Malcolm groaned from the corner. “Where’s my boy?”
Clenching his jaw, Jon turned to glare at the older man. “Ashe ain’t here, and he ain’t your grandson.”
Ashe and Andrew had grown up inside the Colony, a gated community of wealthy families within Ìdolön that never had to live by the rules of the rest of the city. They threw parties, maneuvered marriage alliances and generally congratulated themselves on the wealth they hoarded that kept most citizens on the brink of starvation.
“I ain’t talking about Ashe.” Malcolm rubbed his head as if he were in pain then skillfully tried to change the subject. “Where are we?”
But Jon didn’t miss a beat as he counted all of his men except Ashe and Thomas. The latter had grown up a Tower orphan since he was only a few months old.
Of course. Jon groaned inwardly.
Thomas’s birth year was the same as when he first stumbled across Malcolm drunk and almost dead in the gutter. Jon clenched his jaw, kicking himself that he hadn’t realized sooner.
“Let’s just figure a way out of this place.” Half a dozen veteran prison guards should have enough smarts to plot an escape.
A group of city guards laughed out loud as they emerged from deeper inside the prison.
Jon couldn’t think straight, but the moment he recognized the shorter, more muscular woman, he called out to her. “Guess we’re acing this ‘fresh start.’”
The woman barely gave him a glance. Then recognition seemed to hit her as she stopped and faced him fully. “From shipwreck to prison cell. I see we’ve made quite the impression on you boys.”
He tried hard to force a smile to his face or at least appear somewhat relaxed. He still had no doubt this woman could see through a lie, so he had to frame his words just right. Maybe if he played off that it was nothing but a drunken brawl, she’d take pity. After all, humans had no abilities like shifters did, so maybe they would be less of a threat.
“Réva’s a bit stronger here in the south,” he said.
“Where’s the woman? She cleaning up after your mess?” The guard narrowed her eyes, glancing at each of them before her gaze met Jon’s again.
He had to lie at least a little. Or at least stretch the truth. “She’s my wife. We were only trying to protect her.”
One of the guards who ignored him before stepped up behind the woman and whispered in her ear.
“Captain, is it?” she asked.
Something in her tone pulled at the hairs on the back of his neck. Jon had good instincts with most people, but this woman’s shift in demeanor had just pushed her into dangerous territory. He fought to keep himself upright as sweat beaded along his brow and the ice in his instincts warned him again to watch his words.
“I need to find her,” Jon said. “She’s in danger.”
That at least was the full truth, and thankfully Thomas and Ashe would be with her now. Any real danger and they’d keep her safe, but Jon didn’t trust whatever was happening to his body. Almost like an interference with their bond had twisted it up and made him feel like shit.
Whatever was happening, he couldn’t fix it behind these bars. “Just tell me what I need to do to get us out of here.”
“Serve your time.” She turned away and hastened down the hall, calling out over her shoulder. “And next time maybe that old man will think twice before attacking people.”
Fuck. Jon cursed under his breath, a dark anger gripping his chest.
Malcolm sat up, groaning again as he clutched his jaw. “I get in a fight or something?”
Jon charged across the cell—he was gonna punch the old man again—but Dusty and Theryn forced him back.
“Not yet, Captain.” Dusty’s calm tone was about to piss Jon off. “Wait until we’re out of here.”
Theryn clapped Jon’s chest. “Let’s just get free. Then you can beat the fuck out of him. And when you’re done, I’m gonna strangle him for losing me a shot with that raven-haired temptress.”
Jon tried to untangle himself, but as the obsessive darkness pressed in on him again, he glared at Malcolm. The old man had been like a second father to him, but tonight he’d fucked up in a bad way.
“Jàden better be safe, or it’s on you.”
CHAPTER 39
The Jungle
The others will find us, Jàden told herself.
Ashe’s life was the only thing that mattered now. She tightened her grip on Agnar’s mane, Hena’s lead rope rough against her fingers.
The narrow path widened onto a road, hard-packed dirt softened to churned mud by weeks of never-ending rain. She touched Ashe’s cheek. He was still warm. Still alive, his breathing shallow.
She followed the blond man and his companions deeper into the jungle. Rubber trees and strangler vines clustered together, their roots digging deep into the earth to line each side of the road like a low barricade.
They kept the horses to a fast trot to cover ground, but every second fell like a hammer against her chest. She raced to the front of the line and cut off the leader. “I’ve studied plants all my life. Tell me what to look for.”
He waved the others ahead, bringing his horse alongside hers. His expression softened. “It’s called the violet star, a mushroom barely the size of a single firemark.”
Violet star. Jàden wracked her brain, pulling forth more than a decade of knowledge. She’d studied some fungi but mostly the species slotted for terraforming projects. “Where do I find—”
“Braygen.” He held out his forearm. “Our people will take good care of your friend. I give you my word, Jàden.”
“I don’t know you enough to trust it,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
But he’d done it again, used her real name though she’d never introduced herself. Perhaps it had something to do with the tattoo across his chest, but it was a mystery she couldn’t dive into yet.
Ignoring his offered arm, she turned a circle to search for anything glowing violet. “He has to live.”
“Then my life is yours. Until you and your companion are safe.” Braygen wrangled his horse around and raced after the others. “Come. We need onions and nettles to help with the broth.”
Jàden pushed Agnar to catch up then handed Hena’s lead rope to the blond woman. “Take him—”
“Alida.” Her hair had been plaited with what looked like vine leaves.
Nettles and onions Jàden knew how to find—especially with onions she could usually follow the scent. But the last sun was already below the horizon, leaving the jungle much darker than their coastal road. If any spider shifters lurked here, she’d never be able to spot their webs. “What of the sahiranath?”
Alida pressed a small leaf into Ashe’s mouth. “You won’t find them on this road. Not anymore. And Braygen has excellent sight.”
Of course, otters were nocturnal.
Though the thought of him breaking apart into a pack of weasels sent a chill up her spine.
Ashe vomited again, brown ooze sliding down his chin onto his clothes. As Jàden sniffed the air for any trace of onion, all she could smell was vomit and mud.
They rode until the sister moons were high in the sky, casting their silvery light through the branches. Soft green glowed high in the trees, foxfire fungi scattering bioluminescence through the jungle.
She searched the brush along the road for any signs of onion, sniffing the air for traces of its strong odor, and finally caught a whiff of a strong sweetness.
Braygen must have caught it too as he wrangled his horse around. “This way.”
“Don’t let anything happen to him,” Jàden muttered, uneasy leaving Ashe. But desperation was slowly turning to panic as she bolted after Braygen.
“He’ll be fine, ya,” Alida shouted after them, her voice between teasing and somber.
Jàden tried to ignore it as the surefooted horses leapt over felled bracken and raced around large boulders.
Bray
gen pulled on the reins. “Onion’s over there. Nettle leaves should be down the path.”
Jàden dropped to the ground, alone once more as Braygen disappeared into the trees. Alone and just left by strangers in a strange land.
I sure hope you trust these people, Kale.
The onion scent lured her in like her grandmother’s cooking used to. She pulled off her cloak and crawled beneath a large fern into a dark hollow.
Patches of long green stems grew among lighter grasses. She dug into the muddy earth, ripping out several bulbs. Unsure which part of the onion was needed—roots, bulbs or stems—she grabbed everything and tied up the bundle.
The jungle went silent, the creepy quiet raising the hairs on her neck.
Jàden scurried back to Agnar’s side, scanning the skies for any flash of light. Please don’t find me. Not yet.
A ship rumbled above the canopy, the sound so low it could be directly overhead. Frank must have turned off its exterior lights.
Jàden ducked her head and leaned against Agnar’s neck. She’d forgotten the covering for her mouth, plus everything she and Agnar owned. Her saddle, clothes—everything was still back in Felaren.
“Thomas said we have to act Sindarin.” She rubbed the stallion’s nose then grabbed a handful of his mane and swung onto his back. “Can you find your way back to Ashe?”
Braygen trotted out of the trees, followed by a dozen small parrots coalescing together into a single man. Parrot-man raced toward Braygen and whispered in his ear then broke apart again and flew into the canopy.
“Another hour. Hurry,” Braygen said. A cluster of nettles stuck out of his saddle bags.
They raced to catch up with the others, the ship’s engines growing louder. Every nerve in her body on edge, Jàden silently wished she had Jon at her side. By now, he should have found the loose horses and her stuff scattered across the path. Hopefully, he was no more than an hour’s ride away because right now she could really use his strength.
Braygen searched the sky, a tightness in his jaw as they caught up with the others, almost as if he recognized the sound. But Jàden pushed that thought aside and pressed a hand to Ashe’s forehead. Sweat dripped from his skin, his shorter dark hair soaked.
“Tell me we’re close,” she said.
Braygen jutted his chin out. “Straight ahead.”
“Hang on, brother,” she whispered, using the endearment she’d heard from the others. She clasped Ashe’s hand and squeezed it tight until they angled off the road into the deeper woods. “Not gonna let him get us, okay?”
The ship’s roar dulled to a soft rumble as they stepped into a muddy clearing, a tiny violet light glowing from a shallow puddle.
“The violet star. We’re here.” Braygen yanked dried branches off the thick underbrush. The Tahiró shoved a bowl in her hand. “We need water.”
She dropped off Agnar’s back and rooted around for bromeliads, tipping their leaves until the pools of water rushed into the bowl and hoping no small frogs came tumbling out. Agnar followed her around like a stray dog.
“Rest,” she whispered, caressing his nose. “Ashe first. Then I’ll get you taken care of.”
He grunted and dropped his nose to a patch of grass, keeping close to Hena.
Jàden retreated to a smoking fire as two Tahiró tried to feed a small flame. She dropped her bundle beside them and hastened to Ashe’s side, laying a hand on his neck.
His skin was hot to the touch, and he kept mumbling incoherent words.
“Stay strong. The others are coming,” she said.
“Put his head in your lap, ya?” Alida sliced open the onions, yanking out the interior core of each and pounding them to a pulp with the hilt of her dagger.
Ashe lay stretched out on the ground, the blanket beneath him half soaked with mud. Crossing her legs, Jàden lifted his head into her lap and wiped the sweat from his brow.
The fire grew brighter, its warmth radiating. Rain fell heavy on the higher canopy, but by the time it reached her cheek, it was no more than a light drizzle.
Braygen steeped the nettles and onion into a broth, adding in bits of pine bark and an herb Jàden didn’t recognize. “Once we put the fungus in him, our men will keep him clean. It is a matter of honor with our warriors.”
She frowned then the underlying intent hit her. “The broth will push the poison out. Oh, he’d never forgive me if I had to wipe him clean.”
The Tahiró folk laughed, but the sound was hollow.
Alida crouched near the tiny mushroom no larger than her fingernail. It glowed a deep indigo. She pulled out a dagger then nodded to Braygen. “When you’re ready.”
He ladled some of the broth into a bowl and nodded. “Go now.”
Digging the fungus out of the ground, Alida shoved it in Ashe’s mouth. Indigo sap bled from the stump and glowed from between his teeth.
Braygen lifted Ashe’s head and poured the broth into his mouth, massaging his neck so he would swallow, then poured more down his throat until the bowl was empty. Ashe coughed and spasmed as Braygen pressed a hand over his mouth. “Hold his shoulders and watch your head.”
She nodded, laying a hand on each of Ashe’s shoulders. “Stay strong. Andrew’s coming.”
Ashe’s stomach gurgled loudly. His eyes popped open, and he sucked a lungful of air. He arced back, coughing and sputtering, shaking his head side to side.
“Let him go,” Braygen said.
Jàden released him, laying her hands on Ashe’s cheeks. “Braygen, let him—”
Ashe shot up, slamming his head against hers and punching Braygen in the jaw. Pain ripped through her forehead as the men shoved him back down. Ashe coughed again, indigo light sliding into his mouth. He tried to spit it out.
Jàden pressed her hand over his mouth. “Shh. You’re safe. Captain’s coming.”
Ashe’s strong hand gripped her wrist as he swallowed the liquid in his throat. “An-Andrew.”
“He’s right behind us. I got you, brother.” Her voice remained soothing as she caressed his hair back, her chest so tight she could barely breathe.
Ashe’s grip on her loosened, and his hand fell to the mud.
Jàden gestured toward the few remnants of the broth. “Soak the rest up into a cloth so he can breathe it in. Might help the fungus get into his blood faster.”
Braygen nodded and gestured to Alida.
She yanked up the root of the fungus as he soaked the broth up and then smeared any remnants on the rag until small patches glowed.
Jàden grabbed the rag from them and, ignoring the screaming pain in her head, pressed the cloth over Ashe’s nose and mouth. “Breathe deep if you can.”
Not that he could hear her—he was already unconscious, cheek against her knee.
She closed her eyes and held him tight. “Please, stay with me. Jon can’t lose another one.”
CHAPTER 40
Felaren
Éli punched the wall again, blood leaking from his torn knuckles as pain from his stab wound doubled him over. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Who were those bastards?”
He kicked a chair across the room, cursing under his breath. “Is anyone following them?”
A dozen men stood at attention, all staring at the far wall. They’d lost three more soldiers tonight, but none in front of him had the audacity to show grief in their hardened expressions. They were as angry as he was.
“We put two men on their trail, Commander.” Sweat beaded across the brow of the graying man who spoke. Blood stained his cheeks. “We can have the horses ready to ride in—”
“Then go!” Éli clenched his fists so tight the knuckles turned white around the bloody scrapes. “When Granger returns, we find the woman and kill those green-hooded bastards.”
His men saluted and hurried out the door, slamming it behind them.
He hated waiting. Hated not knowing his field of action. Those green-clad bastards had come out of nowhere and stolen h
is prize. His only consolation was the warm, sensual burning of her kiss on his lips, something he knew would piss Jon off.
At times, he could still remember the rain-slicked alley. The smell of fresh-baked bread wafting from a nearby eatery. Sebastian’s last glance as he tried to pull the dagger from his back. Then it was over. He’d crashed into the gutter, lifeless eyes staring at nothing while Éli screamed from the shadows.
He’d been just a kid, but he’d wanted to kill Ayers that night. The Rakir had come and taken him to the Tower, stolen his life before he had a chance to bury Sebastian’s body.
“I will not let him win, brother,” he growled, punching the wall again. Jon had won too many times, cleverly evading the full wrath of Éli’s vengeance.
Now the whisper of soothing rain on his skin was going to drive him mad. Whatever she’d done to him tonight, he could feel her now, a bright light shining on the darkest parts of his heart. In that moment, he both needed her and wanted to kill her.
“Evardo!” Éli righted the chair and plopped down in front of the fire, his injury stinging deep into his side. He stripped off his uniform shirt and leather breastplate then winced as he inspected the stab wound.
His son and servant slipped silently into the room, evading his gaze and likely his anger.
“Stitch this up,” Éli said, “and I want to know who the fuck those people were.”
Connor seemed to hesitate, too young to really do more than try not to become the focus of his wrath.
But Evardo dropped to their knees with a satchel clasped in their hands. Would you like me to dull the pain first?
“No!” he barked much harsher than he should have.
Evardo’s shoulders hunched tight.
“I don’t care if it stings. I need to be ready to ride ten minutes ago.”
He flexed his fingers, softness breathing in his skin. Jon’s wife now bonded to him. She was his ticket to freedom from the pain that burned like iron in his heart. And a Guardian too.
They call themselves Tahiró, the future. They’re believers of—
Bloodflower Page 26
