Bloodflower

Éli hit the ground hard, pain sizzling across his back. The woods dissolved into a softly lit room, each wall covered in dozens of dark fabrics with golden dream symbols woven into the threads. The stabbing pain in his head dulled as his connection to the warden boy severed.

A sword splitting his skull was not the way he wanted to die. It took him a moment to catch his breath and be fully back in his own body.

Only the scent of the woman remained, some mousy brunette who didn’t have a single enticing quality save one.

Touching her enraged Jon.

A dark laugh escaped him as he pushed to his feet, his body aching from the force of the fall. Kicking aside the overturned chair he’d been sitting in moments ago, he grabbed the tankard of ale from the small table and downed it in one gulp.

Kesh Einar, a tall woman with a meaty build, narrowed her eyes and leaned an elbow on the table. “Tell me that boy is dead.”

Her voice rough as chapped leather, she clenched her fist tight. The woman commanded a unit of soldiers along the mountain boundary near the redwood city, but her burnished bronze skin was only one feature that made her look almost identical to the smith across the way.

“Ain’t movin’ anytime soon. That warden’s got a sword buried in his skull.” Éli glanced toward Granger, who lounged on a chaise near the back of the shop, gaze on the two scantily clad women by the door.

The dark and cozy shop was located beneath a thriving harlot house. Even the small room smelled of sex and ale. But he gave his captain a silent gesture to say, Keep it in your pants.

Einar’s golden armor gleamed in the low lamplight as her dark brows pulled tight over a suspicious gaze. “You’re certain?”

“I’d bet your life on it.” Éli refilled his tankard, the faux bloodflower pendant heavy in his pocket.

He didn’t know if the two sisters were working together or if they really didn’t like one another, but he no longer cared. Everything he needed to get his son back was in his pocket, and the satisfaction of Jon’s rage would tide him over for a few days.

Yet, it hadn’t been his magic forging the connection.

A scrawny, trembling body sat next to Einar’s knee, legs pulled tight against their chest as tears streaked their cheeks. They muttered the same words over and over: “I’m sorry.”

Relief flickered across Einar’s features. She rapped the heavy wooden table once with her meaty knuckles and leaned back in her chair. “Good. That’s one bastard out of my way.”

The boy had witnessed the woman beating one of her soldiers to death when he took the Oath of the Seven to serve the Guardians in their towers. Éli hadn’t even tried to find the boy’s crime, but his mind flooded with memories the moment he’d connected. The boy had been right to fear for his life.

Éli didn’t care. Wardens were all the same—Guardian worshipping scum who spent far too much time in their temples.

A whisper of energy brushed behind his ear as Éli sensed the presence of soldiers outside the door. Granger pulled back the curtain a fraction and clenched his fist.

They had company.

“Before I go, I want to know where you found that.” Éli jutted his chin toward the form cowering at Einar’s knee.

Through the dreamwalker, he’d practically stepped inside the warden’s senses. The woman’s soft scent and palpable fear triggered his ache for vengeance.

Thin, frightened and protected by Jon Ayers.

He’d find a way to pull her into his plans and watch Jon squirm.

Einar clenched the iron chain, locking stone cuffs onto the trembling figure curled at his feet.

“Oh, this? Found them hidden in the mountains half-starved. Most of their kind can only enter a sleeping mind, when natural defenses are down. But this one”—Einar scratched their head like she would a pet—“they can walk through anyone’s waking reality. Makes them see and say whatever they want.”

They shuddered, curling their knees tight against their chest. They stared somewhere beyond Éli. Soft, incomprehensible mutterings escaped through their lips.

Éli had never been inside another’s head before, but the rush lingered in his senses.

Except now he wanted the woman—Jon’s woman. “And the shackles?”

Granger stood calmly from the chaise. One woman slid a comb from her hair, letting her raven locks fall around her shoulders. And she was no kitten, a gleam in her eyes telling them both they’d run out of time.

Éli was starting to like the freedom of the road and the thrill of the hunt, and he never wanted to go back to stone walls and echoing screams.

Einar waved away the question. “They’re from the old world. Something in the stone hinders the ability. Tried to use it on me once, but they know better now.”

The dreamwalker scratched their ear, twitching at the hidden threat in their master’s words.

Granger leered at the women, grinning until his yellow teeth showed.

Crouching in front of the cowering form, Éli rubbed a hand across his sparse beard. He didn’t need another mouth to feed, but he had use for these abilities.

“I kept my end of the bargain, Commander.” Einar slid a piece of paper on the table.

Éli picked up the parchment, everything he needed written and sealed inside. Safe passage through Nelórath for him and his men to help them capture Jon.

His chest tightened, the cold slither in his senses uncoiling to a strong warning.

Even Granger seemed to pick up on it as he clutched the hilt of his sheathed dagger.

Einar had no intention of letting them out of this room alive.

“I’m also going to need one more thing. Your pet.” Éli unsheathed his sword and sliced it across Einar’s throat before the woman could protest.

Einar stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth moving as blood poured down her golden armor. Her expression dulled, and she slumped in her chair.

Blood dripped from the silver steel blade as Éli touched the tip to the ground and crouched in front of the trembling dreamwalker, ignoring the tussle behind him. No doubt Granger would silence the two women, and he’d do nothing but bitch about it for a least a month.

Éli grabbed the pet’s chin, digging his fingers into their jaw. “You’re coming with us. Try your shit on me, and it will take you a month to die.”