by Trudie Skies
“Forget Salasar and his men. My House protects all Fire Walkers, everywhere. There’s nowhere you can take them that we won’t hunt you down.”
“Ah yes, your House. Hiram informed me there is a living member of the Rhaesbond bloodline among you. I’d hoped you would bring him to our negotiation, but no matter. Hiram’s slave is collecting him for me now.”
Jonan.
No.
She sent her panicked warnings through the blood bond. They’d left Jonan alone in the temple sanctum, exhausted and with no blood left to fight.
Talin’s dread burned back. He was on the move.
She needed to stop these Hartnords at any cost. “You touch my family, and I’ll toss your bones into the ocean.”
The Prince tutted. “Such an unladylike threat. You should thank us for removing this Rhaesbond from your midst. It is a cursed bloodline, the most dangerous and treacherous of your kind, the most hated by god, and the greatest threat to the light of the world.”
“Jonan is none of those things! He had nothing to do with your father’s death. What of Hiram’s slaves? Emir? They orchestrated the attacks!”
“I know.”
Her heart stilled. “You knew? Then you—you knew your own father would die?”
“My father didn’t heed our prophet’s warnings.” His silver eyes gleamed with a danger she’d only witnessed in amber. “Falkner, escort our guest onto the ship.”
Falkner charged—he was on her before she could even swing her sword. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it back with painful pressure. She yelped and dropped Hawk with a clang. He wrenched her arm up against her back and grabbed the other, squeezing her into a painful hold.
Heat built in her veins and the pulse of her inner embers flowed through her. Flame burst from her fist. Falkner released her and stumbled back.
He snarled and dove forward with blinding speed.
His fist slammed into her abdomen and knocked the breath from her lungs. She slumped against him and gasped for air. Pain rippled through her stomach and she could do nothing as Falkner pinned her arms, locking them into a tight hold once more.
“You’ll enjoy Lune’s Tears, my lady. Let it release your stress,” Prince Wulfhart crooned.
The Prince strode forward and clawed at her mouth. She thrashed in Falkner’s grip and tried to summon her flame, but panic squeezed her chest like thick chains, making it impossible to concentrate on her inner embers. The Prince saw her raw fear, saw all of it and fed off it like a leech.
I am the master of my own self. Calm, calm.
The Prince took a firm hold of her jaw and pressed a vial between her lips. He tilted her head back.
A thick salty syrup slivered between her clenched teeth and down her throat. She spluttered and tried to cough it up, but the Prince placed a hand over her mouth and pinched her nose until tiny black dots scattered across her vision.
Lune’s Tears flooded through her blood with a cooling sensation like the day she’d fallen off Dustan’s boat and swallowed water. It splashed over her inner embers, turning them to lifeless stone, and it left her skin feeling heavy and numb.
The fire inside died out. Extinguished. Gone.
She couldn’t feel her House bond; she couldn’t feel Talin or Jonan or Iman. Lune’s Tears hadn’t just suppressed her blood fire. It had doused everything that made her Sandarian.
They’d drowned her.
Someone hear me, feel me, anyone…
Prince Wulfhart placed a hand on Mina’s cheek, but she didn’t feel it. “You see, my lady, it’s not harmful. You’ll be a good girl for me now, won’t you?” He turned to Falkner. “Chain her.”
She didn’t feel the chains clamp her limbs together.
Nor did she feel them drag her onto their ship.
She didn’t feel the cool darkness of her wooden cell replace Rahn’s bright warmth.
Mina didn’t feel anything at all.
48
SECRETS OF SHADOWS
For the first time in Mina’s life, the amber eyes of her nightmares were replaced with cold silver.
She sat in a dark room that swayed beneath her. The floors and walls were rough wood, but she could barely feel them. The cooling effect of Lune’s Tears thickened her blood and made her nauseous. Not only sick, but empty inside. The Hartnords had cleaned and patched up her wounded leg, but none of them spoke a word of Sandarian or looked her in the eye. They’d wrapped her arms in chains and dragged her down into the belly of their ship. She’d tried to catch a glimpse of her Fire Walkers, to see if they were as defenseless as she was, but the Hartnords had plunged her into darkness.
And in darkness is where she remained.
The blood bond remained silent. No one answered her call. For a brief moment as Lune’s Tears worked through her, she’d felt spikes of emotion—Talin’s panic, Iman’s fury, but they were muffled as though being held underwater. She couldn’t sense where they were, and she’d tried to sleep, to bathe in their memories, but Lune’s Tears blocked those as well, and all she had left were nightmares.
She stifled a sob. I am the master of my own self.
How long would the effects of Lune’s Tears last? Did they mean to continuously drug her? It felt nothing like Rahn’s Breath. She searched for her inner embers, but the gentle pulse and hum of her blood had quieted. Even if she could pull a thread of fire and burn her cage, there was nothing but sloshing water all around them.
No, her best chance of escape would be when they reached Hartnord shores. Then she’d truly be in enemy territory during the heat of war.
War. She’d not wanted it, but Prince Wulfhart left her no choice.
He’d attacked her people.
Taken them.
Taken Jonan.
And taken her blood fire.
Not only her fire, but the connection to her family, her bond, her mother, her soul. For all that and more, Prince Wulfhart deserved no mercy.
The door to her cell creaked open and light poured inside. She cringed and turned her eyes away. Boots tapped on the wood and someone placed a lantern down. Not a Sandarian or Neu Bosan one in design, but made of rustic iron. A man kneeled beside her and offered her a mug. She glanced up into dark eyes.
Emir.
She tried to shuffle away from him, but her chains held her tight against the wall. “Come near me and I’ll bite your ears off.”
Emir grimaced and lifted the mug.
“I’m not drinking any poison of yours. You killed the Queen!” She spat at him.
Emir grabbed her chains and yanked her still. The frustration was clear on his face. “Bon,” he said in his garbled voice.
“What?”
Emir sighed through his nose. “Bon-uh.”
“Why are you serving a Hartnord master? You’re a Fire Walker, same as I! Do you know what they plan to do to us? You chose to betray your own kind. Do you hate us? Is that it? Do you hate what you are?”
Emir shook his head. “Bon.”
“You murdered Fire Walkers! You tricked them, poisoned them—”
“Bon.” He gestured again to her chains.
“Why do you keep saying that? Bond?”
Emir’s eyes lit up and he nodded.
The door burst open. Emir leaped to his feet and reached for his sword.
He gasped as the intruder thrust a knife into his throat. Blood spurted across her legs. Emir slumped to the ground beside her and choked with gurgling sounds. Dead.
“Sword Dancer!”
Garr stood over her, clutching the knife. He’d dressed in Hartnord clothes with a flat cap covering his head. He shoved the knife into his belt, smearing blood on his smock, and kneeled beside her. “Are you hurt?” He grabbed her wrists and fumbled with the shackles.
“What are you doing here? Did they take you with the others?”
“No. I saw the Hartnords take you, so I snuck aboard.”
She grabbed his
arm, forcing him to stare into her eyes. “Did you see the others? Are they here? And Jonan? Prince Wulfhart said they were taking him.”
“Wulfhart is aboard the other ship. They took some Fire Walkers on that one, and the rest they left on this. I saw Dahn and the others, but not your friend.”
She let go of his arm and her hands fell into her lap with a clink. “How many Hartnords on this ship?”
“Too many. But first, we need to get you out of these chains. I couldn’t swipe a key. Can you burn through them?”
“They made me drink Lune’s Tears. You’ll need to burn them.”
He stilled. “I can’t.”
“Now is not the time for your pride—”
“I can’t control my fire. I’ll sink this ship to the bottom of the ocean before I get through these chains.”
“You wait until now to tell me you’re useless?”
He offered a sheepish smile. “I figured you’d work it out.”
A gust of wind blew off his cap. He shot to his feet and drew his knife.
But he couldn’t see what she did. A Shadow pulled itself from Emir’s bleeding corpse.
“You need to get rid of the body!”
Emir’s Shadow swung its arm like a sword and his wind flung Garr against the wall. A dark hand grabbed her neck and the light from the lantern blew out.
“He doesn’t have the eyes.”
My captor forced my eyelids open wide and examined the color inside. I glared back into his bright green ones. That kernel of hate was all I had left. They’d bound me, forced leeches on my skin, and held me in the dirt with a sword at my neck.
“A defective Ash Maker still has the blood of one.” He released my eye and stood back with his arms crossed. His skin was the smooth brown of a Gaislander, but his eyes and accent painted him as a Bosan. It wasn’t uncommon to find crossbreeds in the isles, but he was the first I’d found who possessed blood fire strong enough to stop me. “What’s your story, boy? Did you run from the tribes, or were you thrown out?”
I kept my mouth closed.
My captor leered close. “Don’t speak much, do you?”
“He killed two of our men,” the other Bosan stated in perfect Sandarian.
“Did he? This one could make a fine assassin. You enjoy killing, don’t you?”
Only when I needed to. Only when my life depended on it. I’d fought off my own people, raiders, and House guards alike to start a new life on the isles. I never thought I’d get caught by slavers. I never thought my blood would be taken from me again.
All I ever wanted was to be free.
My captor pulled a knife from his belt.
Gods no. He meant to kill me.
Instead, he sliced across his palm and offered his blood. “Drink, and we’ll make a man out of you, Ash Maker.”
Mina opened her eyes and stared into Garr’s amber. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. She glanced around and the movement felt like wading through water. Everything had slowed down, even the motes of dust dancing in the air.
Emir’s Shadow still gripped her neck and his words rumbled through her like the first rains of Lune’s Shadow.
They force a sorran bond on their slaves. That is how we are controlled. We have no choice but to follow the commands of our Bosan master.
“You’re an Ash Maker?” Her voice reverberated in the air.
Was. Your friend has freed me. His bitter amusement rumbled through her bones. Why didn’t you kill me? I gave you ample opportunity, Lunei.
He’d recognized her eyes. Her tribal blood. “You wanted me to kill you?”
You Lunei are soft when it comes to death. My masters ordered you dead, but I resisted the command as much as I could. It would have defeated me in the end; no sorran can deny the commands of his master for long. I’d hoped you’d kill me first. Then we could finally speak, Tamina Hawker. As we are now.
He knew about the Shadows—he truly was an Ash Maker. “Then why did they call you a Rhaesbond?”
That lie was devised to lure your Rhaesbond into their trap. It didn’t work, but I was ordered to capture him. He’s not on this ship. You won’t reach him.
They had Jonan. They’d caught him like they’d caught her. “You killed the Queen. You poisoned her with Lotus Bud.”
No. A lie. My masters don’t know who killed your Queen, but they turned it to their advantage. I felt her death. You did too. A Shadow ended her life.
A Shadow?
That wasn’t possible. Shadows lay dormant until a Lunei was nearby—didn’t they? There had been no wraith in the dining hall when the Queen had died, and yet… Mina had felt something. An odd stirring in the bond.
How could a Shadow have poisoned the Queen? There were no bones in the throne room. “You see the Shadows?”
We are different sides of the same coin, Lunei.
“The tales say Ash Makers can control them… That’s true?” Gods, she didn’t want to think about the implications. If Shadows could be controlled, then they were immortal assassins, warriors who could kill from beyond death.
Shadows can be compelled if you possess their bones. Whoever commanded the Queen’s death would need a totem. Only Rhaesbond and Ash Makers know this. Why do you think we hunted your people? To hide our secrets from you.
“Then why are you telling me this?”
Because I hold no love for my people, and your Fire Walkers are in danger. My master is a member of the Three-Pointed Star. Hiram is but one of his many servants. He is the one who forged this secret alliance with the Hartnords.
“But how could a Bosan possibly command you? They can’t form blood bonds—”
My master has Sandarian blood. He can form bonds, and has formed many. Solander. Gaislander. Duslander. Sanstrider. Ash Maker. Lunei. Hundreds of Fire Walkers in his palms. He’s building a ready-made army for the Three-Pointed Star.
Gods. Only the King of Sandair was permitted to make two sorran bonds per the Code of Honor, but hundreds of bonds? It was obscene. And to do so by force! Forcing a bond on any man wasn’t just a question of honor, but of dignity. It was slavery of body, mind, and soul.
If the Neu Bosan had been building their own secret army of Fire Walkers, then war would never end between their peoples—Bosan, Hartnord, and Sandarian alike. And they would truly turn her own people against her, as they’d done with Emir.
They don’t care for Fire Walker lives. They’ll use them and kill them when done. You must save those trapped here.
“How?”
Search my pockets for a way out. Don’t burn my body. Let me fight them.
His Shadow vanished. All at once life sped up with a deafening roar of the waves.
Garr slumped against her. “What was that?” he gasped. “Your eyes—they turned black, Sword Dancer, as black as night. Like you weren’t even here.”
Black? She’d never heard of that before. “Never mind. Search his pockets!” She nodded to Emir’s body.
“Oh, so now you want me ransacking corpses?” Garr turned Emir’s body over and rummaged through his pockets. He pulled out a purple bottle.
Rahn’s Breath.
She nudged Emir’s body with her boot. “This is your idea of help? Gods, pass it here.”
Garr handed her the bottle. “You sure about this?”
No, she wasn’t sure at all, but if Lune’s Tears was an antidote for Rahn’s Breath, she had to trust Emir knew it also held the opposite effect. “If I start to lose control, cut me.”
His brows raised in alarm. “Cut you?”
“To stop me from burning down this gods-damn ship. Don’t balk on me now.”
She fumbled the stopper and lifted the bottle with shaking hands, breathing in that familiar smoky scent. Garr cupped her hands to steady them, and the heat in his palms gave her the confidence she needed. She prayed to Lune and Rahn that her fire wouldn’t rage out of control and took a deep gulp.
Heat ru
shed through her veins, sending tingles all over her skin. Raw power sang in her blood, and the warmth of her House bond came back with startling clarity; she could feel Jonan farther ahead on the other boat, confirming Emir’s words. And she could feel Talin’s terrifying rage from behind. A laugh escaped her lips.
She’d never felt so alive.
Flame sizzled around her wrists and her metal chains melted to shingles. Tira appeared in her flames and smiled with relief.
A cool breeze brushed over her shoulder. They’ll sense your fire. Act now.
Garr stood with his knife poised. “Do I need to stab you, Sword Dancer?”
She stretched her leg. The power pumping through her veins eased its ache. “I’m good.”
Emir’s Shadow waited over his body. Her instincts tugged with panicked urgency, as though they knew he was an Ash Maker, a monster, and demanded she burn his taint away. She considered ending him there and then. But whilst Emir may have been an Ash Maker, he’d been abused the same as any Fire Walker, any true Rhaesbond. She couldn’t blame the sins of an entire tribe on one man.
The Three-Pointed Star had forced a bond on him, turning him into nothing but a slave. He deserved a little revenge.
Garr grabbed the lantern. “What are your orders?”
Mina shook her flames away. “We save our Fire Walkers and get off this gods-damn boat.”
49
THE BOAT TO NOWHERE
Garr peered out of the door, then signaled for her to follow. Together they slipped out into the dark underbelly of the ship. Wooden crates and barrels were tied to the walls with rope. It looked… flammable. Mina stumbled along, grabbing hold of a crate every couple of paces. The ship lurched and dipped worse than the floating market of Myryn.
Garr took her arm and steadied her. “You okay?” he whispered.
“I hate boats,” she hissed back. The giddiness in her gut turned to nausea.
Narrow doors lined the far wall, each locked by a metal chain. This was where her Fire Walkers were trapped.
She grabbed the first chain and melted it enough to snap it in half. Garr kept watch as she stepped into the cell.
