Lyra's POV
The sound of his voice tore through me like a blade.
Rowan.
The name itself was poison a taste of ash and old betrayal that burned the back of my throat. Kaelan's father's friend once, before loyalty soured and turned into ruin. The man who had smiled at my father across council fires and then sold his soul for power.
He stepped out of the torchlight, and the shadows peeled away from his form like torn flesh. His body was wrong half flesh, half smoke, veins glowing faintly red beneath ghost-pale skin. He looked like a man resurrected through the wrong kind of prayer. The stench of rot and old blood clung to him like a second scent.
Kaelan's sword was in his hand before I could move. His voice came out low and dangerous, the kind of tone that made even spirits falter.
"Impossible. I buried you myself."
