Silverblood

by Jamie Foley

  Gentle wind through Sorrel’s feathers drifted him into the long sleep.

  Ryon ducked into an alleyway, leaning against the corner of an abandoned house for support as he released the Phoera energy that shrouded him. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. He’d used more of the element for stealth in the past few weeks than ever before. Good practice for his skills, but exhausting. Thankfully Felix had given him plenty of the syn Zamara had released when she’d died.

  He shook his head as if trying to jiggle the fatigue loose. If only someone else could make these supply runs, he could focus on escorting groups of people out through the root caves and on to freedom in the forest to the north. The Roanoke received every group with smiles and songs and fish soup, but Ryon wondered how many more refugees the small tribe could handle.

  And how many more of these excursions he could make. Eventually, the survivors would have to compromise and allow other elementalists to take the risk of stealthing through the city for necessities. Like that teenage refugee who had an obvious crush on Kira.

  Ryon pulled his hood up, lest his silver hair catch the sunlight and draw unwanted attention. No Malaano soldiers in sight, though. Which was probably why Oda’e’s quartermaster had chosen this location as the drop-off point.

  He found a basket and dug through its contents. Carved bowls, cured hides and quilts, soap that smelled like goat’s milk and oats, and torches dipped in fresh sap. Everything Kira had asked for.

  Ryon took a deep breath and hefted the basket. Not too heavy this time.

  “Idryon?”

  Ryon startled and turned to find a tall man standing in the shadows behind him. He certainly hadn’t been there before.

  The man stepped forward into the light. “Do you remember me?” he asked.

  He certainly seemed familiar. Emberhawk, to be sure—possibly nobility from the bright glow of his golden eyes and hair the same mercurial color as Ryon’s. But he was dressed in leather armor and dark cloth instead of colorful silks.

  The man’s name emerged suddenly in Ryon’s mind. “Xavier.”

  They’d grown up around the palace together but had never been close friends. Xavier was Lysander’s friend. Especially recently. Too recently.

  Ryon’s blood simmered. “You’re the one who poisoned Brooke.”

  Xavier made a face like a child who’d been caught with his cheeks stained by joyberry cobbler. “Normally people are happy when their boss dies.” His voice was smooth as honey. “Lysander said he saved her, so why can’t anyone find her?”

  The basket cracked as Ryon gripped harder. “Do you honestly think I’d tell you where she was even if I knew?”

  “Well, you are the son of the traitor, so it wouldn’t be that far-fetched.” Xavier hooked his thumbs on his belt. “But I’m not here to hurt her or you or anyone. I come in peace with an invitation from the queen.”

  Ryon’s muscles remained tense. “Illiana is not the rightful queen.”

  “She sits on the throne and wears the crown regardless.” Xavier shrugged. “And pays well.”

  “What does she want?” Ryon seethed.

  “She wants to speak with you. She’s just arrived at the Great Hall. I came to assist you in evading the Malaano.” Xavier tilted his head. “Although it seems you don’t require help in that regard.”

  “No thanks.” Ryon turned on his heel and headed down the alley.

  “A request from your queen is an order,” Xavier called behind him.

  “She’s not my queen,” Ryon growled. He summoned the flows of Phoera, which rejected the light around him and cloaked him in darkness.

  Just as quickly, the reflection was torn from him like scales from a fish. Ryon lost his grip on the element and felt himself reappear. He cursed and backpedaled to duck into the alley once again.

  Two guards chatted at the distant turn of a muddy street, oblivious to Ryon.

  He glared over his shoulder at Xavier.

  “I’m sorry,” Xavier said with an amused look. “But I have orders to escort you to the queen.”

  Ryon could feel his veins pumping. “I said no.”

  Xavier watched him for a long moment. Then he disappeared.

  Ryon slipped into a crouch, his hand itching for his dagger. Instead he held onto the basket and redoubled his stealth, slipping back into the darkness. Surely Xavier couldn’t maintain his own invisibility and sabotage Ryon’s at the same time. Escape was just a matter of remaining silent.

  He moved from his last known location as quickly as possible. But the earth was soft and sandy—he was leaving tracks.

  Ryon heard footsteps a second before something slammed into his back and clamped down on his throat.

  He dropped the basket, spilling supplies as he pulled at the arm around his neck. Xavier tightened the chokehold, wrenching Ryon from behind.

  Ryon shifted to the side and slammed his elbow backward into Xavier’s gut. Xavier grunted but didn’t relent.

  He gasped for air but none came. He bent his knees, leaned forward, and curled over, hurtling Xavier over his back to slam onto the ground in front of him.

  Xavier still didn’t let go, bringing Ryon with him in an awkward collapse of limbs.

  The edges of Ryon’s vision darkened as his lungs burned for air. He released Xavier’s arm around his throat, grabbed his knife from its sheath, and drove it toward Xavier’s side.

  Xavier let go and took Ryon’s arm instead, but the blade’s tip had already pierced his armor. Ryon gulped in air as Xavier twisted his wrist, wrenching it until Ryon dropped the knife and scrambled up.

  Ryon staggered away and reached for his machete.

  Xavier disappeared.

  Ryon cursed and struggled to summon the element. The syn felt sluggish in his blood. He gave up on the invisibility, grabbed a torch from the ground, and snapped to light it with a roaring flame. He wielded his machete in one hand and the fire in the other, watching the ground for footprints to appear in the sandy soil.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Xavier’s voice came from the right. “Just come with—”

  Ryon directed the torch’s flame to lash out like a fireball. It whipped onto the ground, searing the soil with an acrid smell.

  The flames bent around a void in their center. Xavier reappeared, the fire extinguishing at his outstretched hand.

  Ryon pointed his machete at Xavier’s placid face, daring him to approach as he caught his breath.

  Xavier drew a shortsword and lunged at him.

  Ryon took a step back and parried, his heart slamming into his ribs. He sidestepped and stabbed at Xavier’s chest.

  Xavier dodged to the side and blocked the strike. His sword screeched along Ryon’s blade until it slammed into the hilt and twirled. Ryon’s hand erupted in pain and released the machete without his permission.

  Ryon shoved the torch into Xavier’s face.

  Xavier roared. Something connected with Ryon’s jaw and his vision exploded. He stumbled back.

  Crack. An impact on the side of his head sent him crumpling to the earth.

  Time slowed as Ryon’s hearing reduced to a high-pitched whine. He squeezed his eyelids open and shut, trying to clear his vision as he struggled to regain his feet.

  His body wasn’t responding as it should. Terror redoubled and chilled him as realization dawned.

  Xavier was a professional assassin. Ryon was just a scout.

  He was prey in a tiger’s lair.

  An arm clamped around his neck from behind, just as before. It cinched tight like a vise.

  Ryon embraced his element and screamed with the last breath trapped in his lungs, fire exploding from his skin in a blinding fury. The heat consumed him, alighting his nerves, but the choking grasp released him.

  He wheezed and panted as the world tilted. His legs were too weak to lift him, so he crawled. Pulled himself through shards of molten, sandy glass that burned through his clothing and seared his flesh.

  His neck constri
cted again. He couldn’t breathe.

  His strength was stolen, his element spent.

  Kira . . .

  Blackness smothered him, and his consciousness flitted away.

  Kira’s hands shook as she lifted a hand-carved bowl from the earth and brushed sandy soil from it. The supplies she’d requested for the refugees had been spilled, scattered, and forgotten.

  Ryon wasn’t just late. He was in trouble.

  She dropped the bowl and examined the mess of footprints and grooves in the earth, indicating a struggle. One set of tracks looked to be Ryon’s. Soft in the way that they pressed into the ground—probably his moccasins, which he wore instead of his boots when he had reason to reduce the sound of his footsteps.

  Another set of prints came from further down the alleyway. Bigger, but also soft, hinting that they were shoes made of leather as well.

  Kira bit the inside of her lip. Did that mean Ryon’s attacker was a user of elemental invisibility as well?

  “Here,” Tekkyn called.

  Kira hurried to her brother’s position, careful not to disturb the story the tracks told. Tekkyn pointed to a flickering light in the soil. No—a reflection. Dozens of them. Shards of glass, misshapen and smooth, not sharp as if from a broken vase. Dirty with mud and speckled with sand, as if they’d been melted from the earth itself and left there.

  Kira’s pulse pounded as she studied the glass droplets. They appeared in a circular pattern, except on one end where it appeared something had been dragged through along the ground. Something heavy.

  Tekkyn whistled low. “Must have been some fight to get hot enough to turn sand to glass.”

  The world blurred as Kira retreated into her thoughts. Who could use Phoera to produce temperatures that hot? Maybe Ryon, with the excess syn Felix had given him from Zamara. But what about the other one—probably a man, since the tracks were larger than Ryon’s. If Ryon had won, wouldn’t he have returned with the supplies? Had the encounter left him horribly burned?

  Please just be alive!

  Kira snapped back to reality and hastily searched for blood. Nothing too obvious. After a minute, she found a few dark smears. Maybe just mud.

  She dipped her fingers into the thick substance and lifted them to her nose. It smelled of the sharp tang of minerals.

  Blood. Congealed and darkened with time. But not fully dried thanks to the moisture of the surrounding earth—perhaps only an hour or two?

  “Not enough for him to be seriously injured,” Tekkyn murmured as he crouched beside her. “And maybe not even his blood.”

  Kira stared at the deep red on her fingers. Was this the last of Ryon she’d ever touch?

  Where are you?

  “Hey.” Tekkyn dropped a thick hand on Kira’s shoulder. “We didn’t find a body or a lot of blood. Which means they might not have been fighting with weapons. Which means whoever did this probably wanted him alive.”

  Kira shook with the effort to contain a sudden onslaught of horror. Shock. Confusion. Despair.

  This was too much. Hadn’t they been through enough?

  Tekkyn shook her gently, but she didn’t meet his gaze. “We’ll find him, Frizz. I swear it.”

  Kira sucked in a breath and her lungs spasmed. “It was probably another light-bender,” she said in a constricted voice, trying desperately to restrain her emotions and return to logic and reason. “Or a sound-bender like Lysander. Someone who uses Phoera for stealth.” She pointed at the most distinct impression of a footprint. “Aren’t they the only ones who wear leather shoes?”

  “Sekoiako wear moccasins too,” Tekkyn stood, his light armor creaking with the movement. “At least, the ones we encountered on the border last year did.”

  But that didn’t make any sense. “Have you seen any Sekoiako in Jadenvive recently?”

  “No. But I heard there were a few who delivered medical aid and food after the Emberhawk attack.”

  “It must have been a Katrosi,” Kira whispered. “Maybe an azure mask.”

  But what would the azure masks want with Ryon? Had one gone rogue?

  “No, most of the Katrosi who wear moccasins have a split for the toe,” Tekkyn said.

  Kira blinked up at him. “What?”

  “They keep the big toe separate. Makes climbin’ easier.” Tekkyn knelt back down and drew in a clear spot on the sand with his finger. It looked to be a footprint, but with the largest toe distinct from the rest of the imprint. “Their tracks would probably look something like this.”

  Kira stared at his drawing, understanding his words but not grasping the implications. “That can’t be true. If the Katrosi wore moccasins like that, Ryon would too.”

  “But Ryon doesn’t climb as much as he walks. He’s a scout—or he was. So this design doesn’t really make sense for him,” Tekkyn said. “But I’ve seen it on several orange masks who guard the city. They need to be able to climb all over the tree limbs to stop criminals and such. And a lot of the azures wear this design, too. Trust me; I got a good look when they took me to Brooke ’cause they thought I was involved in the assault.”

  Kira tried to coax her spinning mind into focusing, but it seemed nearly impossible through the chaos of her emotions. Finally, she got her voice to work again. “So you’re saying this man was Sekoiako?”

  Tekkyn shrugged. “Maybe, but that seems unlikely.”

  Kira had seen this style of shoe before. Tribal merchants with whom she’d traded cherry jam. Travellers who’d passed through Navarro—Katrosi and Sekoiako, probably. The Roanoke had been barefoot for the most part. What about the Emberhawk?

  Her bones chilled. Lysander wore shoes of this make. And so had Sylendrin, if she remembered correctly.

  Emberhawk combatants. Assassins. The arsonists and butchers of Jadenvive.

  Surely Lysander wouldn’t attack his own cousin. Hadn’t he left with Brooke?

  But the rest of the Emberhawk who’d attacked the city were dead.

  Except the one who’d poisoned Brooke.

  Kira’s breath caught and a tear escaped. No, the evidence here didn’t look like Ryon had been killed by that assassin. But then why would he be taken alive? What did the Emberhawk want with him?

  She suddenly recalled their encounter with Zamara in the forest. The one they’d barely survived.

  Zamara had tracked Ryon down because she’d wanted him to return home with her. To Quin’Zamar.

  To marry her daughter.

  Illiana.

  “I think Ryon was taken by the Emberhawk.”

  Kira’s father looked up at her with tired eyes. Clearly she wasn’t his first meeting of the day.

  “What?”

  Admitting it out loud made the urge to cry well up inside Kira, so she decided not to repeat herself. Instead she clenched her fists and curled her toes, trying to imprison her emotions while staring hard at the inkwell on the table in front of her. She took a steadying breath, then forced herself to look up at Commander Oda’e.

  His eyes cleared of fatigue as he leaned forward and motioned for a guard to close both doors on either side of the map room. “Was he discovered as he led a group out to the Roanoke?”

  “No, he was attacked.” Kira forcefully cleared her throat. “Here in the city.”

  Oda’e frowned. “The Emberhawk could not have infiltrated . . .” He trailed off and looked at Tekkyn.

  Kira glanced back at Tekkyn to see him nod.

  Oda’e let out a curse with a scratchy breath. He mumbled something and ran a hand through his short black hair.

  “What?”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Queen Illiana was just here for a visit.”

  Kira’s blood ran cold. “Why? What did she want?”

  “Her share of the plunder,” Oda’e muttered. “Commander Sorrowsong, the one who planned the attack on Jadenvive, struck a deal with Zamara. The Malaano supplied explosives, and the Emberhawk made the initial attack that softened up the city’s defenses for the Malaano invasion.”

&n
bsp; “Did she mention Ryon?” Kira demanded.

  “No.” Oda’e paused. “But she did make a comment about taking custody of Emberhawk citizens. She wanted the prisoners.”

  Kira clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms. Why would Illiana phrase it like that if she only wanted prisoners? She’d been laying claim to Ryon!

  She couldn’t hold it in any more. She spun on her heel and made for the door. Tekkyn didn’t stop her.

  “Where are you going?” Oda’e called.

  “How long ago did she leave?” Kira’s voice shook. “Which route did she take?”

  She heard her father rise from his chair and step around the table behind her. “Kira, wait. Do you have any evidence?”

  Kira squeezed her eyes shut, allowing a hot tear to fall. She quickly wiped it away. “I have enough.”

  “You can’t just run after her. She has a royal entourage full of—”

  “I can and I will.” She stepped toward the door.

  “Stop,” her father said with the voice that commanded armies. “Think about this first or you will meet the same fate or worse.”

  Kira wanted to scream at him. He’d let Illiana into the city. This was his fault.

  But he was right.

  She didn’t turn around. Her breath came in a halting, quivering gulp.

  “There were six guards, several handmaids, and apparently others in hiding if one of them took Ryon.” It sounded like Oda’e was talking in Tekkyn’s direction instead of hers. “But they rode on tame trace cats—very fast. I doubt it’s possible to catch up with them before they reach Quin’Zamar.”

  Stress lifted from Kira like a sudden flight of doves. The way he was talking—did he mean to allow her to go?

  Well, she’d go regardless, but his support would make things a lot easier on her heart.

  “We’re technically employed by Brooke,” Tekkyn said. “I’m supposed to be guardin’ Vylia, and Kira’s her translator, and somethin’ or other about makeup.”

  Kira swallowed to revive her voice as she turned to face them. “Brooke’s gone. And even if she were here, she wouldn’t be in charge any more.”