“A woman?” Pain punched his gut as Éli digested this new information. It couldn’t be Jon’s sisters. They were all dead. “Where the fuck are his men?”
“Mather rides with him. The others disappeared weeks ago.”
“Fuck!” Anger burned in Éli’s chest as he clenched the dagger at his waist until his hand hurt. He scanned the giant sequoias, half-expecting an ambush of Jon’s men. “They’ll be close. Find them.”
He would destroy them all just for the satisfaction of debilitating Jon under a mountain of grief. “Who’s the woman? Anyone recognize her?”
“She had her face covered.” Granger looped his thumbs through his belt, his gut hanging over the front. “I sure could use me that whore to get warm though. Don’t matter what she looks like.”
Two things his captain loved most were sex and violence, and the two were never mutually exclusive.
“No one touches her until I figure out who she is.” Éli wasn’t about to let anything slip through his hands, especially a woman he might be able to leverage against Jon.
“There’s somethin’ else.” Granger spat at the ground, biding his time as if he didn’t want to tell Éli the news on the tip of his tongue. “Selnä’s got Connor.”
“What?” Éli snarled so loud half the horses startled and tugged on their ropes. He clenched his jaw so tight it throbbed. Not that he cared much for the little prick. His son was bred for one purpose: revenge.
“The boy sails with the high council barge.” Granger gestured toward the sea, just out of sight beyond the woods.
“Those fucking bastards.” Éli couldn’t shake the notion that he’d become like Sebastian—a soldier desperate to sever all ties with the Tower and protect his bloodline from the same fate. If he didn’t get Connor back soon, his son would be branded to the Tower’s fate and the cycle would start all over again.
Éli slapped a nearby tree trunk, startling the horses again before he grabbed a blanket to saddle his stallion. The whole point of this mission was to ambush Jon from all sides and retrieve the bloodflower key, but Éli had no intention of killing that bastard.
Death was too good a reward. He needed to suffer, to feel the same anguish Éli had borne all these years since his brother’s death. Tightening the girth on his stallion, he untied the lead rope on his horse and climbed into the saddle.
“Send a message to the scouts…” He trailed off as he glanced toward the camp and the large black tent in the middle. A whisper of power brushed against the brand on his arm, a symbol of the Tower’s hold on his life.
Black threads of that power rose from inside the tent, brushing across each branded soldier as the high council member inside kept a tight rein on them all.
Only Éli could see the black threads that bound them to six hypocritical old crones. They killed any man, woman or child with a hint of magic, all to protect their own. It was why he’d asked to work inside the prison, so he didn’t have to bear witness every day to the woven threads of his doom.
“Commander?” Granger nudged his horse alongside. “What message should I send back?”
“Never mind.” Éli sure as shit didn’t want anyone on the high council knowing his thoughts on the woman. She was probably some mountain bitch riding the same trail, but with Jon, Éli could never be sure he hadn’t picked up some damsel in distress. “We need to find that blacksmith. What’s his name?”
“Sproki.” Granger spat at the ground again, this time a mass of mucus clinging to his beard. “You have the jewel?”
Éli patted his chest. It had taken nearly everything he owned to secure a real ruby, one that looked similar to the jewel buried inside the bloodflower pendant. “Let’s go.”
He nudged his horse onto a trail that would lead him toward the coast and small village built inside giant trees to the south.
Beneath the giant redwoods, great holes had been cut into the trunks and served as small marketplaces. Inside the trunks, stairways carved into the wood rose to small homes.
In Éli’s mind, the cozy quarters might keep out the cold weather, but all an invading army had to do was light a fire to the tree and hundreds would be burned alive.
Southerners and northerners didn’t like one another, and people here were no different. They stared at Éli and Granger, and most turned away quickly. Half a day’s ride south and they’d be killed for wearing these uniforms. But in this place, the tree folks were used to tradesmen from the mountains and across the sea.
Éli stopped his horse in front of a blacksmith stall and slid from the saddle.
“Don’t work for Rakir,” the man shouted without looking up.
“You want to go home to your wife tonight, you’ll work.” Éli slapped a sheet of paper onto the man’s workbench before the smith could swing his hammer.
Not a man—a woman who turned one eye to him, the other a hollow socket. “You deaf, northman? Your kind ain’t wanted here.”
She looked about to say more but glanced at the drawing on the paper.
“By Élon’s light, where did you get that?” she asked.
“You see this symbol before?”
The woman dropped the hammer and crossed herself. “Not for many years.”
“I know where the real one is.” As soon as the woman’s head shot up, Éli knew he had her. “I need you to make one just like it.”
“It’ll cost you, northman, and you ain’t got enough money in the world to pay me.” Her gaze drifted to something behind Éli as the horses snorted. “Tell you what though. That bitch across the way has been on my ass for months. Get rid of her, you and me are square. I’ll make your pretty trinket.”
Éli turned to a small shop barely a dozen spans away. Colorful draperies hung, each with a symbol to the seven Guardians. He clenched his fist, scanning for the emblem for Erisöl, a duplicate of the mark inked into his forearm. Éli didn’t believe in Guardians, but Sebastian had been born under the signs of Élon. From the time he was little, he and his brother had been inseparable, just like the two Guardian brothers.
At nine years old, Sebastian had taken Éli to get his tattoo, binding them as brothers for life. A year later, Jon had killed Sebastian, and Éli’s life fell apart.
Before he could turn away, something else caught his eye. A banner, buried behind the others and barely visible, with colorful threads woven together in a series of lines. Embroidered into it was a small diamond shape with two arms stretching outward into a circle—the sign for a dreamwalker.
He glanced at Granger. The last time he’d met a dreamwalker, the woman kept digging into his dreams and searching for secrets to blackmail him with. Maybe the smith really didn’t like the woman over there, or she too wanted to see what secrets were in his head.
Éli jutted his chin toward Granger, a silent gesture to take a look around. When he turned back to the blacksmith, a sneer tugged the corner of his lip.
“Make sure that medallion is done by dawn.”
He handed her the ruby he’d carried in his pocket for weeks. “I’ll take care of your little problem.”
But not before he got what he wanted. To learn exactly who the woman was and how he could use her to strike at Jon.
CHAPTER 11
The Forbidden Mountains
Jàden bitterly let go of the door frame. Chase the living, not the dead, and yet she needed to understand why no one answered the distress call and how her zankata became emblazoned on the starship.
While she hadn’t expected Kale to pop out of a room, there had to be something here. A clue to lead her to him.
Ducking under Jon’s arm, she dug through the pilot’s pockets for a datapad, something she could take with her. At this point, she’d even settle for a gun in case someone tried to shoot her with an arrow again.
“Jàden, we need to leave.” Jon’s tone was so calm.
A surge of irritation gripped her. He didn’t understand how important her task was. If she
lingered too long on Sandaris, the Flame could cause serious damage.
She slammed her fists on the console. “I have to find Kale.”
The lights flickered, and the HUD disappeared.
“No, dammit, not again,” she said.
Diving back into the navigator seat and buckling in seemed like a good idea, except the ship wouldn’t have access to the life archives. She’d need a datapad and the right access codes, or she’d have to be back on board the ship.
Jàden refused to give up and dashed into the corridor, slanting upward toward the tail fin. She yanked open drawers and cabinets, slowly moving aft as she searched for a med-kit, a gun, anything that might help. But someone had been here long before her. Shelves and drawers laid bare except for a layer of dust.
“Dammit.” She slammed the last cabinet shut. Maybe she’d have better luck in the cargo bay.
But Mather blocked her path. “I wouldn’t go back there.”
As he gestured something toward Jon, she rushed past and stumbled into a cargo hold filled with glass cages. Skeletons slumped in the corners, each one alone and trapped between four panes of transparent shield glass.
“No!” Jàden rushed to the closest cell and slammed the glass. “Open the doors—”
Jon grabbed her arm. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“No, they need help.” Jàden squirmed in his grasp.
“They’re dead.”
The ice in his tone seemed to rip a blindness from her as she screamed, “Let them out!”
But they were all dead, from starvation or suffocation long after her own imprisonment.
Jon’s features were tight with worry. “The dead are in their graves. Let them stay there. Ain’t no good gonna come if we linger here.”
Jàden’s gaze stayed glued to the death cages long after they disappeared behind a closed door, her chest so tight she could barely breathe.
Thunder rumbled in the sky as they stepped onto the platform.
Mather palmed the door closed. “This place holds nothing but death. You’re safer with us.”
“Don’t you get it? I’m not safe anywhere. Those people…”
She couldn’t stop thinking of the pilot. Why had someone in maintenance kept people in cages? Any empathy Jàden had minutes ago for the dead pilot shattered under the weight of what she’d seen. Wringing her hands, she glanced once more at the ship, her zankata—Kale’s symbol of safety—painted on the death trap. “All of this is wrong. Kale would never lead me into death.”
And yet the doubt settled in her heart as she turned away to a snow-bound landscape. Even the universe taunted her, death in a cage and a world of white.
“I’ll never get home, will I?” she whispered.
Jon leaned toward her ear. “Wherever we ride, that’s your home now.”
Easy for him to call the road home. Jàden shouldered him away and retreated down the ladder. She didn’t want this to be her home. The stars called to her from beyond the bionet, a life of peace in a sea of glimmering jewels.
Mather would return to his home, his wife, and she’d be left with nothing.
And Jon… As he slid down the ladder to land beside her, he too had no home but the road under his feet. They were a pair, two lost souls with nothing but a mission. He, to find his men, and her, to reunite with Kale.
As Mather hit the ground and met her gaze, his words came rolling back through her head. When I’m gone, it’ll be up to you to take care of him.
She cursed under her breath and retreated to the horses. Jon could take care of himself—he didn’t need her.
Jàden tried to climb into the saddle, but was still too weak to do more than stand in the stirrups. Jon lifted her onto the stallion’s back, she grabbed the reins and scooted forward. She didn’t want to be along for the ride anymore. She still needed to find Kale. Not only because she loved him but because he was a damn good pilot. Someone needed to fly her away from this place.
Jon climbed on behind her without a word, nudging his horse onto the road with his heels.
With a final glance at the nadrér’s tail fin, Jàden tried to suppress the anger in her heart. Her zankata painted on a graveyard. It seemed fitting somehow that she’d only find true safety in death.
“Nothing you could have done for those people, Jàden.”
The scent of Jon’s cigarette’s smoke wove into her senses, but it did not calm her unease. “They died in cages, under my emblem. The sooner I get off this world, the better.”
Snow fell furiously as they trotted along the road, a blanket of white surrounding them on all sides. Jàden tried to force back the grief, stifling it under her need for Kale.
But Jon didn’t make it easy to keep her thoughts focused. As fatigue hit him, he slid one strong arm around her waist, his head dropping against his chest to nap.
His soft breath wove a spell through her senses as she clenched the reins tighter. She’d slept near him for weeks each time they’d stopped for the night, but now it was like they were curled together in the same blanket.
“If he’s too heavy, wake his ass up.” Mather’s features softened as he nudged Agnar closer.
“Let him rest.” It was about all she could do and not be useless to them. She turned back for one last look at the ship, but it was already gone in a sea of white. “Those soldiers, how far will they follow us?”
“They should have stopped weeks ago. Something don’t feel right about it, but the others will keep the captain safe.”
His eyes lost their focus again as Jàden nudged the horse into a gallop. It was too easy to get lost in the pain on Mather’s face. His wife was still alive and only a season’s ride north while she had easily three times that distance to travel. It would be easier with a ship, even one as small as a scout craft, but it simply wasn’t something she could count on anymore.
Her stomach tingled as Jon grumbled in his sleep and leaned into her head.
“Jon,” she whispered, pushing him back with her good shoulder.
He tightened his grip on her waist and mumbled into her ear, “I’m awake.”
“About time.” Mather smacked his shoulder. “Should be at that village in a few hours.”
CHAPTER 12
The Forbidden Mountains
Jon grumbled against Jàden, the gentle pine scent of her hair a calming remedy as he pulled her against his chest. He’d give almost anything to start every day with her curled in his arms.
As the afternoon sky darkened, he sat up straight and lit a cigarette. No time to languish this close to a village. They hadn’t seen the scouts since the fire on the ridge, but their absence didn’t ease the tension in his body. It seemed the scouts intentionally kept their distance.
Which could be because they were close to warden territory.
Everything south of the Forbidden Mountains belonged to the wardens and their golden cities. While Jon never traveled this far before, he’d heard the stories about women armed as soldiers and the great towers of the Guardians.
Rakir and wardens despised one another, content to let the mountains divide their cultures. Wardens and southerners worshipped their Guardians while the north barely acknowledged their existence.
Jon and Mather intentionally tried to appear as mountain hunters with their thick beards and long, shaggy hair, hoping to escape the notice of both factions. Unfortunately, the horses gave them away, but Jon wouldn’t trade his companion for a dozen mounts.
“We need to lighten our load,” Jon muttered, nodding toward the furs stacked behind Mather. “Get you a horse so you can be on your way back to Sharie.”
“Still need to say farewell to the others.” Mather stopped his horse, clouded eyes scanning the landscape.
Shadows grew deeper, the air cooler. He glanced back several times, but still no one followed. A lonely pole stood to the side of the road, an empty lantern swinging from its apex.
“Somethin’ ain�
��t right,” Mather said.
Jon listened to the silence. Watched how the snow fell without a hint of wind over the desolate road. Low mounds lined the cliff amid a cluster of trees and thick ivy.
He glanced toward Mather as they wove a twisted path among fallen pines and shrubs, sharing a silent I sense it too. His best friend was right—something felt off, almost too quiet. At the very least they should be able to spot hoofprints or wagon tracks, but the snow laid over the road like a fresh blanket.
“Stay on the horse and be ready to run.” Jon dropped to the ground and laid a hand on Jàden’s knee. The sweetness of her breath flowed through his skin, but he tightened his jaw and tried to ignore it. “Shout if anything moves.”
He grabbed his quiver, noting the way Jàden searched the sky and gripped the reins like her life depended on it.
“Take Agnar.” Mather tossed his reins to Jàden. Dismounting, he shadowed Jon on the far side of the road.
Something in her magic nudged his mind with a vision of metal flying high over the clouds. He shoved it away and crept along the road, holding an arrow loose against his bow string.
Tall redwoods twisted along the path, covered in fresh-fallen snow. Burn marks scarred the lantern pole. Further along the road, small mounds poked out at odd angles, a faint scent of embers smoldering.
Jon crouched and brushed snow away from a shattered signpost, a silver dagger wedged in a crack with the tower and two moons emblem on the hilt. Zankata cawed from the high cliffs, their black feathers a smudge against the clouds.
“Rakir. They shouldn’t be ahead of us,” Jon said.
Mather nodded. “Looks like Rakir passed through days ago. I’d bet my life that pile over there holds more than a cremated building.”
He followed his friend’s hand toward a larger mound. Nothing moved, but Jon could sense death lurking. He crouched near the snowy pile and tugged a charred bonding cloth from between two timbers. Grief swelled in his chest as he recalled his last day in Ìdolön and his family’s death.
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