Blood Metal Bone: An epic new fantasy novel, perfect for fans of Leigh Bardugo

by Lindsay Cummings

  Each time she drew closer, Duran held his head a little higher, his steps more of a dance than a stride.

  Some war beast you are, Sonara thought to him. Prancing like a show steed.

  He swatted his tail in response.

  “The only tales told about you, Jax, are how you accompany the Devil and do her bidding.”

  “Careful,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll send a bone soaring towards that ego of yours.”

  Sonara spat towards him. Jaxon laughed, and Azariah looked like she might be sick.

  “Must you be so… vile?” she asked.

  Sonara shrugged. “So tell us, Princess. What do you know of Markam of Wildeweb?”

  “Ah.” Azariah looked skyward, where Markam sat atop Razor’s back. She waved a lace fan in front of her face, her silk gloves darkened from sweat. She wouldn’t last one day in the Deadlands without a guide like Thali. “I only know one tale, about the businessman whose ego weighs nearly as much as his coin purse. The businessman who runs away in the dark of night, without a word of goodbye.” Azariah’s smile was laced with acid. “But that is not a tale worth telling.” Sonara’s eyes narrowed.

  For she’d experienced a very different version, when Markam came to her that night with tears in his eyes. Love was a tricky thing. Broken hearts, even more so, and they never did seem to break even.

  “How much further?” Azariah asked, clearly changing the subject.

  “A day’s ride.” Sonara stared between the tips of Duran’s ears at the horizon. “We’ll be there by nightfall. Camp on the outskirts, then ride up the pass into the Garden in the morning. The Gathering begins at the setting suns. We’ll wait on your Wanderers to arrive. Watch them, until they make a move towards uncovering this Antheon you speak of. And once we recover it for you?”

  Azariah fanned herself again. “You’ll have your payment, on my honor.”

  “Will he be there?” Sonara asked. “The… king?”

  Azariah glanced to the right, where another group of riders joined the road. “Yes,” she said. Sonara could have sworn the girl shivered despite the heat. “You would be wise to hide yourself from him, when he arrives.”

  She tucked her fan into her cloak, and for a moment, the fabric slipped aside to reveal that awful scar around her throat.

  Her eyes flicked upwards, catching Sonara’s gaze.

  All throughout the day, caravans had passed by, heading towards the Garden. It was not a rare thing for the desert trails to be packed with travelers. If not to get a look at the strange, armored Wanderers, then to reunite with friends from Soreia or the White Wastes, or make proposals to provinces from other kingdoms.

  The royalty was always in attendance.

  The other group on desert cats drew closer, their striped bodies nearly as large as Duran.

  He tossed his head, his aura reeking of fear, his soul-ember blazing.

  “Easy,” Sonara said to him. “You’ll embarrass yourself in front of the mare.”

  He simply snorted in response, tossing his mane as if his fear outweighed his need to prance and act pretty.

  “I’ve never met a steed like him,” Azariah said. “It’s as if he listens. Responds.”

  Sonara chuckled. “All beasts do that. You just have to know how to listen.” She ran her hand across Duran’s hot neck. “Though, yes, he is different. He died with me. Came back to life at the same time.”

  “Shadows,” Azariah said. “Shadows and… a gift.”

  “Curse,” Sonara corrected her. “I’ve never known it to be a gift.”

  Thali answered this time. “The stories of old would disagree. It is magic we hold. Magic that once had the power to strike fear in the hearts of every living being on Dohrsar.”

  Magic.

  She’d never heard the word before, and it was strange on her lips as Sonara echoed it. “Magic?”

  “Magic,” Thali said again, resolutely.

  Jaxon, humming softly to himself on his mare, had fallen silent. He lifted the brim of his hat and spat a mouthful of chew into the sand. “What does it mean?”

  “It is ancient,” Thali said. “A word that means power, of the most unearthly kind. A beautiful thing to behold. Though the word itself has lost meaning in recent years as magic has crept far into the shadows, afraid to come back out.”

  “Which is exactly why Jira’s forefathers slayed every last Shadowblood on Dohrsar,” Jaxon said. “Their descendants, and their descendants, too. Because they were cursed, and undeserving of a second life. Tainted bloodline to bloodline.”

  And that was how Sonara had always felt, since coming back to life. Tainted. Undeserving. Cursed.

  She’d lived two lives already, but she was still trying to figure out why in the hell she was deserving of even one.

  Her own mother hadn’t thought she was, and her father… well, Sonara supposed she’d never learn of the man that had sired her. She worried that if she ever did, she’d kill him.

  Pay him back for the pain he’d caused her all those years in her first life, not knowing who she was. Not knowing why she’d even been born, if she was to remain unwanted.

  The wind howled, kicking up the sand. It was days like this, out in the wild, where she considered opening the cage inside of her. If she did, the physical pain of it, the pressure of holding back her curse, would fade for a time. If she could have a few moments of freedom… it was as intoxicating as the urge to spill guts and gain glory. To track down the truth about Soahm.

  Even if letting the pressure out meant it would only come back stronger later.

  A tiny taste, her curse whispered. Just for a moment, let me out to play.

  She glanced at her companions, silent, despite Jaxon’s off-key humming, which Azariah was kind enough not to object to. Perhaps Sonara could enjoy the ride, too.

  She was the Devil of the Deadlands, after all.

  She was alive, and she was free.

  Sonara unlocked the mental cage and let her curse soar.

  The tether lengthened as it soared down the foot-trodden path across the sand, landing upon a brown mare as her rider stopped for rest. She sank her muzzle into a trough of water. Her aura revealed simple joy, cool as a rushing river.

  Sonara pushed the tether outwards with a heavy breath, testing her control.

  Her curse soared only as far as she was able to see to command its direction. It went past two children as they giggled and chased a bony black feline around a wagon. She sensed rage as rough as a grinding stone, as the feline howled and tried in vain to escape.

  The further the tether lengthened, the more her head lightened. She knew she should reel it back in, but she allowed it a bit more.

  It bounded off the leather skirting of a wagon, sensing the exhaustion, the anticipation, from all who rode within. It danced past a flock of fowl swooping low in hope of plucking bugs from the sand, was almost back to her as Sonara mentally reeled the tether in, when the wind suddenly picked up.

  “Do you feel that?” Azariah asked.

  Sonara paused. She thought she’d imagined the rumble in her bones. But there it was, as she looked skyward. The glowing fireball of a ship breaking through the atmosphere.

  “Next ship’s landing,” Jaxon said. “Just as you said it would.”

  “I’ve never seen a landing before, so close,” Azariah answered, with equal parts fear and awe.

  Come on back, Sonara told her curse. It’s time now.

  But the moment she’d thought the command… her curse soared away. A mistake she’d only made once before, giving it far too much time to play.

  It flew into the distance, chasing the horizon.

  The sky, sweet as hard candies.

  And beyond that, as the ship lowered and began to slow enough that she could see its outline…

  Black of night, bitter as crushed bones.

  Sonara gasped. That was death she sensed, as clear as any day.

  She could hear Razor let loose a trembling screech, and then M
arkam was landing beside them, covering his ears as the ship soared from the sky.

  Sonara could sense the grains of sand beneath his feet, the tired leather of his boots, the sweat on Razor’s belly…

  Too much. Far, far too much.

  She gasped, clutching her throat.

  Azariah and Thali did not notice, but Jaxon dismounted and strode over, hands wrapping around Duran’s mane as he stared up at Sonara from beneath his hat.

  “Out of control,” she hissed, panic rising in her chest.

  “Breathe. Just breathe,” Jaxon said.

  The tether stretched. The pain was so deep she heard a whimper slide from her lips. She felt the wind of the Wanderer ship as it soared past, and her curse followed in its wake.

  Dark, dark, dark. Fire and fury and the promise of spilled blood.

  Sonara whimpered again. From the pain, but also from the memory. For she knew this sense, as if her body remembered it, even though she hadn’t been a Shadowblood when she’d first encountered it years ago on her last night with Soahm.

  “Sonara!” She heard his voice in her mind, saw the ghostly memory of his hands stretching towards her, the panic in his eyes, his leg splayed beside him at an awkward angle. “Sonara!”

  The tether on her curse stretched so hard it might snap.

  “You must control it,” Jaxon said. “You must bring it back.”

  At his words, her curse turned. As sudden as it had soared upwards, it spun back to the ground and exploded against the sand.

  The aura it found there was a new one. An ancient and furious presence, gnashing its teeth, like the last warm trickle of sunlight before an endless black winter.

  Sonara clamped her eyes shut.

  Come back, she begged her curse. Come back, come back, goddesses damn you, come back.

  Jaxon’s hand pressed against hers as she dug her fingertips into Duran’s mane. She was on fire. She was going to burn until she became nothing but ashes, scattered away on a rogue wind.

  “Sonara,” Jaxon said again. He shook her gently. The very same way he had, years ago, when she’d lost control of her curse for the first time. When Markam had backed away, fear in his eyes, but Jaxon had entwined her fingers through his and together, they’d waited the pain away. “Sonara. You’re not alone.”

  She wasn’t.

  She had Duran with her, the soul-ember in her chest warm and welcoming as she focused on it. And she felt Jaxon’s hand tighten over her own. They held onto Duran together, breath by breath.

  She wasn’t alone.

  She could bring it back. She was stronger than this.

  Something seemed to pop in her senses. The tether recoiled. Her curse slammed into its cage, and the lock turned tight.

  The heat was swept away, as if the wind had changed course and carted it to someplace distant. Sonara took a nervous breath and found it mercifully empty.

  “Blast,” she said, pointing up with a shaky finger. “The… the ship, Jax.”

  The sky was on fire. The Wanderer ship rocketed across it, metal and blazing as always. But this one had a red emblem painted on its underbelly. A bird with flaming, outspread wings as sharp as knives.

  “Soahm,” Sonara said, and in her mind, she saw the ship as she once had.

  A shadow blotting out the stars, the red bird bathed in moonlight as the ship banked and rose higher. She’d never forget that bird. Not in a million years.

  “That’s the one,” Sonara said. “I’m sure of it.”

  The shadows in her veins roiled, as the very ship that had stolen Soahm, years ago, finally returned to Dohrsar.

  Chapter 11

  Sonara

  A half-day later, their mounts breathing heavily, they crested the final stretch of road up the mountain pass. The Garden of the Goddess.

  It was nestled in between the two smallest peaks of the Bloodhorns. Where the rest of the Bloodhorns were jagged terrain, rocky purple and crimson crags and treacherous mountain faces of shale that crumbled beneath the feet of even the most agile mountain beasts… the Garden itself was flowing with life.

  An oasis like none other on Dohrsar.

  Sonara’s eyes watered from the mere brightness of it all.

  Grass, so lush it looked like an emerald sea, swayed gently in the wind, a carpet rolled across the entire valley. Among the grass stood tents in every shade of beast skins and stitched fabrics from across Dohrsar; natural sun-dried leathers and vibrant, dyed blue and purple and red skins. Through the valley, cutting through the grass like a silver tongue, a pure mountain spring that boasted the freshest, coolest waters. Some healers across Dohrsar traveled days just to fill their jugs from it.

  Sonara followed the gently flowing river upwards, towards the center of the Garden of the Goddess: where the legend itself was born.

  The jagged crimson fingers of the fallen goddess stood like ancient sentries.

  They stretched upwards right out of the ground, towering crimson rocks that were so massive Sonara had to crane her neck back to follow them with her gaze. They rose far above the valley, surpassing even the surrounding mountain peaks until they disappeared into the clouds beyond. None could tell how far the fingertips of the fallen goddess stretched.

  Thick blue vines stretched and twisted up the towering crimson rocks, glowing even in the daylight. Sun blossoms, with their jagged petals, hung from them in silken auburn and golden clusters. At night, the petals would fall. Moon blossoms would sprout to take their place; softly glowing flora that could be crushed and spread to make a paint that looked dipped in moonlight.

  A waterfall trickled from one of the goddess’ fingers, thick blankets of moss hanging from it like an emerald curtain, sunlight glinting off it.

  Large hunting fowl chirped and flitted from rock to rock, clinging to the vines with their talons before they leapt, wings tucked tight to their bodies as they pursued angelflies for a mid-morning snack.

  The entire Garden filled with their song.

  And with it… the sound of life.

  Sonara didn’t have a hope in the world of holding her curse back. The cage door practically blasted open, her curse soaring out as she breathed in the aura.

  Fresh flower petals and sun-warmed dew and bread rising over a smoldering fire.

  It was the aura of laughter, of love, of distant souls greeting each other after months spent apart. It was happiness and joy and lovers reuniting, family members embracing, old acquantainces becoming friends once more.

  “The Garden of the Goddess,” Jaxon said from his mount.

  Sonara echoed his smile as she breathed it all in.

  The sounds echoed back, music and laughter and conversation, the whinny of steeds and the roar of desert cats greeting their companions. The sound of blades clashing, as old comrades sparred together once more.

  All around the Garden, interspersed around the rocks, were tents and makeshift booths. Citizens from across Dohrsar had come: Soreians, Deadlanders and those who’d made the journey from the northern White Wastes by wyvern.

  Their sky wagons were docked to the far left of the goddess’ fingertips, sails made of stitched hide pulled down taut so as not to catch the wind. The great metal harnesses for the wyverns had been removed and set aside, and the wyverns themselves stood clustered in a makeshift pen.

  Overhead, Markam and Razor circled, coming to land by Sonara.

  Razor cried out at the sight of her own kind, watching the northern wyverns in the pen. A pile of raw mountain goat legs was stacked in the middle: a free-for-all.

  “We don’t get too close to royals, my love,” Markam said to the beast, as he landed and slid from the saddle. Delicate whorls of emerald smoke plumed from Razor’s nostrils, but she lowered her head as he unstrapped her saddle. “They are not kind to desert rats like us.”

  He glanced at Azariah with coldness in his gaze.

  She simply lifted her chin and glanced past him, her near-black eyes wide as she took it all in. She reached up and lowered her h
ood, a genuine smile on her lips. “It is a marvel,” she said in a breath. “I never imagined it to be this way.”

  “The Gathering?” Sonara asked.

  “No.” The Princess only smiled and wrapped her arms around herself. “Freedom.”

  She looked like a child receiving a gift. A warrior, being granted their very first sword at sunrise, toes dipped in the raging sea.

  “When will they arrive?” Sonara asked.

  Thali, all emotion hidden beyond her Canis mask, only looked skyward. “Dusk. The Wanderers will wait for the feast.”

  “And then?” Sonara asked.

  The jagged teeth of the Canis flashed bright white beneath the sun as Thali beheld the Gathering. “Then we will begin.”

  The Wanderers had not yet arrived. But the Gathering was in full swing. And, stars above, the silk.

  It was so soft against her cheek, Sonara wanted to bury herself in it.

  She wasn’t even past the outer ring of tents and booths when she’d found it. Her curse went wild, so close to something like this.

  Cool, smooth water, like diving into an oasis after a long day’s ride.

  s Damn it all to hell.

  Outlaw or not, a girl needed fineries like these.

  “Seven coins for a swatch, my blue-haired beauty,” the booth-keeper chided, pulling Sonara from her thoughts. She flicked her long, bony fingers across the booth, and gave Sonara a saber-toothed grin. Around her neck, the red sigil of the Blood Bucket out west, a now-barren place where Jira’s grandfather had first slain a man with Gutrender in the name of his conquering cause. Those who hailed from the Blood Bucket were fiercely proud of their city’s history with Jira’s forefathers.

  “I’m all out of coin,” Sonara said to the woman, and released the silk, her lips forming into a full pout.

  Liar, her curse whispered.

  The shopkeeper turned her predatory gaze on another young woman who approached the booth, and Sonara deftly slipped a piece of deep crimson silk into her duster. She silently blessed Jaxon for insisting she wear one to keep up her outlawing image, for it was perfect in times like this.