Bloodflower

by K. J. Harrowick

  “Over there.” Theryn tapped her shoulder and pointed to a stone block painted with bright orange flames and a black creature standing on top. The leathery canine was long dead, its hide stuffed tight as the hollow eyes stared toward the bay.

  Beneath the hairless wolf-like creature, black letters were painted across orange flames: The Fiery Shàden.

  Frank’s ship hovered two blocks away, arrows pinging off the hull. People needed to stop doing that before he gunned them all down.

  A loud whistle caught her attention.

  Malcolm stood on the wharf, gesturing to a moored barge.

  Jàden nudged the stallion to the far side of the wide avenue and trotted onto the dock.

  “Jon’s coming, right?” She clenched the reins as the stallion’s hooves pounded against the weathered wood.

  “He’ll be here.” Theryn clenched his jaw as he nocked an arrow and watched the streets behind them.

  A shadowy barge loomed at the end of the dock, creaking each time the tide rolled in and out.

  Theryn eased the tension on his bow and hopped down. “We leave as soon as the others get here.”

  Malcolm threw back his hood. “Go on, Jàden. Get the captain’s horse tied up.”

  She nudged Jon’s black up the ramp. The wooden planks creaked beneath her as they trotted onto the ship. Worry clutched her chest for Jon’s safety as she dismounted and tied the stallion to the rail.

  “Stay here,” she muttered. “No running off this time.”

  The black grunted, his ears perked toward the city as if searching for Jon. Agnar raced up with Dusty and Theryn’s horses tied to his saddle. He pressed his nose into her.

  “Did you see him?” Jàden searched the road along the wharf as she tied off the rest of the horses and chided them with the same lecture. No showing off how they could untie their ropes. But she couldn’t ease the worry in her heart as the seconds ticked by and the others still didn’t appear.

  Orange and silver slid over the cityscape, the ship’s seams illuminating the clouds. She lowered her head, peeking out through the top edge of her cowl. Please don’t find me.

  Wood creaked against wood with each roll of the waves. Jàden kept close to the horses, but knots twisted in the pit of her stomach.

  The ramp clattered along the pier then dropped into the bay. Theryn dove for the deck, clutching onto the side as he pulled himself up.

  “What the fuck happened?” He nocked an arrow and scanned the deck as if Theryn expected an enemy.

  Malcolm stood on the pier, an ax buried in a Rakir’s skull. “They’re on the ship!”

  A strong hand clamped around Jàden’s mouth and ripped her from the rail.

  “Theryn!” Her scream muffled behind her captor’s sausage-like fingers as she twisted and squirmed. Jàden clawed at the beefy hand.

  The attacker tightened his grip and laughed from deep in his belly, hastening toward the far side of the deck. “Looks like I got me a wildcat here. Commander Hareth’s gonna love you.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Nelórath

  Éli wrangled his horse around, clenching the reins so tight his fingers hurt. “I know you’re here, Jon!”

  He signaled the rest of his men: search everywhere.

  They’d have to rely on silent gestures for now as the sky beast roared louder. Sleek gray slid over the top of the towers, lines between its skin bright orange against the storm as if the creature’s blood glowed from within.

  He’d had everything planned meticulously, from his soldiers waiting in the mountains to the wardens who’d spied Jon and his men entering the city. But nothing could have prepared Éli for the fiery sky beast, and he was quickly losing control of the situation.

  His men scrambled from their horses, kicking in doors and overrunning shops and taverns.

  Or maybe the chaos would drive Jon’s next move.

  Éli circled the plaza, scanning all the rooftops, the stone and mortar slick with ice. Bright banners whipped in the harbor breeze, but nothing stirred over their heads, only chaos and screams in the streets as Nelórath citizens raced to safety.

  The sky beast spit bolts of light from its belly, ripping a hole into a tower wall before it turned toward the harbor, heat bursting from its back end and momentarily warming the air.

  “Of course.” He’d ordered Granger and a squad of soldiers to wait by the docks in case Jon and his men tried to slip away by sea. Snowflakes glistened and melted to rain as he bolted down the nearby alley. If that was indeed their plan, Jon would head straight to the wharf.

  A shadow leapt from one rooftop to the next, a flash of red beneath the cowl.

  Inman. He’d know that freckle-faced bastard’s bright hair anywhere.

  “Split up,” Éli shouted, pointing toward the roof. “And somebody kill that red-haired fuck.”

  He charged to the next corner. There weren’t enough of them to cover the block, even with wardens attempting to barricade everyone. But with the sky beast roaring, most of the wardens were giving up the chase and retreating to help their own kin.

  Cowards. He raced to the end of the block, the newly forged faux pendant hung around his neck, its metal cold against his chest. Éli would trade it for Connor and keep the real key, but Jon was proving to be a slippery bastard.

  Fog rolled in from the coast, obscuring the bay. Éli whistled for his men and stormed onto the next street, bright merchant carts and colorful fruits on display. His stomach growled as a whiff of fresh-baked bread entwined with the salty air.

  “This isn’t over! I’m going to find that woman.” Éli cursed as soon as the words came out. The woman, he wanted—if only because Jon was protecting her—but the key, he needed.

  Another shadow raced by on the rooftops, this one with two swords strapped to his back.

  “Up there,” someone yelled.

  “Don’t kill him!” Éli seethed as an arrow whizzed past Jon’s head.

  He clenched the reins until his knuckles were white. His men had orders to hit him in the leg, something to slow him down. But with no one listening, maybe he could trigger Jon’s anger. Get him to drop to Éli’s level before he lost Jon to the rooftops again.

  “Your sister begged me to bed her, Jon. Every night until I lit the stick that set her on fire.” Fighting Jon never gave Éli the peace he needed after the Tower stole the last shard of his soul, so he’d tried seducing Jon’s sisters. The oldest spurned him, already happily bonded with her new wife, and the youngest no more than a child. But the third sister had fallen victim to his false charms. Éli bedded her with a single purpose: to produce an heir to both the Hareth and Ayers bloodlines.

  And Connor was now trapped on the high council barge just beyond the horizon and in danger of getting branded to the Tower’s will.

  Éli clenched his jaw. They would not turn his son into a mercenary. When Jon didn’t show his face, he bolted toward the harbor, trying to cut off his path.

  The beast lifted one wing and turned away. A building exploded, rock and wood shooting into the sky. Éli’s horse whinnied, and they both slammed to the ground.

  Pain shot up his arm, rocks and debris raining down.

  Shaking off the ringing in his ears, Éli stumbled to his feet, coughing through the cloud of dust.

  “Horse!” Damn thing better be alive. He gritted his teeth, agonizing pain throbbing from his fingers to his collarbone.

  The excruciating sizzle in his arm eased after a few moments, but his shoulder ached. Unwilling to lose one more second, he stumbled through the fog. His horse trotted toward him, a jagged shard of wood lodged in its shoulder. It looked to be a shallow wound and wouldn’t lame his companion. He’d deal with it later. Right now, he needed to catch Jon.

  Grabbing the reins, Éli swung into the saddle.

  “To the harbor. Let’s move!”

  Shadows followed him through the dust, keening wails high on the air a block over. Another
explosion ripped apart the building behind him. Rocks clattered to the cobbles beneath. Orange fire burst from the sky beast, cutting a swath of flames across buildings. Citizens screamed and ran in a dozen directions. People burned to ash in the span of a heartbeat.

  Éli cursed. Heat rolled through the icy air as he dodged through streets and alleys, getting as far away from the creature as he could. The wharf came into view through the fog and snow, rotten fish wafting through the air.

  Ships broke free of their moorings as waves crashed against the wharf. One drifted several spans off the pier, black horses loose on the deck.

  As the second sun lightened the sky, fog rolled apart, revealing a giant barge with the Tower and two moons on its sails. The high council vessel. A warning prickled the hairs on the back of his neck. His son was on that ship.

  “There,” he shouted to the few men still at his back.

  Jon stood on the edge of the docks, a dagger gripped in each hand. He paced the wharf, dark eyes fixed on each of the soldiers. His hair and beard had grown long, creating the image of a half-crazed woodsman.

  Éli stopped his horse a few spans back, the remainder of his men circling Jon in a half moon on the edge. He had to tread carefully. He wasn’t above swimming after the bastard but he would rather fight Jon on dry land.

  “Did Mather cry for his woman when he died? A brother for a brother, eh, Jon?”

  The air seemed to grow more frigid as Jon shifted his weight onto his back foot. He slammed the twin daggers into their sheaths and drew a long, silver sword, the hilt bound with white cloth.

  “Stay away from me and stay away from my men.” Jon’s voice held a deadly calm, sharper than a razor’s edge.

  Now he was finally getting angry.

  The Rakir drew their swords, but Éli nudged his horse forward. He considered telling Jon that Connor was alive, but he wasn’t ready to play that card yet.

  Instead, Éli did what always forced the anger out of Jon.

  “Do you know”—he slid to the ground and unsheathed his sword—“I could smell your woman’s hair through that soldier’s nose? I wonder if it’s as soft against my own fingertips.”

  “You’ll never touch her.” Fury bled into Jon’s eyes.

  Bullseye. She meant something to him. Though Jon always did have a soft spot for weak females.

  The roar of the sky beast grew louder. He charged Jon, swiping aside the white-bound blade with his sword as they hit the sea together, the icy cold seawater snapping him alert.

  Explosions thundered along the dock, spitting fire and wood over their heads through the shimmering surface water. He slammed his elbow across Jon’s jaw.

  Jon kicked him in the gut, pushing them apart.

  Whipping his sword around, Éli sliced the blade across Jon’s shin. But Éli was running out of air. He swam for the surface for a breath, searching the choppy gray waters. “Jon!”

  The bastard had to come up for air soon. Wreckage floated on the small swells, the Tower barge looming beyond the harbor.

  Jon wasn’t anywhere.

  Éli slapped the water. “Mother fucking horse shitter.”

  Rage burned in his chest as he slid beneath the waves again. It couldn’t be over this quick. Where was that fucking bastard?

  Dust and debris littered the tide, making everything murky. Jon was nowhere to be seen.

  He climbed onto the dock, the wharf-side street scattered with rock and wood, a wide crack running along the cobbles. Dust and smoke swirled around him. His eyes burned as he turned toward the sea, searching for a bobbing head.

  “I’ll find you, Jon Ayers. I haven’t finished yet.”

  He wasn’t even close to done.

  Neither was the sky beast. It slid along the shoreline inland, almost as if it hunted something. Or someone.

  Sheathing his sword, Éli whistled for his horse. The black limped toward him, blood dripping down from the chunk of wood buried in his shoulder.

  “I’ll get that trembling oaf to stitch you up. Can’t have me a lame horse.” Not all the men in his regiment took proper care of their mounts, but Éli was meticulous about his. The temperamental stallion had gotten him out of more scrapes than he liked to admit, and someday the two of them would find a way to disappear, far away from any Tower laws.

  But not until Jon suffered enough pain to satisfy the rage in his heart.

  Fucking Jon. Fucking sky beast.

  Éli grabbed the reins and clutched the faux bloodflower. He would not be thwarted again.

  If Granger had been successful capturing the woman, Jon would come to him. But for today, he had another duty. He had to get Connor away from those old pricks.

  “To the barge,” he shouted to his men and turned toward the far dock, where his own ship was moored.

  CHAPTER 20

  Nelórath Harbor

  Only Jàden mattered now.

  Jon swam through the icy waters, trying to shake off Éli’s words. He clenched his sword until his fingers hurt. Just his presence at her side put Jàden in more danger than she deserved.

  But the sky beast worried him the most. Frank. Another man he’d have to kill to keep her safe.

  Saltwater stung deep in the cut on his leg and forced him to the surface. Smoke plumes obscured the city as he gasped for air then dove under again before anyone could spot him.

  When he surfaced a second time, Jon was beyond the moored ships, surrounded by swells. He turned about to get his bearings, fog wrapping the Guardian towers and most of the city. Smoke hovered along the waterfront, gold-armored and black-clad soldiers darting in and out of the adjacent roads.

  Rakir and wardens had been enemies for hundreds of years, each sticking to their own side of the Forbidden Mountains. Watching them side by side unsettled his already turbulent thoughts.

  “Captain!” A rope slapped the water next to him. Malcolm stood on the deck of a large ship, wine-colored sails flapping in the breeze.

  Jon sheathed his sword and grabbed the mooring rope. He pulled himself out of the water, his leg killing him each time he put pressure on it.

  Canon fire exploded, a column of water soaring into the sky. He gripped the weathered wood and pulled himself over the rail as the spray hit him and the boat lurched under the force of the waves.

  “Where’s Jàden?” Jon asked. “We got separated.”

  “We all got separated.” Malcolm clasped his forearm, hauling Jon to his feet.

  “Thomas and the twins are missing, I ain’t seen Dusty yet, and that woman of yours…” Malcolm pointed toward the far side of the harbor where a black and silver Tower barge sat shrouded in a thin veil of mist. “She and Theryn got taken.”

  “Fuck!” He paced along the rail, gritting his teeth each time he stepped on his injured leg. The ship’s crew shouted across the deck with strong female voices. Women clad in soft dresses and low hemlines tugged on the ropes to open a sail, while others—dressed as men in wine-colored breeches—tugged their hats low and climbed the masts.

  He needed to get to that barge. The high council might keep Jàden alive, but Theryn was in serious trouble. Leaving his men behind wasn’t an option.

  Jon shouted in frustration.

  Malcolm gestured to the ship’s hevkor—a prestigious command title only given to merchant trade captains—as the ship’s aft drifted toward the wharf. “Ain’t never been terrified of a woman, but that one frightens me. Whatever you do, Captain, don’t go pickin’ a fight with her.”

  It was as if Malcolm didn’t know him. Jon was already itching for a fight.

  Dusty raced along the exploded wharf. “Get a ramp down!”

  The crew was already in motion. Several women shoved Jon aside and slid a rail from the top deck toward the pier. More than a dozen riders trailed Dusty.

  Jon grabbed an arrow and sighted the tip as he pulled back the tension on his bow. The damn thing zipped past the warden’s shoulder. He cursed under
his breath and grabbed another as horses thundered onto the ship.

  A small knife plunged into one warden’s throat.

  Twins are here, Jon thought, slipping another arrow onto his string. He released it into the last man’s throat, but loud shouts erupted in the distance. Dozens of wardens poured out of a nearby cross-street.

  “Shit, out of time, boys,” Jon said.

  Dusty and the twins bolted onto the ship, the latter with blood splattered across their cheeks.

  “Toss the ramp,” Dusty shouted to the crew.

  “No, wait.” Ashe pointed toward a knot of soldiers as Thomas burst through.

  “Get your arrows.” Jon grabbed two more then tossed his quiver to Dusty, who only had one left. Jon pulled the fletchings against his cheek and fired his arrow, piercing a warden in the knee.

  “Open the lower doors!” one of the crew shouted.

  Thomas laid low against his horse and bolted for the ship. The crew hauled up the ramp and dropped it onto the deck. The rusted black raced to the end of the pier and leapt, barely clearing the gap as both the stallion and Thomas disappeared into the lower deck.

  Jon sneered at the soldiers racing along the wharf. “Let’s go. And someone check on Thomas.”

  Guardians be damned, he needed a cigarette. His were soaking wet. Without a care for the women on deck, Jon stripped off his shirts and squeezed out as much of the moisture as he could while the ship slid away from the city toward the harbor.

  His thoughts were on Jàden.

  He’d damn near kissed her and only barely held himself back. Her gentleness breathed in his skin, but it was his mouth that burned with the desire to feel her lips against his.

  Jon pulled on dry clothes and his leather armor, buckling on his weapons last. He was still freezing his ass off, but it would have to do. He needed to get to Jàden and Theryn before it was too late.

  “Head for the Tower barge.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The Tower Barge

  Sweat from cold fingers slid across Jàden’s mouth, soiling the remnants of Jon’s breath with the scent of sex and blood. She yanked her head away from the wretched man’s beefy fingers.