Bloodflower

by K. J. Harrowick

  “Guardians, protect us,” Thomas muttered then glanced at Jàden. “Or curse us.”

  Jon glared at Thomas. If they weren’t trying to sneak through the city, he’d punch him for that remark.

  The streets slowly filled with activity. Several merchants hung stark-colored banners over their doorways, pinks and oranges and indigos all bearing the shop’s trade emblem inside the golden sun.

  “Those look like Guild emblems,” Jàden whispered.

  The crowd parted as a dozen gold-armored soldiers trotted their tawny-colored horses straight toward Jon, led by a helmed rider with a black band circling his left arm.

  “There they are,” he muttered. Jon nudged his horse ahead of the others.

  The wardens spread out and blocked their path.

  “Where you boys coming in from? Don’t usually see mountain folk until the season of rain,” the black-banded leader said.

  Jon stopped his horse, curling his fingers tighter around the reins. “Last run before we hit the high passes.”

  The leader removed his helm, black hair curled tight against dark brown skin. He eyed Jon suspiciously. “Why is the woman hiding her face?”

  Because she’s a damn Guardian. Jon’s instincts needled him. He scanned the streets with his peripheral. Dusty and Theryn were on the rooftops, arrows ready to fire in case trouble erupted. Jon hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  “She’s shy of strangers.” Jon nudged the black forward.

  The leader sidled his horse closer. He laid his helm on the pommel, eyes fixed on Jàden. “Let’s see your face, woman.”

  “Why? You want her contract?” Jon pulled back, shifting Jàden away as he came eye to eye with the soldier. “Five thousand shalir.”

  The armored leader grimaced. “No woman is worth more than two thousand. She must have one hell of a face.”

  “Probably a wildcat,” another soldier called out. His comrades laughed.

  Jon held his hand low on the far side of his horse, palm flat toward his men: be ready.

  He kept his eyes on the leader. “Five thousand and not a firemark less.”

  The leader’s features hardened. He drew a spear-like weapon and nudged his horse forward, circling around behind Andrew and Ashe.

  Likely searching for any reason to delay them further. If the man had half a brain, he’d know the horses were northern bred, but Jon would never give up his stallion.

  The armored leader came back along the other side and finally fixed his eyes on Jon. “Furs are good. Be out of the city before sixth bell.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Except the leader’s eyes held an edge of distrust.

  Jon nudged his horse ahead, the street now crowded with merchants attending their outdoor stalls. He kept his eyes forward but spoke softly over his shoulder. “Jàden, are they all through?”

  She shifted behind him. Then her sweet voice rolled over his ear. “They’re through, but the soldiers are watching. At least a dozen more have joined the first ones.”

  She lifted her head to the sky. “And I still haven’t seen Frank, but I know he’s close.”

  Jon didn’t like that detail. If more were gathering behind them, that meant the wardens were going to cage them along a specific route. “Be ready for anything.”

  The road passed between two towers, Élon and Herana. Sleek, white walls replaced merchant shops and squat buildings. Clopping horse hooves echoed off the smooth stone as the avenue turned to an open-air corridor.

  A faint melody touched his ears. Singing. Jon cursed under his breath as citizens sang to their Guardians.

  He tried to shake the warning in his gut, but the fog from the wharf grew thicker, obscuring the way ahead. “If we get separated—”

  “Jon, don’t.” She tightened her grip on his waist. “We have to stay together.”

  He grasped her hand in his, wishing he could feel her skin instead of the glove. “Listen. If something happens, trust my men. They’ll keep you safe.”

  Jàden clasped his hand tight, weaving her fingers through his. “If something happens, you’ll never see me again.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Nelórath

  Jàden didn’t want to let Jon go. She may have ached for Kale’s soft whispers and strong arms holding her tight, but Jon was more than a protector.

  She needed him.

  The soft melody of Guardian song washed over her, but it wasn’t enough to loosen the knots in her gut. Jàden couldn’t keep her eyes off the sky, her ears tuned to every sound of the city. Right about now, she imagined Frank screaming in rage, maybe shouting into an earpiece at Bradshaw about how she’d escaped.

  She shuddered. Doc Bradshaw was worse than Frank, a cold-hearted man whose theories about human enhancements had been of great interest to Hàlon’s Guild scientists until they found the first victims of his experiments.

  Both humans and animals, tortured to the point of madness. Jàden knew firsthand what those creatures suffered.

  If the doctor was awake too, he probably had a dozen monitors in front of him and lounged with his feet on the console. He’d tap on the keys as if the world held no excitement while Frank would tear apart the mountains to breathe down her neck.

  Jàden clenched Jon’s hand as if this were their last moment together, but the thought was unbearable. His mere presence soothed the terror and loneliness in her heart, and each time he touched her, she ached for more. For an intimacy that could make her forget all the anguish and grief poisoning her soul.

  The tower walls gave way to vast courtyards. Gray and tan tile checkered across the ground through archways and around tall maple trees. A great waterfall cascaded down the side of each citadel into a crystalline pool.

  Snowflakes blew across a large central statue of Élon, Guardian of Strength and Bravery, who gripped a sword in one hand and a gun in the other. Jàden had seen the statue nearly all her life, especially in the Enforcer corridors where most soldiers still idolized the great hero.

  But today it sent a shiver down her spine as if the great ancestor already knew she existed between two worlds. What she wouldn’t give for a gun in her hand. Not that she could hit a starship, but she could put a hole in Frank’s head and end her nightmares.

  “Help me, Élon,” she whispered. Guardians knew she didn’t have the guts to face off with Frank. Otherwise she’d have left Jon in peace.

  Jàden turned to the other courtyard to see which Guardian had the unrecognized moon and tree symbol.

  A woman’s dress flowed toward the watery edges of a grand pool beneath the cascading falls. High cheekbones and an angular face sharpened beneath hair pulled back into a long tail with bangs fringed across her forehead.

  Jàden lifted her head from Jon’s back, staring at her familiar features.

  Again.

  Another beacon to wave at Frank and scream, I’m right here. She slid from Jon’s grasp and dropped to the ground. Thomas’s horse grunted at her, but she shoved the velvety nose away and scrambled toward the courtyard.

  “Jàden, wait.” Jon wrangled his horse after her.

  Thunder rumbled overhead as she pushed through a crowd of golden-robed singers until she stood in front of the giant statue of herself, this one with the Bioengineering Guild’s trainee seedling patch etched into her shoulder.

  This statue was different from the other one, more accurate from the waist up, showing the lines of her Guild uniform.

  Herana, the moonless Guardian. The lonely Guardian.

  The empty, derelict, nothing Guardian.

  Why would they call her that? But as she glanced at the sky, Jàden had a pretty good idea. Élon’s golden sun burned bright in the north, Erisöl’s lighter white sun to the east.

  Four suns.

  Two moons.

  A Guardian for each, and she was the seventh. Jàden opened her hand, the Flame’s power tie between her and Jon strong, with Sandaris’s heart beating alo
ngside hers. A symbiosis of energy streams.

  Anger ignited inside her at being called empty.

  Jàden screamed out her rage and fear, as if that would help anything.

  Robed figures strolled through the courtyard, singing a low melody. A few heads turned her way as their soft, sonorous tune matched the darkening storm.

  “You fucking bastard, Frank,” she muttered, her hood falling to her shoulders. He would find her here too with a statue that large.

  But the Guild patch etched into the stone nagged at her. If these people knew about the Guilds, maybe they hid some of Hàlon’s technology nearby. Nearly all the shops were marked with symbols of their factions or specialty, and all inside the golden sun.

  Which was just an infinite circle, like the patch on her shoulder.

  “It’s Herana!” someone shouted.

  Jon caught her arm. “We have to go. It’s too dangerous here.”

  She yanked out of his grasp. “If these people know about the Guilds, maybe they can help. Frank is right on our asses.”

  Besides, what if she was wrong? Frank had a ship, guns and a whole arsenal of technology at the tip of his fingers. The stone towers might keep them safe if they could get underground.

  “Enough.” The sharp tone in his voiced silenced the fear burning to spill forth from her lips. Jon grabbed her hood with both hands and yanked it over her head, pulling her so close his mouth brushed against hers.

  Jàden’s next words froze on her tongue as heat tingled against her lips, his bushy beard prickling her skin.

  Jon seemed frozen too as his thumb traced across her cheek to the corner of her mouth. A shadow flickered across his eyes but was gone before she could grasp its meaning. “Frank ain’t our only problem. You said you wanted to fight, so here’s your first lesson.”

  Kiss me, she screamed, aching to feel more of Jon’s intimacy, but the Guardian song hushed along a tidal wave of longing and guilt. Jàden tried hard not to notice his closeness, suppressing the urge to press her mouth against his.

  “Herana.” The whispers rose in volume as citizens dropped to their knees, gesturing a strange series of signs across their bodies. “Our Guardian has come.”

  “Keep your face hidden until we’re on that barge.” Jon grabbed her arm and led her back to the horses.

  “He’s kidnapping Herana,” voices shouted.

  Several women bolted away, perhaps to notify the city guards, but Jàden couldn’t shed the heat in her cheeks as a cold wind blew through the courtyard.

  Citizens shouted their anger and rallied to their feet. Thunder rumbled in the sky. The clouds shifted from stormy gray to a bright glow. Engines roared, and a sleek, silver craft lowered beneath the clouds.

  Orange lines illuminated the seams of a silver scout craft, the wings spanning the gap from one side of the courtyard to another.

  “Run!” Jàden shouted. She squirmed out of Jon’s grasp and raced across the courtyard, a crowd of roaring citizens on her heels. Yanking her hood across her face, she ducked behind a large pillar.

  Gunfire echoed off the tower walls and ripped through the buildings, knocking down several rioters. Blood splattered across the crowd.

  “Jon!”

  “What is that thing?” Jon shouted over the roar of the engines when he caught up to her. He grabbed the reins and climbed onto his horse. “Come on!”

  She clasped his arm and swung up behind him. “It’s a scout ship.”

  He wrangled the stallion around and dodged into the nearest alley, Thomas and the others on their heels.

  A loud voice reverberated over the city. “I know you’re out there, darlin’.”

  Frank’s voice sent a chill to the deepest part of her psyche. She tightened her grip on Jon, heart slamming against her chest. “Shit, shit, shit. Don’t let him find me.”

  The black pressed his ears back as Frank unleashed another round of gunfire. Startling sideways, he turned from the noise and dashed down a narrow alley into the fog. “Stay where the crowds are thickest.”

  “That’s only going to slow us down.”

  “It might also throw off his heat sensors.” Jàden had no idea how to explain that to Jon or if she was even accurate. It wasn’t like she spent her life in the cockpit—that was Kale’s forte.

  “Get in front of me and take the reins.” Jon stood in the saddle then stepped one foot behind her.

  “I can’t—”

  “Just do it!”

  Damn dress. She pulled herself forward and grabbed the bolts of material, yanking them against her waist. As Jon dropped behind her, she grabbed the reins and delved into a merchant crowd.

  But if she pushed the black like a mad woman, Frank would spot them for sure. She slowed the horse’s pace to blend into the thick mass of wagon carts and merchant stalls.

  “Is that Frank? The giant metal beast?” Jon unsnapped his weapons from the saddle and strapped them to his back. Except for his bow. He fit an arrow to the string.

  The gunfire ceased, and the ship’s engines roared.

  Snow glowed orange as the scout craft lifted over the buildings and slid across the sky.

  Jon pulled the tension on an arrow and aimed it at the ship.

  “You won’t hurt him that way. Frank’s human—he’s inside it.” She clenched the reins and tugged her hood lower. “There’s so much you don’t know.”

  Soldiers poured onto the avenue from the adjoining alleys, tall riders in black uniforms with silver swords strapped to their backs.

  Jon’s black dead-stopped, his ears laid flat.

  A tall, slender man nudged his horse forward, two silver bands beneath the Guild-like Rakir symbol on his left shoulder. His eyes fixed on her, black and cold and ruthless. “How’s the family, Jon?”

  Jàden shrank under the man’s intense gaze, but a familiar ring to his voice nagged her instincts. She’d heard it before.

  The black riders drew their circle tighter. But Thomas and Malcolm appeared to either side, both with their weapons drawn.

  Jon fired his arrow, the shaft grazing the black-eyed man’s neck and plunging into the rider behind him.

  The familiarity of the man’s voice suddenly sparked, coupled with the horrible crunch of bone. Éli.

  “Fuck.” Jon dug his heels into the stallion and reined them around. “Split up!”

  They crashed between two of the black riders, and Jàden crouched over the stallion’s neck, clenching the reins with a handful of mane hairs.

  A whoosh over her head curled her up tighter as the horses to either side reared up, their riders screaming in pain. Something wet dripped on her cheek as Jon’s horse broke through and bolted into the nearest alley.

  “Ayers!” Shouts erupted as the black-clad soldiers thundered after them.

  Jàden wiped her cheek, crimson on her gloves. Blood, more death following her every step through this world. She tried to sit up, her body half-frozen with fear as arrows brushed past her head to the riders on their trail.

  Theryn knelt on the rooftop, another arrow on his string as he pulled the tension.

  The black dodged into the next alley, this one narrower and filled with crates and barrels. Jon grabbed his quiver then squeezed Jàden’s waist and leaned toward her ear, his beard tickling her cheek.

  “Head toward the bay and find Malcolm. Don’t stop until you’re on that ship.” He pulled his feet from the stirrups. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Wait! What are you doing?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Don’t you dare stop fighting.” Jon touched her cheek then leapt up to a low-hanging signpost.

  “No!” Jàden grabbed for his leg, but the horse charged ahead. She tried to turn around, but the walls were so close she could reach out and touch each one. “Jon!”

  Thomas was right behind her, waving her on. “Keep going!”

  “Get the woman!” someone roared behind them.

  Jàd
en’s hands shook. Please don’t leave me.

  Silver and orange slid across the top of the buildings. The ship’s engines rumbled, and she hunched her shoulders up tight, fear crashing into her as the black dashed across the next road. Kale, what do I do?

  He’d know how to handle his father or at least have some idea how to ground the scout craft and give them a fighting chance. His voice slid into her head like a warm breeze. Have courage, Jàden.

  Yet, the words were tainted with the heat of Jon’s mouth brushing across hers. She bit down on her lower lip, Jon’s gentle command in her head this time. Never stop fighting.

  She turned onto another side street, the salty ocean air washing over her. An icy wind blew through the city, two-story wood-and-mortar buildings blocking most of the chill. Fog banks hovered, obscuring the wharf.

  “Get her to the ship!” Thomas yanked his horse around and drew his sword, half a dozen Rakir crashing into him.

  “Thomas!” Jàden called. Chaos and fear pounded in her skull. All of Jon’s men were gone, replaced by fog and scrambling citizens as black and gold soldiers raced toward her.

  Something heavy landed on the back of Jon’s horse.

  “Keep going!” Theryn dug his heels into the stallion and fired an arrow behind them. “Move!”

  She tightened her grip and leaned close to the stallion’s mane, one of Theryn’s arrows flying over her head into a warden’s chest.

  The black lowered his head, charging through the streets and sweating foam along his neck. White fog swirled, so thick she could barely see the outlines of the buildings.

  Frank’s ship hovered overhead, only a scout craft, but the wingspan was nearly the length of a full city block. Jàden turned them into an alley, then another, lost in a sea of white.

  Her shoulders twitched at the memory of two years in the white.

  The endless nothing.

  Jon’s horse panted as foam licked up the sides of his neck. She needed to slow him down before he strained himself.

  The sound of riders faded as they plunged into bustling crowds again. Wooden carts lined a wide avenue, the stench of rotting fish nearly gagging her. She slowed the horse and searched the shadows in the heavy mist.