Silverblood

by Jamie Foley

  There were the balembas again.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured. He made a slight movement as if offering her a way out of his arms.

  I know. She didn’t let him go.

  Instead, she let go of all of her stress and fear and anger. They melted away in his arms.

  She couldn’t carry the weight of the war on her heart. Or the Alliance. Or even her own tribe. She was just one human.

  But for the first time since she’d lost her father, she didn’t feel alone any more.

  They returned to silence until finally Lysander spoke again. “Let me treat that wound.”

  Brooke relished the lingering moment until she realized she probably smelled like sweat and looked like a half-dead bird. Okay.

  Lysander stood once again, and Brooke was surprised his arms weren’t shaking by now. He’d barely let her rest on his legs as they sat to avoid agitating her wound.

  Wait, she thought to him, not wanting the moment to pass.

  He paused and looked down at her with a raised eyebrow.

  Did you kill him just so he couldn’t have me?

  “No. I had many reasons.” Lysander glanced at a door on the other side of the indoor garden. “The only thing that got him killed was attempted murder, and . . .” He frowned, then replaced it with a smirk. “But if I’d known I could kill for you earlier . . .”

  Brooke huffed. You say that like we’re an item.

  He paused and looked down at her with that smoldering gaze until she squirmed and broke eye contact.

  He grinned and continued walking. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Excuse—” Brooke began to escape his grip until the wound changed her mind. She grimaced and relented.

  Well, if she really wasn’t the Katrosi chief any more, and her life and reputation were already ruined . . . why not dig the pit a little deeper?

  You just want me so you can learn thought-speak.

  “If that were true, I’d prefer Nariellyn, since she’s been the one teaching me.”

  Brooke recoiled from the sting of truth. Had she promised to be the one teaching him, specifically? Perhaps she should make that right.

  Lysander gently adjusted his grip as he took a flight of steps downward one at a time. “You just want me because I’m a royal, and it would be politically advantageous.”

  Brooke was taken aback. That’s not true, she thought to him. Although it’s convenient. But politics don’t matter since I’m not the chieftess any more.

  “You’re not?” Questions flickered in Lysander’s gaze, then he seemed to suddenly dismiss them. “Hmm,” he mused. “Somehow I think politics will always be important to you.”

  She didn’t want that to be true, although she didn’t know why. Okay, well, I’ll have you know that killing people is your least attractive quality.

  “Is it, now?”

  Yes, and you refraining entirely from violence is my first condition.

  “No can do,” Lysander said. “You attract trouble at an alarming rate. I’ll take out the trash when needed.”

  Brooke pursed her lips to control her expression. I will be the one determining when it’s needed.

  “Okay,” Lysander said. “Can I kill Heron?”

  She slapped him. His black beared seemed to absorb the impact.

  He looked down at her with a disapproving look. Questioning . . . playful. The fire in his eyes wasn’t an angry one.

  She grabbed his tunic and pulled him into a kiss before she realized what she was doing.

  Something in the back of her mind warned that her darkest moment was the worst time to begin a relationship.

  She ignored it.

  Ryon walked through the gardens with Illi. It was so pretty.

  Pretty.

  Blurry white flowers everywhere, and lots of green. Light pink, too, and gold stuff. Statues and treasures sitting on big white things beside the path. The path was hard to walk on, but he tried to do a good job. Illi had asked him to. And she gave him good food.

  Illi was so nice.

  He remembered another nice girl. Her skin was darker. Pretty blue eyes, like clean ocean water. Curly black hair held back with a bandana thingy. She always wore a bandana thingy. But now she wore it around her neck sometimes. He couldn’t remember why.

  Why did he remember her at all? He couldn’t really remember anything. But why not?

  Something about the other girl just seemed . . . right. He grasped for the mental image of her.

  He couldn’t remember her name. Dream girl.

  Illi said something, but he couldn’t understand her. Oh, she was probably talking to that other person. There were lots of people now.

  He smiled. Smiled for the people. Illi had asked him to.

  They all looked so happy. He was happy, too. Everything was good.

  Illi took his arm and led him further down the path. It wasn’t as difficult now, and the colors of the flowers looked dimmer. The edges of their petals seemed more crisp. The roses had thorns.

  He remembered what the white things were called. Pedestals. It sounded like petals, but different. There were lots of pedestals and white petals in the arboretum.

  Yes! That’s what this place was called. This was Granny Zelle’s arboretum. His grandfather, the old king, had planted it for her because she missed the jungle.

  But it didn’t look like it should. It used to have bright silver syn-sculptures on the pedestals. Now the art was marble or granite, or they weren’t art at all.

  This one looked like a crown of feathers and dragon horns. Like Brooke’s, but bigger and with more horns.

  Brooke. Who was Brooke?

  His head hurt. Brooke was a friend. Yes . . . but not Emberhawk. She was from a different people. A people who had no gold or silk like whatever he was wearing. Wood and trees and leather.

  Katrosi. They were Katrosi.

  He was Katrosi.

  His head hurt. He grimaced and rubbed his temple. How could he be Katrosi and Emberhawk at the same time?

  “Idryon?” Illiana smiled up at him, her eyes laced with concern. “Are you all right?”

  He tried to remember how to work his tongue. It was thick and lazy. So he just nodded.

  But he wasn’t all right. Everything was pretty, but it felt like a lie.

  Illiana handed him a cup. “Drink this, dear. You must be overheating.” She turned to the crowd. “Zamara’s mercy, it’s so hot today!”

  Ryon took the cup and looked down into its waters. Something told him not to drink it. Something was wrong.

  “Where is she?” he mumbled.

  Illiana leaned closer. “What was that, dear?”

  Pain lanced through Ryon’s head. His fingers twitched and he dropped the cup. Cool liquid splashed his pants. Why was he wearing dress pants?

  His blood felt like pond scum, sludging through his aching muscles. And someone must have driven a spear through his temple for it to hurt like that.

  Why was he here?

  He backed away from Illiana.

  “Xavier!” Illiana called. “Will you help him, please? He’s in distress.”

  A huge man appeared from the concerned crowd on his left. The man who’d kidnapped him.

  Ryon ran.

  Thick hedges tore through his clothing and clawed into his skin. The sensation jolted his senses awake.

  Kira. Her name was Kira.

  Illiana screamed for guards behind him.

  There was a wall beyond the hedge in front of him. It ran all along the edge of the arboretum and joined the palace behind.

  He was walled in.

  Ryon tried to focus and summon the Phoera element to make himself invisible. It eluded him.

  Footsteps pounded behind him. He rushed for the arches of flowered vines and ducked into the purple-tipped grasses.

  His body felt sluggish. Miserable. He must have been drugged.

  Muddlewort. He’d heard Illiana say it before. Lysander had said it was an herb that clouded the mind.


  Shaking overtook Ryon’s limbs as the footsteps grew closer. He burst onto the pathway, crashed into a screeching woman, and ducked into the hedge on the other side.

  The wall was made of cobblestone. Too smooth to climb.

  Phoera still wouldn’t answer him.

  Nowhere to hide. No way to escape.

  Ryon cried out in prayer. Aeo, help me!

  Someone grabbed him from behind. Forced him to the ground. He struggled as they shoved something bitter down his throat.

  His pain faded. The haze returned, brighter this time.

  Everything was okay.

  A lion formed in the mist, its eyes flickering like embers. Its mane waved like tongues of flame. Ensorcelled with fire but not consumed.

  Fear branched through Ryon. He knew the lion wasn’t real, but somehow, it was. It was not a tame lion. But somehow, he knew it was good.

  The nice man helped him to his feet. The garden was peaceful and pretty and dull.

  And all was well.

  Lysander’s heart swelled with gratitude as he watched Brooke sleep on her side in Granny Zelle’s guest room. Despite the warped cauterization on her back he’d smeared with green salve, her face was tranquil. Such a rare sight.

  Just days ago, he’d thought there was nothing to live for. How glad he was now that he’d held on despite the pain of emptiness and loss.

  Was this your doing, creator? He thought in a silent prayer. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe he should at least listen to Ryon next time he got preachy.

  You look at her like you love her, but you left her to die.

  Lysander’s soul nearly fled his body. Then he realized the creator’s voice didn’t sound like Felix. Hopefully.

  He spun and found a glow-eyed kitten watching him from the doorway, its tail flicking with annoyance.

  Lysander remembered to breathe, quietly stood, and snuck to the door. “You scared the life out of me,” he whispered as he shut the door behind him.

  That would be an improvement upon the world, Oathbreaker.

  Lysander wanted to punt the kitten down the hallway, but the power it would call upon was far greater than an angry trace cat mother.

  “I didn’t leave her to die,” Lysander said quietly. “I didn’t know the camp would be attacked, and I left because I was poisoned.”

  You don’t look poisoned, said Felix.

  “Granny Zelle saved me. And I built up a resistance to dreamthistle.”

  Ah yes, because you cultivated it to assassinate innocents in Zamara’s name.

  Lysander bit down on his irritation. “Look, I’m sorry you see my working for Zamara as breaking your oath. And I’m grateful you helped me in Jadenv—”

  I don’t “see it as breaking my oath.” You started following Zamara and gave her all of the syn I’d given you. That was literally you breaking the terms of the oath you took when you became my vessel in the clearest possible way.

  Lysander raised his hands. “Take all my syn, then. And I have a stash you can have, too. But if you think I followed her willingly, you’re not so bright.”

  Felix’s vibrant eyes flashed. You must not know what “willingly” means. She threatened you, and you caved to her. That was your choice.

  Lysander huffed and strode past, highly aware that his next step might be his last. It was a bit scarier now that he actually had something to lose. “What was I supposed to do? Just say no and let her kill me? She’d have gone after Coriander and my defiance would have accomplished nothing.”

  At least your honor would have been intact for your trip to the afterlife.

  Lysander clenched his fists and continued down the hall without looking back. “Well if you’d have shown up, I would have stood with you to bring her down. But you didn’t show, did you? You let her take Selene and my hearing and everything.”

  There was a slight pause. Then Felix’s voice sounded in his mind once again: You know I don’t make public appearances. That was a trap Zamara laid for me, and I refused to step into it.

  Lysander stopped. Glanced over his shoulder. “And yet you showed up as a wyvern to save Jadenvive in full view of everyone.”

  That was to protect the keystone, Felix said, his green eyes flashing. And I didn’t reveal my identity. That wyvern was just a beast from the lake as far as any humans know.

  Lysander gave him a deadpan look. “Lake wyverns went extinct a couple generations ago. And they don’t have elemental eyes.”

  No, they’re just endangered . . . right?

  Lysander sighed. “You’re just bored, aren’t you?”

  Extremely. The kitten trotted forward and pounced up the stairs to the indoor garden. Listen, I didn’t kill you the first time because I saw you try to kill Zamara. And I won’t kill you this time if you’ll convince your woman to stop running around and putting the keystone in the maximum possible danger.

  Lysander followed him up into the greenhouse area of the pyramid and relished the air heavily laden with the scents of plant life. “Well, if Jadenvive has been overtaken by the Malaano, we can’t exactly return there and lock it in the treasury.”

  That’s the problem. First I taught you Emberhawk and gave you glass-gold, and it only took five generations to completely forget everything and lose the keystone to the Katrosi. Then the Katrosi seemed promising only to have them frolic off into enemy territory, practically begging to have it stolen by kai’lani knows who.

  Lysander inspected a patch of slender-leaf hyssop, then flowering feverfew, impressed with how well Granny Zelle had kept up with everything in his absence despite their differing water needs. “Do you expect me to ask Brooke to stay here until a safer place arises?”

  No can do, Brooke’s thought-voice called.

  Lysander turned to find her climbing the stairs behind him. He grinned and brought her under his arm as she tousled her braids and yawned.

  The kitten’s fur stood on end and its mouth moved, but Lysander couldn’t read kitten lips. “Hey, either take human form or whine in some way we can both understand.”

  Felix glared at him, then coughed up what looked like a silver hairball. The syn unraveled and lifted into the air to form floating Phoeran script: SHE ISN’T WEARING HER HEADDRESS. WHERE IS IT?

  “It’s back in the guest room,” Brooke said, or at least, that’s what Lysander thought she said—it was difficult to see her lips when she was cuddled into his side. “Skies, you’re paranoid. Can’t you sense it or something?”

  ONLY THE GREATER ELEMENTALS CAN SENSE IT, the letters read before shifting to: BECAUSE IT BINDS THEM TO THEIR STONE PRISONS.

  “Oh yeah, I forgot you’re a lesser elemental,” Brooke said.

  Lysander determined her emphasis by the way she slowed the word “lesser.” He grinned.

  The kitten’s eyes thinned into slits. The silver dust changed into new letters: DO NOT LEAVE THIS PYRAMID UNTIL I CAN FIND A SAFER LOCATION.

  “What are you so afraid of?” Lysander asked. “I thought there was a prophecy about the greater elementals not being released until the end times.”

  I HAVE BEEN TASKED BY THE CREATOR WITH PROTECTING IT REGARDLESS, said the letters that floated over Felix’s tuft-tipped ears. Then, EVIL ALWAYS FINDS A WAY.

  Brooke glanced up at Lysander, and he joyfully met her gaze. She felt so small under his arm. She might not need his protection, but he would protect her anyway. He would learn how to treat a woman right this time, no matter how much work it took. He couldn’t lose another love.

  “Well, I have to find Nari,” Brooke said. “I told her to stay with Coriander’s family and heal them, and I’ve no idea what happened to any of them.”

  “Illiana would have jailed them,” Lysander mused. “She would lose her reputation with the people completely if she had them killed. And Nari would have been kept alive because . . .” he chose his words carefully as he considered Brooke’s expression, “she is living proof of Katrosi involvement.”

  Faint lines crease
d between Brooke’s brown eyes. “Then I have to break her out.”

  NOPE. SORRY.

  Brooke slipped from Lysander’s side to flick her hand across Felix’s letters. The syn powder floated outward like a silver cloud. “It’s my fault she’s in this situation, so I’m going to make it right,” Brooke said. “We can just leave the keystone here.”

  Felix’s letters re-forged themselves in midair: I’M NOT GOING TO LEAVE IT HERE TO BE GUARDED BY A GERIATRIC HUMAN.

  Lysander caught movement from the corner of his eye. Granny Zelle approached, swiped her cane through the floating script, then nearly whacked Felix on the head. The cat dodged, whirled, and bared its little fangs.

  “Careful, Granny!” Lysander laughed. “He’s wild.”

  “I know full well what he is,” Granny Zelle said. “He’s a no-good liar who never comes to visit.”

  Felix dipped his head. His fur rippled and his body swelled in size as it took the shape of an orange fox. His letters rearranged. I HAVE BEEN WATCHING OVER YOU, LYZELLE.

  “And never coming in for tea?” Granny Zelle demanded. She raised her cane again. “And you come in here like a feline thinkin’ I won’t recognize you?”

  Felix shrank. SURELY YOU ARE AWARE OF WHAT A HANDFUL YOUR GRANDSONS ARE.

  Granny Zelle’s cane fell slowly, landing on the ground to support herself. “Well, I can’t argue with that,” she said with a grin. She winked at Brooke. “Let that be a warning to you, young lady.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware,” Brooke said, shooting Lysander a mischievous look. Before he could protest, she bowed to Granny Zelle. “Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

  “My pleasure. Haven’t had this much company since last year’s harvest festival!” Granny Zelle squinted at Brooke’s tattered clothing. “I can get you some fresh clothes if you like, though I don’t have any armor for women like that. How are you feeling, dear?”

  “Much better,” Brooke said. “Thank you all.”

  “You can’t be feeling well enough to storm the palace prison,” Lysander said in a low tone. “Why don’t you—”

  “You’re one to talk,” Brooke interrupted. “I still don’t understand how you’re not dead.”