Contents
Description
Dedication
1 Exodus
2 Superlative
3 Vindictive
4 Sanguine
From the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Jonelise is dead. Or is she?
Her closest friends and lovers are forced to answer this question as the rebellion—and the world—breaks down around them. As the Eternal Queen struggles to grind out the embers of revolution under her Dragon’s iron-heeled boot, those fleeing from her wrath also struggle...to simply survive.
Unlikely allies and old friends turn out to support their cause and help them escape. Across the Seven Skies, those who supported Jone’s rebellion are threatened with destruction or worse. Isolated and under siege, the survivors must decide what to believe, who to support, and if continuing to resist is even worth it.
Can Adrienne, Esmeralda, Bellamy, and others hold on long enough to learn the truth of Jone’s supposed demise, and what will happen when they do?
And who amongst them may fall along the way?
Survivors of Arcadia is the fourth book in Eternal Queen’s Skies, a genre-bending series of novellas by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane, author of the Dying Ashes series. Gaslamp and Steampunk fans will enjoy the floating islands, airships, and cultural anachronisms, while fans of action and adventure will love the daring battles and exciting chases. Those hungry for an edge of romance in a plot that stands on its own, with an interest in polyamory or harem—and definitely lesbians with steamy sex scenes—will find all they desire in this series of delicious tales about Jone and her sexy lovers.
Join our mailing list at www.DarksbaneBooks.com for a free book plus updates and future release announcements and more!
Reading Order:
Call of Arcadia
Knight of Arcadia
Champion of Arcadia
Survivors of Arcadia
Hero of Arcadia
Savior of Arcadia
To Sam.
Like you, I aspire. And hopefully one day I will succeed.
1
Exodus
Adrienne charged through the undercity, bloody blade drawn, as the tunnels collapsed behind her.
C’mon Adie, run run run! She chanted the thought like a mantra in her own head as her breath puffed hard in and out and her chest burned. She chanted it over the sound of the collapse, over the endless rumble of falling bombs on the streets above, and as the steel and stone danced and quaked under her boots.
Growing up, she'd never known that her grandmother had used the old drainage channels to smuggle goods, much less people, in and out of occupied Arcadia. She’d known the wonderful old woman that had raised her was something of a firebrand—which was probably why she’d encouraged a young Adie to travel to the mainland years ago—but she’d never expected the elderly tavern keeper was an actual rebel and smuggler.
Not until after her death.
Run! That was another thought she didn’t have time for. Run! She chanted it to keep her legs pumping, despite the weight of her battered armor and bruised hope, despite the burn in her exhausted muscles.
She needed that focus after Jone's—
Run!
Perhaps most of all, she chanted it to distract herself.
It wasn’t working.
No, the mantra broke as she denied the thoughts once more. She ain't dead. I’d damn well know if she was dead, wouldn’t I? I’d of felt it. Right? We all woulda.
Distracted, Adrienne caught her boot on the lip of a broken sewer grate, stumbled, and cursed. Ain’t got time to fall down now. She caught herself an instant later and barely slowed, as her heaving breaths pressed her ample bust hard against the inside of her chainmail, over and over. People are dependin’ on me. The long, steam-smoothed, barely used tunnel raced past her in a featureless blur, her footsteps endlessly slapping the shallow current of steam runoff and splashing the scalding liquid into the air.
Suddenly, the tunnel forked and split. Faces peered at her out of the darkness. A flash of sharp metal rushed for her throat at blinding speed.
The forgotten canal echoed with the acute ring of steel on hastily raised steel. She stumbled again as a razor edge drew a line of blood across her shoulder, then spun to face her attacker—and lowered her blade.
“Dammit, Aubry,” Adrienne panted. She let herself slump a little, back against the wall, armor-plated hands on knees for support. Her shoulder stung. “Spookin’ me’s one thing, but why you gotta—”
“Because they’ve found us,” The old noble whispered. Past the pinched face of the aged comte, Adie could see the wide eyes of a terrified young man in a bloody robe: Louie. And past him were many, many more, noble and merchant and farmer alike.
“Where—” the former barmaid barely got the question out before the ring of metal on metal answered it.
Without hesitation, Adrienne turned and charged towards the sound, as war cries mixed with cries of pain and alarm. She should have known better; there was no time to rest. There never was.
There hadn't been since Jone died.
Tears mixed with her own wordless war cry as she sprinted into the front lines as her few remaining soldiers struggled to hold back a small wave of Elizabethian red-and-gold. The men and women still on their feet found new strength as she appeared, recognizing her singed ruffles and shredded dress even in the dim light of scattered mephit lanterns.
And Adie, in turn, drew strength from them. She hit the enemy formation like a battering ram, drawing a cry from their ranks. The power of the Arcadian people’s splintered faith flowed through her; the cut on her shoulder sealed shut, the need of the survivors kept her exhausted body on its feet and moving. She sundered an enemy’s shield as the magic of belief pumped through her veins, then kicked the woman to the floor, pretending not to notice as many heavy boots trampled the fallen soldier into silence.
Ain’t it enough? The Arcadian snarled as she swung, sweat pouring down her face. Ain’t you killed enough yet? Polearms splintered under magic-enhanced steel, armor sundered under the chipped edge of Adrienne’s battered arming sword. Jus’ leave us alone already! Blood flew, soldiers screamed, and the serving girl tuned it out. Under her blade and determination, the enemy broke and split, or fell and died, crushed by the boots and blades of desperate Arcadians.
And suddenly, there was no one left to fight.
Wheezing, pulse racing and pounding, Adie almost toppled face-first into the scalding steam runoff. A stranger’s loyal hand supported her, kept her steady. At her other side, another of her soldiers pointed straight ahead.
The Elizabethians hadn’t broken and fled; they’d regrouped. Their leader, clad in thick, sculpted full plate with a topaz visor stood in her way, barring the refugees’ only remaining way out.
Adie’s rush of breath caught in her throat. That’s...that’s one of the Queen’s Elite, all right. A dribble of blood ran too close to her eye, and she wiped it away. She could feel a tremor of fear ripple through the soldiers at her back, could feel it resonate through the pool of her believers, shaking their faith.
“Surrender. Now.” The tall Elizabethian took a step forward, her short blade pointed at Adie’s face, all emotion muffled from her voice by the layers of form-fitting armor.
Adrienne blinked away sweat. With an effort, she straightened and looked the woman directly in the visor.
“Get outta my way...or I’ll trample you underfoot,” she huffed.
A couple of her soldiers chuckled. Others straightened or nodded in agreement. The flow of magic through Adrienne strengthened.
The Elite Guard’s respons
e was quick, almost certain death.
Lightning lanced from her empty hand, from the topaz patterns inlaid in the gauntlet, from the small, glittering sylph sealed inside the gemstone set into her palm. Someone tackled Adie to the ground as the glistening bolt split the air where she stood; it hit the tunnel wall instead, sundered the stone and steel supports on impact with a tremendous boom. Her hearing faded away for a moment; she could feel the energy in her chest, tingling painfully along her torso and limbs as it grounded out through the tunnel.
Her savior rolled off of her. Soldiers shouted as they clashed again. The Elite Guard raised her gauntlet once more.
Adrienne surged forward in a roll of ruffles and chainmail and slammed her blade full-force across the enemy soldier’s knees.
It shattered into a half dozen pieces, the remnant resonating in her fists.
She ducked the return swipe of the short blade before it could catch her in the face and tried to scramble backward. But before she could, the tall Elizabethian soldier simply grabbed her by her long, dirty, golden braid, fashioned in the image of her fallen friend, and hoisted her clear off her feet.
Adrienne chirped at the pain. She grasped futilely at the unfeeling gauntlet that held her aloft; her eyes watered as she tried to find purchase with her tip-toes and failed. She heard the soldier laugh, a hollow, muffled sound, as she looked straight up into the gleaming topaz gemstone, into the angry, agonized eyes of the trapped sylph with glistening wings.
One of her soldiers died nearby. Adie heard their scream, and felt it in her head as their light snuffed out, abruptly cut from the pool of tiny starlights that represented the people that believed in her. Others flickered, injured or in pain. Further out, across besieged, burning Arcadia and beyond, she felt more survivors like Esmeralda and the Lady Bellamy, and the others she’d already helped evacuate.
She tried to draw on their power, but precious little came. Everyone else she could reach was too far away and stretched too thin, their wills broken down by the death of her own best friend and lover.
The second death of Jonelise of Arcadia.
Angry tears rimmed Adrienne’s eyes again, and she kicked the stoic soldier ineffectually in the chest.
“I expected more from you,” the Elizabethian drawled casually, watching Adie dangle and rage as if the chaos and bloodshed around them didn’t exist. “After the little chase and demolition you led me on—”
A rapier splintered apart on her topaz visor, cracking the gemstone but not piercing through. The soldier staggered anyway, Adie swinging wildly and painfully from her topaz-inlaid fist. The Elite Guard swiped at her attacker, but Comte Aubry managed to parry her short sword with his battered walking cane. The older man’s eyes gleamed as he evoked ice and wind, caking the soldier’s armored joints and boots in thin layers of rime.
But his magic was weakened as well, and the enemy leader shattered the sheath of ice with contemptuous ease. She slapped the injured noble to the ground as a dark battle standard burst from her back, streamers of writhing ebony shadow that ate away at the light and illustrated her power.
Adrienne looked back up into the topaz stone as it brimmed with lightning.
A pair of crossbow bolts bounced off the Elizabethian Elite’s chestplate; she ignored them as they shattered. The comte tried to rise; she planted a metal boot on his spine and pushed his face into the current of scalding steam. One of Adie’s guardsmen rushed the enemy holding her, only to take a thrown short blade through the chest for his trouble.
Adie winced as she felt his life fade away. She stared up as the topaz stone glowed, dazzlingly bright, staring into the sylph’s tiny eyes as it generated lightning—
—and stopped.
Its tiny eyes went wide with recognition. Smoke rose from the Elizabethian soldier’s arm as the spirit restrained its power, as it resisted its master’s commands. The Elite cried out as power arced back along the topaz inlays of her arm; her hand spasmed, and Adie wasted no time in tugging herself free, tumbling into the hot steam with a splash.
The tunnel echoed with the Elite Guard’s scream as her gauntlet exploded, hot shards streaking through the dark. Her cry rose in pitch as, at her feet, Aubry twisted, the comte grinning ruthlessly as he laid his hands on her leg and unleashed lighting of his own.
And as the enemy commander shook, screamed, and spasmed, Adrienne tugged the woman’s tritanium shortsword from her own fallen comrade’s chest and slammed it through her topaz visor.
The serving-girl-turned-soldier squeezed her eyes tight against the thrashing and the bloodspray. She tried not to think of the fallen all around her, the stench of blood, or the cries of pain and fear. She tried not to think of Jone, or, for a few moments, of anything at all.
Then she rose.
“Told you t’get outta our way,” Adie whispered.
One of her soldiers pulled the tritanium blade free of the fallen enemy’s visor and handed it to her; she tucked it away without looking or bothering to clean it. Then she finally pulled her eyes from the crimson-stained rush of steam underfoot and took a long look around.
“I’m sorry,” Adrienne’s words caught in her throat as she took in the missing faces, people she’d spoken to only minutes ago, people she’d led through the darkness for what felt like days. People who’d trusted her to save them. “I shoulda done better. I thought it’d be easier, that I could do better…”
“Nonsense.” Comte Aubry was already on his feet again, his noble’s coat and garb stained with steam and blood, his scalded, scuffed face slowly healing. “Your plan worked excellently, Miss Adrienne. We would never have escaped with one of the Eternal Queen’s Elite trailing us. Now our final hunter is dead. Thanks to you, we have a fighting chance to escape.”
Adie watched as the comte’s words, loud, forceful, and authoritative, set the narrative into stone. She almost shook her head in resignation, but resisted as a cheer rose from the remaining Arcadians, especially the battered and bloodied soldiers.
Finally, she managed a smile, but no words to accompany it.
Louie, heir to Arcadia’s crown as he was, came to her rescue. The young man gave her a worn but supportive smile of his own, then oversaw the survivors as they scavenged from the fallen, bound the prisoners, and tended the injured. Meanwhile, Adie took the opportunity to turn away and follow the old noble as he scavenged a new dueling blade from the belt of one of the soldiers Adrienne had struck down.
“You don’t have to believe, you know,” Aubry commented quietly as he unsheathed the lightweight sword and checked it for defects. “They only need to think that you do. They need to see that hope reflected in your eyes, Miss Adrienne, or they will lose their own.”
“So you keep tellin’ me,” Adie responded. She had to draw on magic to keep from collapsing where she stood, and couldn’t help but wonder how many times Jone had done the same, before she’d… “But it seems a bit like lyin’, don’t it?”
“And?” The nobleman shrugged, leaning on his warped cane but standing straight, despite the grevious, barely healed wound his grimy clothes hid, the one that had nearly stolen his life before Jone had saved him. “If illusions are what they require, then it is our responsibility to oblige. As they are our strength, we must be theirs in return.” He studied her, his faded blue eyes hard to read. “Besides, is there some other choice I’m not seeing?”
Adrienne sighed, setting her shoulders before they could slump. “I’m guessin’ not.”
The comte nodded firmly, approving. “So what now?”
Adie glanced away. Why was he still asking her? “Well, the plan worked,” she answered him anyway. “Our hunter’s dead an’ gone. Everybody else got out ahead of us. I collapsed th’ tunnels back th’ way we came; no one’s gonna know which way we went, if they even think we’re still alive. I know I’d bet we were just killed in a collapse or somethin, what with all th’ bombs goin’ off up above.”
“Perhaps,” Aubry replied. He watched her, expectant,
as if waiting for more.
“Then we get outta here, lie low, an’ wait for her to come back,” Adie finished firmly. “That’s th’ plan.”
The nobleman frowned, his tired eyes not unkind. “Miss Adrienne, you know there’s a difference between hope and folly. One of those will serve us well in the days to come while the other may well see us to an early grave.”
“An’ if Jone’s still out there, alive, you’re betrayin’ her by givin’ up when she needs us the most.” Adie glared at him. “But what does it matter? You never liked her in th’ first place.”
The Comte absorbed her ire with solemn eyes. “Jonelise died foolishly, just like in her legends. But she died trying to save our people.” He sighed deeply, staring into the darkness toward their only remaining way out. “I respect Jonelise. She...was not what I thought she was. And unfortunately I saw the truth of her too late. I still don’t agree with all of her ideas, of course. But none of us could do better.” He met Adie’s gaze firmly. “But this is the part where we must accept reality. Eternal Queen Elizabeth and her Dragon trapped Jonelise on that burning boat and sent it to the Abyss. She is in Gatekeeper Jones’ care now, and we have people to care for, and a rebellion to salvage.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “Assuming, of course, that course of action is not folly as well.”
Forming a coherent argument against the Comte’s logic was hard. Adrienne and the rest of Jone’s friends had searched and searched for some sign of her; she hadn’t been floating around at the rendezvous point like they had planned. They had descended as far as their vessel would allow, and the Lady Bellamy had even tried to locate her with the Old Magic. All to no avail.
“The time has come to let her go,” the older man continued quietly. “I realize you loved her. But she would want you to serve in her stead, not struggle with her memory.”
“I remind you of her, don’t I?”
“I…” He paused and took a couple of deep breaths. She’d noticed he’d had more and more trouble breathing, of late. She didn’t know how old he really was; perhaps the loss of so many followers combined with his near-mortal wounds spelt trouble even for the tough old noble. “I’m a foolish old man, Miss Adrienne. I make mistakes too. And like any decent person, I attempt to make amends for them. Without gods to forgive our sins, it is our only recourse.”
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