, then lost his soul for it.

I tugged on the end of my braid. "I don't know how to be near you anymore."

Roark spoke swiftly against my palm. Then find a way. I do not know how much longer I can keep my darker soul at bay should anyone else disrespect you. Stay close.

He took a long stride, abruptly ending any protest or comment from me.

But I took note of the way he kept flexing and extending his fingers, the way his neck was corded in tension, the way every step forward was forced.