Bloodflower

Guardians be damned, Jàden was beautiful. Grabbing a long gray cloak from the back of his horse, Jon tried to push the images of her torture out of his mind. No way would he let her out of his sight, not when that lover of Jàden’s left her in a cage to suffer. Jon had half a mind to kill him again if they ever met.

He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and fastened the clasp at her neck, his fingers brushing against her throat. Stifling a groan, he allowed his hand to linger after the clasp clicked. “Don’t speak unless you have to. Can’t have you slipping into your own language.”

This was a terrible idea. The wilds would keep them safe, but a ship across the sea could get them far from human lands. And he sure wasn’t leaving the horses behind to sail to the boundary on a skiff.

Forcing himself to pull away, Jon checked the girth on his horse one last time. They needed to get inside the city, but he and his men had to time it right. Too soon and they’d stick out among sleepy streets.

“You ready, buddy?” He clapped his companion on the shoulder then climbed into the saddle. Jon grasped Jàden’s forearm and pulled her up behind him. “Let’s move. The horses are tired and we still got an hour before we hit the city.”

Warmth flooded into his chest as her arms wrapped around his waist. Jon turned his horse toward Nelórath as the old part of himself, a captain in full command, pressed to the surface. “Keep your hoods up and stay together.”

Every shadow became friend or foe when they crossed the river into the thicker woods. Ice mixed with snow drizzled across the foothills.

Through twists and turns over the hilly terrain, they rode through groves of redwoods, skirting around a series of farmhouses toward the hazy glow of the city.

The pendant lay heavy against his chest as farmers joined them on the road. Lanterns hung from the posts on their wagons pulled by teams of southern short horses and mules.

Jon slowed his horse to a walk to blend in with the merchants.

Jàden’s fidgeting put him on edge. This was taking too long but the horses needed to take it slow in case they had to run again. Maybe she just needed something to take her mind off the wait.

“You’re the bloodflower’s keeper, aren’t you?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

Jon nudged his horse ahead of the others until they were out of earshot before he answered. They plodded past a portly woman reigning a four-horse team from the top of a closed carriage. Her bright-colored dress and low hem across her bosom gave her away as a matron bringing prostitutes into the city.

“It’s my family’s emblem,” he said, “handed down through my great grandfather more than a hundred generations back.”

He reached for Jàden’s hand—too intimate—but closed his fist and pressed it against his thigh. She may be his wife, but still she’d given no indication their connection was more than just her magic.

“No one knows what I carry except you and my men.”

As if the words sparked some dark force, a troop of wardens trotted from the city toward the merchant line. Jon slumped a little to appear more like a farmer, his mind still on his family’s heirloom. The pendant had always been a source of contention between him and his father. As the only son to the Ayers bloodline, it was his duty to gift it to his wife when their first son was born.

A decade of arguments with his father washed over Jon, the pain of Marcus’s loss slicing into his chest. He loved his mother and sisters, but he missed his old man every day.

Wardens slowed ahead and shouted to the driver of a wagon. The guy must have been drunk—he yelled right back, cursing the gold-armored men with a heavy slur to his words.

“Say nothing,” he muttered to Jàden.

The wardens scattered to the far side of the road, ordering the portly man to uncover his goods. Jon took a cue from the other merchants’ behavior; he averted his eyes and kept moving. They were almost there.

Jon glanced back, the wardens now in a shouting match with the farmer and ignoring everyone else. “That bastard saved our asses.”

Jàden eased her grip on his waist, but Jon had a question burning in his gut since the day he’d found her. No time like the present to keep her distracted from searching the sky every five seconds.

“Why’d you bond me, Jàden?” he asked.

Especially when she had another lover. The city walls loomed amid thin trails of mist off the ocean, bastions of stone lit by fiery cauldrons at their apexes. Snow dropped heavy from the lowering clouds, banks of fog rolling in from the coast.

“It isn’t a bond, Jon, just tied energy.” Her hands tightened into fists. Churned mud and slush glittered in tiny pools of ice, reflecting the distant glow of lanterns and silver-laced storm clouds. “I told you, I needed your help. I’m not strong enough to fight Frank.”

“Bullshit.” Jon glanced at the sky then back to the deeper shadows along the road. Each face leapt out at him from the merchant wagons. Tired, grim, angry, scared. Every person he passed held expressions he’d seen on any normal day. Jon searched for the outlier, for a soldier who might be in disguise or anyone who watched them a little too closely.

The last thing they needed was to succumb to Éli’s dreamwalker trick again. Yet part of his attention stayed with Jàden. “I helped you before the bond, and you have magic strong enough to tear that bastard apart. Tell me the truth.”

He’d seen the hesitation in her eyes that day. Something held her back, but a stronger force pushed her into the bond. Jon needed to know what it was, or perhaps he only searched for an answer he wanted. Something to give him any hint that she needed him as more than a bodyguard.

She leaned her forehead against his back as they entered the city alongside the first wave of farmers.

“I want you to kill Frank and Bradshaw so I can escape to the stars,” she mumbled against him. “I can’t stay on Sandaris, not without bringing death to other people, and I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Who’s Bradshaw? You haven’t mentioned him before.”

Jàden tried to pull her arms away, but Jon caught her hands. He could almost sense her fear by the softness of her words. “He’s a Guild surgeon with a specialization in biotheric energy manipulation. And Frank’s partner. Or boss. I was never really certain.”

Her voice trailed off as Jon tried to digest this new information. “He helped Frank hurt you?”

“He ran the lab. Bradshaw is… I don’t want to talk about this.” The salty smell of the sea hung in the air as icy roads turned to mud and finally to slush and cobblestones. “I’m sorry, Jon. I should never have done what I did.”

She tried to pull away again, but he tightened his grip. He still couldn’t mentally shake her screams or the blood smeared across her cage walls. If the situation were reversed, he honestly couldn’t say he’d do any different out of desperation. “I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to you.”

But there was still something she was hiding, and Jon wouldn’t let her out of telling him. He caressed his thumb across her fingers to soothe the answer from her lips. “We’re leaving everything we know to protect you, Jàden. I need to you to tell me: what does our bond give you that no one else can?”

“It’s not a bond.” Her head lifted skyward, and she sighed deeply. “I wanted to feel more than empty glass walls. No one touched me for two years or even spoke to me apart from Frank’s occasional taunt. I was alone, Jon. More alone than you’ll ever know.”

His chest tightened. Loneliness was a familiar friend.

“I meant to set you free when you killed Frank, but then a day turned into weeks and your energy, your strength…” She gripped his hand tight. “It’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.”

Fog clung to the buildings as Jàden stifled a sob. “I can’t be alone anymore.”

He squeezed her hand, aching to wrap his arms around her and drive away the loneliness. Or maybe to stifle his own as the grief of Mather’s death clutched his chest like a vice. “You have me, Jàden. I ain’t going nowhere.”

She squeezed his hand tighter. “I don’t want to go back to a cage. Not ever again.”

“Don’t you worry. Frank and Bradshaw are dead. I just ain’t killed them yet.” Desperate for a cigarette, Jon scanned the streets for any sign of Rakir. Most men preferred to smoke the occasional pipe, but Jon had a fondness for the taste of shadeleaf with a hint of cedar smoke flavoring the papers. Today he couldn’t take the chance of a cigarette giving him away, especially if Éli lurked nearby.

Merchants stepped out of their shops to open windows. Horse hooves clopped against the road as they passed, citizens of Nelórath eyeing them warily.

A warning went off in Jon’s head.

He searched each street and alley they passed and the rooftops above for clues in expressions and body language. Nothing seemed out of place, but he couldn’t shake the dread in his bones. Though he hated to do it, he released Jàden so he had both hands free to draw a weapon if needed.

Thomas nudged his horse alongside. “This feels like a trap. We haven’t seen a single soldier since we rode into the city, and we’re nearly a third of the way to the docks.”

That was why the warning went off. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Jon hadn’t noticed the one thing missing from the city streets: gold-armored wardens.

“Keep your eyes open.” No chance of turning back now as the bastards likely had the city gates blocked.

Seven white towers loomed tall against the cityscape, each dedicated to a Guardian. At the top of every tower hung a large banner depicting one of the seven—Erisöl, Élon, Herbridés, Miore, Sahéva, Shelora and Herana, her symbol a tree of life curved into the shape of a moon.

“Guardians, protect us,” Thomas muttered then glanced at Jàden. “Or curse us.”

Jon glared at Thomas. If they weren’t trying to sneak through the city, he’d punch him for that remark.

The streets slowly filled with activity. Several merchants hung stark-colored banners over their doorways, pinks and oranges and indigos all bearing the shop’s trade emblem inside the golden sun.

“Those look like Guild emblems,” Jàden whispered.

The crowd parted as a dozen gold-armored soldiers trotted their tawny-colored horses straight toward Jon, led by a helmed rider with a black band circling his left arm.

“There they are,” he muttered. Jon nudged his horse ahead of the others.

The wardens spread out and blocked their path.

“Where you boys coming in from? Don’t usually see mountain folk until the season of rain,” the black-banded leader said.

Jon stopped his horse, curling his fingers tighter around the reins. “Last run before we hit the high passes.”

The leader removed his helm, black hair curled tight against dark brown skin. He eyed Jon suspiciously. “Why is the woman hiding her face?”

Because she’s a damn Guardian. Jon’s instincts needled him. He scanned the streets with his peripheral. Dusty and Theryn were on the rooftops, arrows ready to fire in case trouble erupted. Jon hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“She’s shy of strangers.” Jon nudged the black forward.

The leader sidled his horse closer. He laid his helm on the pommel, eyes fixed on Jàden. “Let’s see your face, woman.”

“Why? You want her contract?” Jon pulled back, shifting Jàden away as he came eye to eye with the soldier. “Five thousand shalir.”

The armored leader grimaced. “No woman is worth more than two thousand. She must have one hell of a face.”

“Probably a wildcat,” another soldier called out. His comrades laughed.

Jon held his hand low on the far side of his horse, palm flat toward his men: be ready.

He kept his eyes on the leader. “Five thousand and not a firemark less.”

The leader’s features hardened. He drew a spear-like weapon and nudged his horse forward, circling around behind Andrew and Ashe.

Likely searching for any reason to delay them further. If the man had half a brain, he’d know the horses were northern bred, but Jon would never give up his stallion.

The armored leader came back along the other side and finally fixed his eyes on Jon. “Furs are good. Be out of the city before sixth bell.”

“Yes, sir.”

Except the leader’s eyes held an edge of distrust.

Jon nudged his horse ahead, the street now crowded with merchants attending their outdoor stalls. He kept his eyes forward but spoke softly over his shoulder. “Jàden, are they all through?”

She shifted behind him. Then her sweet voice rolled over his ear. “They’re through, but the soldiers are watching. At least a dozen more have joined the first ones.”

She lifted her head to the sky. “And I still haven’t seen Frank, but I know he’s close.”

Jon didn’t like that detail. If more were gathering behind them, that meant the wardens were going to cage them along a specific route. “Be ready for anything.”

The road passed between two towers, Élon and Herana. Sleek, white walls replaced merchant shops and squat buildings. Clopping horse hooves echoed off the smooth stone as the avenue turned to an open-air corridor.

A faint melody touched his ears. Singing. Jon cursed under his breath as citizens sang to their Guardians.

He tried to shake the warning in his gut, but the fog from the wharf grew thicker, obscuring the way ahead. “If we get separated—”

“Jon, don’t.” She tightened her grip on his waist. “We have to stay together.”

He grasped her hand in his, wishing he could feel her skin instead of the glove. “Listen. If something happens, trust my men. They’ll keep you safe.”

Jàden clasped his hand tight, weaving her fingers through his. “If something happens, you’ll never see me again.”