Fire burned through Jon’s veins, fueled by the heat Jàden gave off each time she stepped close to him. He wanted to shove her against the nearest tree and kiss her until he couldn’t breathe. It was the only way to stifle the pain of Mather’s death, but Éli’s words rang in his ears: Can’t wait to meet her.

Every muscle in his body tensed.

Éli’s stunt in the woods left a black hole in Jon’s gut. He had no doubt the bastard would stop at nothing to possess Jàden. Not because he loved her, but to stir the flames of a rivalry and make Jon feel the full weight of Éli’s anguish.

“I’ll never let you touch her.”

He’d always regretted what happened, though he could never erase the image of Sebastian Hareth knocking his mother into a wall.

Jon cursed for the thousandth time that day. He needed to get Jàden somewhere safe, but now there wasn’t a place anywhere on the Northern Isle he could leave her.

That only left one option: leave the north. With rahén in control of the west and the Lonely Sea to the east, the only remaining place left to disappear also bred some of the worst tales.

South. To the place she called Ironstar.

And straight into her lover’s arms.

Jon tightened his grip on the reins.

He’d grown fond of her company these past few weeks. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. But her essence breathed in his skin, tugging him each day into a desperate need for more that drove him mad.

And her magic bound him as a lover, a husband by northern law. He’d be damned if he let another man touch her.

Several riders melted from the darkness and blocked his path.

Jon pulled hard on the reins, and the black skidded to a halt.

Four of his men formed a solid wall as they spread across his path, their expressions grim.

“Out of my way.” Jon’s voice held a sharp edge he rarely used with his men, but tonight he was in no mood for their shit. He needed to resolve his conflicting thoughts before he did something stupid.

Like drag Jàden into his blanket and make love to the skittish woman.

“We have a problem.” Thomas nudged his horse closer. “Found your family’s mark on a dalan tomb.”

Jon clenched his jaw.

This was the last thing he needed tonight. Once a family heirloom passed down with each new generation, the bloodflower symbol had quickly made him a target.

The high council wanted the pendant, and after what he’d seen the day his family burned, those old bastards would have to kill him to get it.

His family’s mark south of the Forbidden Mountains could mean anything. Perhaps safety, but Jon didn’t put much faith in that idea. Any region patrolled by wardens was a tomb for them if they stayed. It already was for Mather, and for Sharie if she ever learned of his death.

He’d known Mather since they were children, a man forced into Tower duty when his parents died of sickness. The loss pulled at the grief of his own family’s death, and tears stung Jon’s eyes.

He needed to know the truth and just how bad of a shit situation they’d landed in.

“Show me.” He followed Thomas deeper into the woods but could not let go of the fire in his soul. Some twisted part of Jon hoped one of his men would pick a fight with him so he had an outlet for his frustration. More than anything, he was desperate for Jàden to show him some sign of affection.

They rode in silence, keeping alert for another attack.

Moonlight illuminated the storm clouds, painting the trees with a silver edge as they crossed the river onto hard-packed dirt and ice. Branches wove together into a twisted canopy until Thomas stopped before a raised mound.

As the others dismounted, Jon slid to the ground.

Thomas lit a palm-sized firemark and pushed aside the brush.

Jon followed him through a thicket of foliage to a set of double doors forged in ancient telen, a pale sandstone created by the Guardians that never eroded and couldn’t be chipped or broken by any hammer.

A raised bloodflower lay partly buried near the ground, but a large hole around it told Jon someone had recently dug out the symbol.

Generations of stories tracked his family’s history across the sea to the borderlands. There was never any mention in his history that they traveled further south than the Forbidden Mountains.

He tightened his jaw and traced his fingers along the etched bloodflower. “How did you find this?”

“Tracking a warden.” Thomas rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Dusty and I found it.”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Jon laid his palm over the seal and a faint vibration rippled through his hand. The pendant against his chest warmed as red light traced along the seam between the doors.

“Back up.” He edged toward Thomas as the bloodflower seal glowed and the doors slid open. Loose soil tumbled inward.

Jon snatched a branch to steady himself, but it snapped in half and he slid through the gap underground.

Light flickered down a long corridor to a second sealed door. Glass sheets hung along the walls to each side. Two remained dark, but the others glowed with white symbols, twisting in Jon’s head until a strong impression of a word he vaguely understood filled his thoughts.

Loading…

But loading what?

Thomas landed beside him, one hand on his sword hilt. “What the fuck is this place?”

If only he knew. But it had the same smooth stone as the Tower of Idrér.

Jon gripped the dagger hilts strapped to his back, hoping he didn’t have to see more dead people in cages.

And yet something tugged at his curiosity. The idea that the bloodflower was far more than a family emblem. Whatever the Ayers true history, no story or legend ever spoke of anything like the polished floors and glowing walls.

Light flickered again, new symbols on the glass. Welcome to South Island High-Security Prison.

Jàden’s magic had done something to him. He could read the strange words, at least the ones that held similar meaning in his own native tongue, and one word stood out above the others on the glass.

Prison.

A place he’d patrolled for more than a decade in service to the Tower. Where piss and vomit, screams and hatred, all bled into a daily routine of fights, death threats and loneliness when a man realized he might be the only sane person left. A prison was something he understood, but it still twisted a knot of coldness into his gut.

This was not a safe place to be.

Dusty slid down behind them, an arrow on his bowstring. “Think anyone’s alive in here?”

“Let’s hope not.” Jon should have turned around right then, but he had to know more about this place. To understand what was so important about the pendant around his neck and why the high council desperately wanted it.

Hands on his daggers, he crept down the corridor.

The glass sheets flashed again, panning across a large room like a moving portrait. Dalanath stood along every wall, mysterious green creatures who floated on mist, only their upper bodies formed as if they could open their eyes at any moment and step from illusion to reality.

Only a few months ago, he hadn’t really understood the significance. After his time with Jàden, everything became clear.

“They’re like Jàden—human. Someday, they’re gonna wake up.” And they might all possess the same powerful magic she did, but the words on the screen lingered like stones in his thoughts.

Dalanath.

Prisoners.

Captives.

Jon tried to imagine hundreds of people like Jàden all waking up at once. Anguished, starved, and who knew what else may be fueling their decisions.

“We shouldn’t be here, Captain.” Thomas slid the blood-bound sword from its sheath. Brash and hot-tempered, Thomas rarely showed trepidation unless his chronic muscle pain became too debilitating. Thomas had assured him earlier that it wasn’t bad tonight, but Jon sensed a hesitation that mirrored his own.

“Look at this.” Dusty slid his fingers across a glass sheet, and the image vanished, replaced by a new one. And another. Dusty moved through several images before Jon could really get a good look at any of them.

An illusion, perhaps the same magic that only showed the upper half of each dalan. And any place that contained magic was something Jon wanted no part of.

Except this place must hold a truth about his family’s legacy.

“What do you think this…” Dusty stopped swiping as an image of Jàden reflected back at them. “Oh shit. That’s Herana.”

“Captain, what the fuck is this place?” Thomas held his sword out now as if he expected an army to come pouring through the sealed doors.

Jon tightened his jaw at the image of Jàden, a healthy, strong woman with no fear in her eyes. It was a far cry from who she was now, and he wondered if she’d ever been asleep in this place or if it was just one of many facilities. “It’s a prison.”

And he had their mark inked into his forearm.

Maybe that’s all his family was, a long line of captors suppressing people with magic in their blood.

“What did they do to you?” he muttered under his breath, unable to tear his gaze away from the happiness in her brown eyes.

Jon had seen it a thousand times, innocent folks thrown behind bars for petty crimes or defending their families. Some were released again without relative harm, but others walked out of his prison as hardened criminals. Or worse, with no life spark left and ready to give up.

Usually those from Éli’s sector.

He traced the image of her cheek to a small arrow with a word he didn’t understand. As soon as his finger touched the word, her portrait shrank under a throng of rioters.

Shouts echoed from the glass. Crowds of people with signs stood around a central pedestal, a fiery red orb hovering overhead. As the rioters swarmed, several people disappeared into the flames. Jon tried to understand what he was witnessing but couldn’t separate out the strange words.

“Are they killing people?” Ashe poked his head from the doors, a dagger in each hand.

Jon didn’t have an answer, nor could he hold back the anger ripping through him. Only one thing he knew for sure from when he’d touched the bloodflower’s flames his last day in Ìdolön—“That fire doesn’t burn.”

He’d been in that room once, and it gave him chills. The wide, empty space, the metal forged into every wall like he stood inside a giant dagger hilt.

The people who disappeared very likely fell into the high council chamber. Those old bastards didn’t build the Tower like they’d have the citizens of Ìdolön believe.

The Guardians did.

“Captain.” As if the world fell out from under Dusty, his tone turned hollow.

Jon hadn’t taken his eyes off the image. Sheets of glass, similar to the one he watched now, flashed over the crowd. Each one showed someone screaming in pain from inside a glass cage.

As the rioters quieted, one man’s shout was easy to pick out. “She saved our moon!”

Others tried to shout over him. “Flame wielders will kill us all if they can’t be controlled.”

“Stuff her in a starship engine and see if she can make it fly,” a woman shouted, others laughing at her words.

“Anyone know what they’re saying?” Dusty asked.

“They’re arguing over whether to kill Jàden or not.” Jon didn’t understand the starship comment, but the magic tied to his body told him enough. A jest—probably meant to be funny—but he couldn’t see the humor.

People were scared of her, of the power she wielded. He’d seen it firsthand the day he’d found her when she’d torn earth and metal. He couldn’t imagine Jàden would try to intentionally harm others, but if the high council or the Rakir got hold of her, who knew how they’d use her.

Jàden screamed from a glass sheet, a cry of pain so desperate it burned a hole in his soul. She collapsed into sobs, bloody handprints streaked across her cage, and muttering a single plea. “Help me.”

Fury tore Jon’s heart. He couldn’t watch anymore. “Move!”

He ripped the sword from his back and slammed it across the panels. Glass shattered. Sparks flew from the walls, and smoke curled up from the edges.

“Let’s get the fuck out of this place.” Whoever had tortured Jàden was going to die. He’d drive his sword into their skull or follow them into every life after to make them suffer.