Bloodflower

by K. J. Harrowick

  “Ashe is right,” his twin Andrew said. “At least beyond the boundary we have a chance to survive. To stop running and put down some roots. Not even Hareth knows what lurks on the Dark Isle. I’m with the captain.”

  “Same here,” Ashe muttered.

  “Dusty and I go where you go, Captain,” Theryn said.

  “Speaking for your wife again, Theryn?” Andrew laughed, dodging a kick from the dark-skinned man.

  “He’s right.” Dusty glared at Andrew. “Theryn and I follow the captain. Doesn’t matter where we go as long as it ain’t here.”

  Malcolm grunted. “We’ll need a cargo ship.”

  Jon nodded. “Good. We ride for Nelórath.”

  “How large is that city?” Jàden asked.

  All eyes turned toward her.

  Frank would be able to see almost anything from the sky, to track their path from the campsite, count how many horses they traveled with. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t know from his computer readouts, but in a large city filled with people, he wouldn’t be able to track a single heat signature.

  “Nelórath is large enough, but it still leaves us with one giant problem, Captain.” Thomas pointed at Jàden. “Her.”

  Irritation flushed her cheeks. This guy obviously didn’t like her. Probably blamed her for Mather’s death too.

  Thomas clenched and unclenched his hand then stretched out his arm as if trying to relieve muscle pain, something she’d seen injured horses do in the past. “City laws are the same down here. If she’s dressed like a man, wardens will arrest her and we’re all done for.”

  Jàden glanced at her clothing, a thick, wool tunic woven with greens and browns to blend into the woods over thick riding breeches.

  “Don’t worry, boys. I’m the expert in women here.” Theryn grinned and winked at her. “Come on, Dusty. Let’s head toward the city and find a dress for Heartbreaker.”

  Jàden’s cheeks burned with embarrassment as she turned away from their lingering eyes. She could almost feel the judgment in these men, as if she was somehow cursed to be born a woman. She wrangled Agnar away from them and edged toward the boundary at the copse of trees, searching for any light in the sky.

  “Someone throw a knife at him,” Jon muttered as the two men raced away. “Go with them, Malcolm. Find us a ship.”

  “Yes, Captain.” The older man spurred his horse ahead and raced after the bowmen.

  “The rest of us stick close to Jàden. From here on out, someone always has eyes on her.” Jon nudged his horse out of the trees. “Let’s move.”

  They kept to a brisk trot through thick woods, the ground covered in pine mats and snow drifts. Heavy storm clouds obscured the moons, but small lights began to dot the surrounding country.

  Every few minutes she scanned the sky, certain Frank was somewhere in the clouds, ready to pounce.

  “I’ll teach you to fight.” Jon searched the terrain ahead, patting his horse on the shoulder. “But until you’re fully trained, you follow his orders.”

  He nodded toward Thomas, who rode on her other side. “In return, I’ll help you find Kale.”

  She clenched the reins harder as Thomas visibly tensed beside her. So far, he hadn’t shown any of them an ounce of friendliness. Besides, she’d rather have Jon showing her how to hold a weapon. “What do you get out of this?”

  Jon glanced at Thomas, the two of them sharing a silent conversation she couldn’t hope to understand. “I get another fighter.”

  Something about Jon’s words didn’t feel like the whole story, but Jàden was far too worried about Frank catching up to scrutinize too closely. “How long will it take?”

  Jon scratched his chin. “Two years.”

  “Two years?” she sputtered. “Jon, I—”

  “And you can’t use magic. That’s the deal, Jàden.” He clenched his hand, running his thumb along his forefinger.

  “I can’t wait two years to start searching for Kale.” She needed to release Jon from their bond, not tempt fate that she might fall into his arms—and his bed.

  But Kale needed a strong woman, not the half-starved, broken version of herself she’d become. Someone who could be the protector to him that he once was to her. She could train, but she would never stop looking. The sooner she found a way off Sandaris, the safer it would be for everyone who lived here.

  “Fine,” she muttered, only intending to stay long enough to find Kale. “Two years.”

  Thunder rumbled across the clouds, laced with a stronger high-pitched roar.

  Jàden recognized the sound of a ship and turned toward the sky.

  An orange glow lit the storm, tracking through the clouds until it disappeared into the north.

  “Frank.” She bit down on her cheek until she tasted blood. “He’s here.”

  She dug her heels into Agnar and bolted ahead.

  The others were beside her in seconds.

  Jàden leaned low against Agnar’s neck, and he lengthened his stride as they raced across an open plain.

  The stormy skies to the north grew dark as his ship disappeared beyond the horizon. Frank must be going to her hypersleep pod. It wouldn’t take him long to figure out where she’d gone.

  They ran until the horses panted, foam lathering along their necks. She wanted to keep running, but Agnar was struggling, slowing down into his choppier gait. “Just a little further.”

  Lights twinkled in the distance, stretched from one side of the horizon to the other.

  A sharp whistle came from the road. Jon pushed his horse ahead and angled them into a copse of oak trees.

  She slowed her horse beside him. “We can’t stop.”

  They’d kill the horses if they kept pushing, but all she could think about was Frank. He was too close. He was awake. And he was coming for her.

  “All I could find off a merchant wagon heading into the city.” Theryn tossed a bundle at Jon. “The old man is headed toward the docks, but Dusty and I will hit the rooftops and shadow you in.”

  Theryn and Dusty slid off their horses and retreated toward the city on foot, longbows strapped to their backs.

  Jon tossed the bundle toward her. “Get dressed. The rest of you, let’s rearrange a bit. Don’t want to give ourselves away too soon.”

  There was nowhere to dress. Oaks lined the avenue, cutting across a desolate landscape as it dropped out of the foothills toward the city.

  Jàden slid off her horse and stepped around a wide oak, clutching the bundle of clothing to her chest. All she could think about was Frank sitting in the cockpit, zeroing in on her location. Her hands shook so hard she could barely keep the rest of her body from doing the same.

  She untied the string and lifted the bolts of cloth, long lengths of gray fabric lined with dark maroon material attached to a bodice “Oh, you can’t be serious. What am I supposed to do, be a tent?”

  “Outside the cities, you can wear whatever you like, but we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Jon spoke to her from the other side of the tree, cursing occasionally under his breath as he and the others tampered with the supplies.

  Damn sexist law. She stripped off her clothing, the icy air blasting against her skin. Jàden fumbled with the bodice. Even as skinny as she was, it dug into her ribs. She clasped the small hooks up the front then slid the dress over her head.

  The thick wool was warm and soft but heavier than her forest clothing. As soon as the wind blew up her skirts, bumps broke out along her bare legs. She slid her breeches back on for warmth. One way or another she’d be cold, but at least she wouldn’t have the wind slicing against her bare skin.

  “This is ridiculous.” Bundling up the last of her clothing, Jàden stepped out from behind the tree toward Agnar, who whinnied and tossed his head.

  A sleeping blanket stretched across her stallion’s back, covering the Rakir brand on his rump. Jon tightened the saddle, now loaded down with supplies.

  She shoved her
clothes into a bag. “I can’t ride on all of that.”

  He turned toward her and the half-spent cigarette fell from his mouth. Jon traced his eyes to the hem of her dress and back to her face. “You’ll ride with me.”

  “Then we’d better move fast. Frank will be here any moment.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Nelórath

  Guardians be damned, Jàden was beautiful. Grabbing a long gray cloak from the back of his horse, Jon tried to push the images of her torture out of his mind. No way would he let her out of his sight, not when that lover of Jàden’s left her in a cage to suffer. Jon had half a mind to kill him again if they ever met.

  He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and fastened the clasp at her neck, his fingers brushing against her throat. Stifling a groan, he allowed his hand to linger after the clasp clicked. “Don’t speak unless you have to. Can’t have you slipping into your own language.”

  This was a terrible idea. The wilds would keep them safe, but a ship across the sea could get them far from human lands. And he sure wasn’t leaving the horses behind to sail to the boundary on a skiff.

  Forcing himself to pull away, Jon checked the girth on his horse one last time. They needed to get inside the city, but he and his men had to time it right. Too soon and they’d stick out among sleepy streets.

  “You ready, buddy?” He clapped his companion on the shoulder then climbed into the saddle. Jon grasped Jàden’s forearm and pulled her up behind him. “Let’s move. The horses are tired and we still got an hour before we hit the city.”

  Warmth flooded into his chest as her arms wrapped around his waist. Jon turned his horse toward Nelórath as the old part of himself, a captain in full command, pressed to the surface. “Keep your hoods up and stay together.”

  Every shadow became friend or foe when they crossed the river into the thicker woods. Ice mixed with snow drizzled across the foothills.

  Through twists and turns over the hilly terrain, they rode through groves of redwoods, skirting around a series of farmhouses toward the hazy glow of the city.

  The pendant lay heavy against his chest as farmers joined them on the road. Lanterns hung from the posts on their wagons pulled by teams of southern short horses and mules.

  Jon slowed his horse to a walk to blend in with the merchants.

  Jàden’s fidgeting put him on edge. This was taking too long but the horses needed to take it slow in case they had to run again. Maybe she just needed something to take her mind off the wait.

  “You’re the bloodflower’s keeper, aren’t you?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  Jon nudged his horse ahead of the others until they were out of earshot before he answered. They plodded past a portly woman reigning a four-horse team from the top of a closed carriage. Her bright-colored dress and low hem across her bosom gave her away as a matron bringing prostitutes into the city.

  “It’s my family’s emblem,” he said, “handed down through my great grandfather more than a hundred generations back.”

  He reached for Jàden’s hand—too intimate—but closed his fist and pressed it against his thigh. She may be his wife, but still she’d given no indication their connection was more than just her magic.

  “No one knows what I carry except you and my men.”

  As if the words sparked some dark force, a troop of wardens trotted from the city toward the merchant line. Jon slumped a little to appear more like a farmer, his mind still on his family’s heirloom. The pendant had always been a source of contention between him and his father. As the only son to the Ayers bloodline, it was his duty to gift it to his wife when their first son was born.

  A decade of arguments with his father washed over Jon, the pain of Marcus’s loss slicing into his chest. He loved his mother and sisters, but he missed his old man every day.

  Wardens slowed ahead and shouted to the driver of a wagon. The guy must have been drunk—he yelled right back, cursing the gold-armored men with a heavy slur to his words.

  “Say nothing,” he muttered to Jàden.

  The wardens scattered to the far side of the road, ordering the portly man to uncover his goods. Jon took a cue from the other merchants’ behavior; he averted his eyes and kept moving. They were almost there.

  Jon glanced back, the wardens now in a shouting match with the farmer and ignoring everyone else. “That bastard saved our asses.”

  Jàden eased her grip on his waist, but Jon had a question burning in his gut since the day he’d found her. No time like the present to keep her distracted from searching the sky every five seconds.

  “Why’d you bond me, Jàden?” he asked.

  Especially when she had another lover. The city walls loomed amid thin trails of mist off the ocean, bastions of stone lit by fiery cauldrons at their apexes. Snow dropped heavy from the lowering clouds, banks of fog rolling in from the coast.

  “It isn’t a bond, Jon, just tied energy.” Her hands tightened into fists. Churned mud and slush glittered in tiny pools of ice, reflecting the distant glow of lanterns and silver-laced storm clouds. “I told you, I needed your help. I’m not strong enough to fight Frank.”

  “Bullshit.” Jon glanced at the sky then back to the deeper shadows along the road. Each face leapt out at him from the merchant wagons. Tired, grim, angry, scared. Every person he passed held expressions he’d seen on any normal day. Jon searched for the outlier, for a soldier who might be in disguise or anyone who watched them a little too closely.

  The last thing they needed was to succumb to Éli’s dreamwalker trick again. Yet part of his attention stayed with Jàden. “I helped you before the bond, and you have magic strong enough to tear that bastard apart. Tell me the truth.”

  He’d seen the hesitation in her eyes that day. Something held her back, but a stronger force pushed her into the bond. Jon needed to know what it was, or perhaps he only searched for an answer he wanted. Something to give him any hint that she needed him as more than a bodyguard.

  She leaned her forehead against his back as they entered the city alongside the first wave of farmers.

  “I want you to kill Frank and Bradshaw so I can escape to the stars,” she mumbled against him. “I can’t stay on Sandaris, not without bringing death to other people, and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Who’s Bradshaw? You haven’t mentioned him before.”

  Jàden tried to pull her arms away, but Jon caught her hands. He could almost sense her fear by the softness of her words. “He’s a Guild surgeon with a specialization in biotheric energy manipulation. And Frank’s partner. Or boss. I was never really certain.”

  Her voice trailed off as Jon tried to digest this new information. “He helped Frank hurt you?”

  “He ran the lab. Bradshaw is… I don’t want to talk about this.” The salty smell of the sea hung in the air as icy roads turned to mud and finally to slush and cobblestones. “I’m sorry, Jon. I should never have done what I did.”

  She tried to pull away again, but he tightened his grip. He still couldn’t mentally shake her screams or the blood smeared across her cage walls. If the situation were reversed, he honestly couldn’t say he’d do any different out of desperation. “I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to you.”

  But there was still something she was hiding, and Jon wouldn’t let her out of telling him. He caressed his thumb across her fingers to soothe the answer from her lips. “We’re leaving everything we know to protect you, Jàden. I need to you to tell me: what does our bond give you that no one else can?”

  “It’s not a bond.” Her head lifted skyward, and she sighed deeply. “I wanted to feel more than empty glass walls. No one touched me for two years or even spoke to me apart from Frank’s occasional taunt. I was alone, Jon. More alone than you’ll ever know.”

  His chest tightened. Loneliness was a familiar friend.

  “I meant to set you free when you killed Frank, but then a day turned into weeks and your en
ergy, your strength…” She gripped his hand tight. “It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

  Fog clung to the buildings as Jàden stifled a sob. “I can’t be alone anymore.”

  He squeezed her hand, aching to wrap his arms around her and drive away the loneliness. Or maybe to stifle his own as the grief of Mather’s death clutched his chest like a vice. “You have me, Jàden. I ain’t going nowhere.”

  She squeezed his hand tighter. “I don’t want to go back to a cage. Not ever again.”

  “Don’t you worry. Frank and Bradshaw are dead. I just ain’t killed them yet.” Desperate for a cigarette, Jon scanned the streets for any sign of Rakir. Most men preferred to smoke the occasional pipe, but Jon had a fondness for the taste of shadeleaf with a hint of cedar smoke flavoring the papers. Today he couldn’t take the chance of a cigarette giving him away, especially if Éli lurked nearby.

  Merchants stepped out of their shops to open windows. Horse hooves clopped against the road as they passed, citizens of Nelórath eyeing them warily.

  A warning went off in Jon’s head.

  He searched each street and alley they passed and the rooftops above for clues in expressions and body language. Nothing seemed out of place, but he couldn’t shake the dread in his bones. Though he hated to do it, he released Jàden so he had both hands free to draw a weapon if needed.

  Thomas nudged his horse alongside. “This feels like a trap. We haven’t seen a single soldier since we rode into the city, and we’re nearly a third of the way to the docks.”

  That was why the warning went off. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Jon hadn’t noticed the one thing missing from the city streets: gold-armored wardens.

  “Keep your eyes open.” No chance of turning back now as the bastards likely had the city gates blocked.

  Seven white towers loomed tall against the cityscape, each dedicated to a Guardian. At the top of every tower hung a large banner depicting one of the seven—Erisöl, Élon, Herbridés, Miore, Sahéva, Shelora and Herana, her symbol a tree of life curved into the shape of a moon.