Bloodflower

by K. J. Harrowick

  Jàden rolled to her side and grabbed the gun, dousing the firemark and stuffing it into her waistband,

  probably before anyone could take it from her.

  But Jon wasn’t finished with Naréa. He rolled to his feet and grabbed his sword out of the dead soldier’s chest. He sure as hell was going to pick a fight with her now. “Naréa!”

  The crew spread across the deck, weapons in their hands, blocking him from the hevkor. “You promised me a village. There’s nothing here.”

  “You’re at the boundary, Captain, as requested.”

  As the Darius entered the wall of water, Jàden reached across the rail. Small droplets slid along her skin and rose toward the sky. “This is Hàlon technology.”

  A loud rhuum blasted through the air, reverberating through the mountainous spire. The same sound he’d heard when Frank’s people attacked.

  Jon didn’t understand much of what Jàden saw in those Guardian structures, but he sure as shit knew how to deal with the people in his world.

  “Land, Naréa, or we’ll see who swims first.”

  Jàden grabbed his wrist and lowered her voice. “We’re here.”

  The muscles along his arm tightened as he followed her gaze to the prow. The ship surged and fell with each crashing wave, snow beating down across the deck. As they slid out of the barrier, choppy swells smoothed out to a glassy surface. Storm clouds lowered, icy flakes melting to a cool drizzle.

  Thick fog clung to the sea’s eerily calm surface. The icy chill warmed to sticky, humid air, sails flapping once before they stilled. Wine-colored canvas rippled, bleeding across each surface until each showed a green orb with trailing arms over a field of black.

  Jàden squeezed his arm, dread in her voice. “Jon.”

  “I see it.” They didn’t need any more magic digging through their lives.

  He sheathed his sword, his instincts screaming a warning he couldn’t ignore, as deep water on one side of the ship became a shallow reef on the other. Giant trees grew along the shore, dozens of roots twisting into the shallows.

  He didn’t know these woods, but at least it was dry land and would get his team the fuck off this ship. It would be a cold walk in the sea, but he no longer cared. “Load up!”

  Shoving between Naréa’s crew, Jon retrieved his daggers from the wall and slammed them into their sheaths. They’d had their asses kicked today, but Jon wouldn’t let that happen again. Every one of his men was lucky to be alive, himself included.

  “Grab one of those weapons, Jàden. I think it’s time we all trained again.” As cadets, he and his team learned how to fight against anything from a fork to a longsword but never a metal weapon that could burn a hole in a man’s skull. The next time Frank’s soldiers found them, Jon would not have his ass handed to him.

  She furrowed her brow, scanning the sky once more. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  His men retrieved their gear from below deck as the Darius slowed, but Jon touched the small of Jàden’s back as she secured her horse’s bridle, lowering his mouth to her ear. “That’s an order.”

  Her shoulders stiffened.

  It was hard to keep the biting edge out of his tone as he saddled her horse, yanking the girth hard enough that Agnar tried to bite him.

  “You know your world. I know mine.” She pointed toward the dead soldiers as Naréa’s crew pulled each one to the edge of the deck and tossed them overboard. “They all have tracking beacons, and so do their weapons.”

  She grabbed Agnar’s bridle, anger in the way she tightened her shoulders, and both leapt into the sea.

  Jon clenched his jaw so tight the pain throbbed into his neck. The damn stubborn woman wasn’t listening. He needed one of those weapons to understand how to fight such an opponent. But as he crouched next to a dead soldier, her soft magic wove deeper meaning into his senses. A hunter tracking a bird, able to see its path without line of sight.

  They couldn’t take the risk.

  Taking another count of his men to make sure they were all present and ready, he gestured after Jàden. Naréa obviously didn’t plan to stop.

  So Jon shouted orders to his men to get their horses into the water. “Let’s move.”

  It would be a long walk in the cold surf, but at least the tides were low. They’d sustained no injuries, but the heavy silence meant his men were all probably as angry as he was. A few hours more and they would have had to swim—or kill Naréa.

  When he was the last one left on deck, Jon turned toward the hevkor, meeting the hardness in her eyes. She’d gotten them across the sea, and her crew helped keep them alive when Frank’s men attacked. But he still wanted to strangle the woman. He sure as shit hoped they’d never cross paths again.

  Without a parting word, he slapped the backside of his horse. The black leapt into the sea, and Jon jumped in after.

  Icy water slammed into his senses, chills running straight up his spine as he broke the surface. He swam toward his horse and grabbed the reins, the two angling for the shore until soft dirt brushed against the bottom of his boots.

  The stallion found his footing and snorted his displeasure, ears pricked toward the thinning mist along the shore.

  “I know, buddy,” he muttered, clapping his companion on the shoulder.

  The spectral silence broke every few seconds with a low, moaning creak of Naréa’s ship as it turned once more toward deeper waters, the strange black-and-green sails the last to disappear into the fog.

  He couldn’t feel his body anymore as the water dropped to his chest and finally his waist.

  A long wharf jutted into the placid sea. Its empty, wooden planks stretched to a cluster of small wooden shacks, strings of threaded shells hanging off the eaves. In the faint breeze, they clattered a hollow, mournful sound.

  Jàden held tight to Agnar’s bridle as she waited for him beneath a web of twisted roots, her eyes on the sky. Her shoulders hunched again as if hiding something from him. “Frank will send more soldiers.”

  The water dropped to his ankles, and his horse pushed his nose into the water, yanking a clump of sea grass out of the sand.

  “Then we keep fighting.” Jon pulled her forehead against his. Even through his chilled skin, her warmth heated his insides. He sighed and closed his eyes. “We don’t stop until Frank’s dead, got it?”

  His men already on dry sand and settling the horses, he only had a few moments of privacy left with Jàden, and she had him so twisted up right now he couldn’t think straight.

  One question burned his insides. “Why didn’t you take Frank’s offer?”

  CHAPTER 30

  The Lonely Sea

  Blood soaked Éli’s uniform, his body tensing with each slice across his back. At twelve years old, he’d tried to run away from the other orphans. When the Rakir returned him to the Tower, Kóranté Dràven had given him his first lesson in submission.

  The scars from that first encounter still lined his back, just as the brand on his shoulder had destroyed the last remnants of his birthmark. His Guardian had marked him from birth with a rearing horse wreathed in flames.

  “You’re going to do great things, little brother,” Sebastian had said to him every night before bed. “A few more years and we can leave this place. You’ll never have to endure the shame I feel every day of my life.”

  Clenching his fist until his knuckles were white, Éli tried to block out the nerve-shattering pain. He had to be stronger to honor his brother’s memory. Stronger than his son.

  And he couldn’t let Jon’s betrayals be what bound him to this fate.

  His vision blurred as Alken grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. “You can no longer be trusted, Commander. Unless you find me the bloodflower, I will slice open your son’s throat and leave him to die at the bottom of the sea.”

  Alken’s head straightened as a strong, sure voice whispered into Éli’s thoughts. Don’t feed him your power. You’re strong
er than him.

  Evardo.

  The air lightened, small flecks of dark dust lifting away from the chained woman’s skin and flowing toward the old man. The same dusty flecks lifted away from his hand and twisted toward the old man. Alken was siphoning power.

  These women weren’t sex slaves—they were magic wielders.

  Herana needs you. Save her, Evardo’s voice whispered.

  What in all of Sandaris would Jon’s woman need him for? But in his blinding pain, he latched on to Evardo’s voice.

  The Guardian needed Éli, not Jon.

  Not Jon.

  This thought was like music to his ears. The idea that he could make Jon feel the full weight of his pain and humiliation drove him to push back. He needed someone to take his pain, to free him from the anguish of Sebastian’s death.

  Éli punched the floor, his magic flowing like silk through his veins. He ached to unleash it, but Alken must have been using his own strength against him.

  Sweat beaded across his brow as he focused on Alken’s face, holding tight to the Dark Flame’s silken power and pulling it deeper inside himself.

  “No!” Alken released Éli’s hair and slapped him hard across the cheek. “You serve me.”

  “Not anymore, old man.” Éli pulled harder, siphoning pain and fear and desperation until the air snapped. The flow of power reversed, the weight on his body unburdening.

  “Give it back!” Alken bolted across the room and yanked the dagger out of the dead woman in a desperate attempt to protect himself.

  Éli stumbled to his feet and ripped his sword from its sheath, slicing the old man’s head off his shoulders.

  Long, white strands tumbled across the room, and the head hit the wall, dropping into the corner with the light gone from his vivid blue eyes.

  “Mother fucking prick.”

  The pressure eased on Éli’s back, pain still screaming from the cutting gouges. But the bone-deep anguish had withered away with the old man’s power.

  Éli retrieved his dagger and wiped both blades clean, returning them to their sheaths.

  “Please,” the woman whispered, lifting her chained arms. “Help me.”

  He stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Wiping the sweat from his neck, he trudged back on deck to a heavy silence. Tyken lay dead with a sword in his spine, the last three loyal soldiers surrounded by Éli’s men.

  “Everyone on deck,” Éli shouted above the gathering storm. “This ship belongs to me now, and we do not serve those white-haired bastards. You follow my orders or get the fuck off my ship.”

  A shadow moved near midship, the half-naked woman with her chains gone and murderous hate in her eyes. She spread her arms to the sky and burst into a flock of gold-and-black finches, disappearing into the fog. Granger would be pissed, but it was one less mouth to feed.

  “You heard the commander.” Granger walked along the line of soldiers, pointing the tip of his sword toward them. “He is the law now.”

  Anger burned in the last three loyal soldiers, but the others lined up in front of Éli and pressed their fists to their left shoulders. “We follow you, Commander.”

  Evardo lingered at the fringes of his mind, his silent way of asking for entry. As quick as a silver fish, he had the names of four soldiers who were already plotting Éli’s murder.

  Tell Granger, Éli snarled.

  One by one, Granger drove his sword into each of the four men’s chests and tossed their bodies overboard.

  Éli strode across the wood planking, his boots ringing a hollow sound. “Someone bring me a map.”

  As his men scurried to carry out his command, Connor crept up on deck with Evardo at his side.

  Éli crouched in front of his son and fixed his gaze on the boy. “Are you willing to do anything to find your uncle?”

  A streak of hesitation blazed across Connor’s eyes as they welled up with tears. But he lifted his chin and wrung his fingers together. “Yes, sir.”

  Éli wasn’t certain if he despised his son because he carried Ayers blood in his veins or if he was jealous of him. The boy was the endeavor of trying to find a weakness in Jon, and he wasn’t about to let that go to waste.

  “Good. Then you do exactly as I say.” He signaled Evardo over.

  “Yes, sir.” Connor lowered his head, tears sliding down his cheeks.

  “And don’t cry, or I’ll pitch you over the rail.” He stood tall when his men brought out a map and unrolled it across a stack of crates.

  Evardo followed, shoulders hunched inside the makeshift uniform, pieced together from what was left of the dead Rakir they’d found in the harbor. Their rail-thin body swam inside the clothing.

  “Find the woman.” Éli gestured toward the sea. “She can’t be more than a day ahead of us.”

  Evardo seemed to hesitate as they eased their mind toward Éli’s. You and the Guardian burn with the fires at the heart of Sandaris. She needs you, and one day, you may need her.

  Leaning his hands against the table, Éli sized Evardo up once more. He ought to punch the bastard for daring to make any form of a demand, but the scrawny dreamwalker kept his head down in deference.

  “I’ll do what I damn well please with that woman. Her only value is in her ability to hurt Jon.” Éli slapped the table, startling Evardo. “Are we clear?”

  Their body tightened, and they bowed low. “Y-Yes.”

  “What are we looking for?” Granger, his brawny second in command, scratched his thick beard. He wore a patch over the hole where his eye had been, his good blue one hard as flint.

  “Change of plans.” Éli scanned the coastlines, poking his finger on several cities along the northern shore. Hezérin was on the northwest corner of the Dark Isle and in the opposite direction of the fleet but much too far for anyone to travel without a ship full of goods.

  The wheels in Éli’s mind turned. Take the bait the high council offered or follow Jon. Connor could be of use, but the biggest payoff now was the woman: both a Guardian and someone Jon showed clear feelings for. Just the thought of such a volatile combination in a woman made Éli ache for vindication.

  Yet he still couldn’t ignore his own curiosity. What had Dràven found that could bait Jon Ayers? Perhaps another family relic, but it had to be something more precious than his own nephew.

  Dràven couldn’t possibly have anything Jon wanted more. Éli leaned over the map and tapped his finger against the two most likely cities, trying to guess where the other ship would land. Jon and his men would need supplies, and that meant they’d want to slip in and out of any city unnoticed.

  Something roared in the sky, and Éli’s head jerked toward the clouds. Several sky beasts, their skin lit up with different colored lights, blazed through the storm—gone in a matter of seconds.

  They’re searching for her, Evardo spoke into his mind. They will tear her apart until there is nothing left.

  Not when I have her, he snapped back.

  Another glance at the map and Éli chose the nearest city, right in the path of the sky beasts. “We sail to Felaren and slip into the city at night. You two”—he pointed a pair of younger soldiers—“sell off whatever we don’t need to resupply our stock.”

  “Yes, Commander,” they said in unison.

  Éli had nearly thirty men at his command now, not including the boy or his new servant.

  “And what about the high council, sir?” a younger soldier asked.

  For the first time in his life, he could not feel the high council’s power thrumming through his brand. He never wanted to be within a thousand spans of them again.

  “They sail for the darkness.” His men didn’t need to know any truth other than what he told them. “We follow Jon Ayers.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The Dark Isle

  The atmosphere processor blasted vapor into the clouds. A wall of seawater stretched to either side, the boundary fueled by a subsurface filter
ing system that split oxygen and hydrogen atoms and fed them back to the processor.

  Jàden had learned the engineering side years ago before she’d entered the Guild program, but right now Jon held all of her focus. His forehead warm against hers, his breath rolled across her mouth, triggering a burning desire she could not ignore.

  “I worked in the prisons a long time, and I know when a man is telling the truth. Frank knows where Kale is.” Jon’s thumb caressed her cheek, but a dark anger hardened his features.

  “Two lies and a truth,” Frank always used to say, long before he knew about her connection to the Flame. “Give a man the truth he wants and two lies to trap him with. You’ll always get what you want.”

  And she’d done the same damn thing to herself. The truth that she needed to find Kale. A lie that Kale would fix everything wrong in her life.

  And the trap of an energy tie binding Jon to her side.

  Except it bound Jàden to him, and as she traced her fingers down his prickly jawline, the atmosphere processor blasted again. “This is why Frank’s taunting is so effective. Bird in a cage, that’s what Kale used to call it. You give a bird exactly what it wants, and it doesn’t see the bars of its cage until it’s too late.”

  “What does he want, Jàden? This isn’t about power. It’s about something bigger, or Frank wouldn’t be hunting you this way.” The way Jon swallowed the lump in his throat and tightened his jaw against her hand told Jàden he would keep digging until he found the answer he wanted.

  “I need to know everything.” He lifted her chin. “I won’t lose you, but I can’t protect you when everything you do is so damn unpredictable.”

  He pulled her into a tight hug.

  She gripped his shirt, thankful for the seawater to hide her tears. Giant firemarks lit the unmuddied side of the atmosphere processor, all the power and computer systems she’d need to search for Kale, if she could get past the security locks.

  But Frank had found her today because of the datapad. He’d tracked her location the moment she accessed her account, Kale’s horrible funeral ending with a single nightmare word across her screen: Gotcha.