Éli wrangled his horse around, clenching the reins so tight his fingers hurt. “I know you’re here, Jon!”
He signaled the rest of his men: search everywhere.
They’d have to rely on silent gestures for now as the sky beast roared louder. Sleek gray slid over the top of the towers, lines between its skin bright orange against the storm as if the creature’s blood glowed from within.
He’d had everything planned meticulously, from his soldiers waiting in the mountains to the wardens who’d spied Jon and his men entering the city. But nothing could have prepared Éli for the fiery sky beast, and he was quickly losing control of the situation.
His men scrambled from their horses, kicking in doors and overrunning shops and taverns.
Or maybe the chaos would drive Jon’s next move.
Éli circled the plaza, scanning all the rooftops, the stone and mortar slick with ice. Bright banners whipped in the harbor breeze, but nothing stirred over their heads, only chaos and screams in the streets as Nelórath citizens raced to safety.
The sky beast spit bolts of light from its belly, ripping a hole into a tower wall before it turned toward the harbor, heat bursting from its back end and momentarily warming the air.
“Of course.” He’d ordered Granger and a squad of soldiers to wait by the docks in case Jon and his men tried to slip away by sea. Snowflakes glistened and melted to rain as he bolted down the nearby alley. If that was indeed their plan, Jon would head straight to the wharf.
A shadow leapt from one rooftop to the next, a flash of red beneath the cowl.
Inman. He’d know that freckle-faced bastard’s bright hair anywhere.
“Split up,” Éli shouted, pointing toward the roof. “And somebody kill that red-haired fuck.”
He charged to the next corner. There weren’t enough of them to cover the block, even with wardens attempting to barricade everyone. But with the sky beast roaring, most of the wardens were giving up the chase and retreating to help their own kin.
Cowards. He raced to the end of the block, the newly forged faux pendant hung around his neck, its metal cold against his chest. Éli would trade it for Connor and keep the real key, but Jon was proving to be a slippery bastard.
Fog rolled in from the coast, obscuring the bay. Éli whistled for his men and stormed onto the next street, bright merchant carts and colorful fruits on display. His stomach growled as a whiff of fresh-baked bread entwined with the salty air.
“This isn’t over! I’m going to find that woman.” Éli cursed as soon as the words came out. The woman, he wanted—if only because Jon was protecting her—but the key, he needed.
Another shadow raced by on the rooftops, this one with two swords strapped to his back.
“Up there,” someone yelled.
“Don’t kill him!” Éli seethed as an arrow whizzed past Jon’s head.
He clenched the reins until his knuckles were white. His men had orders to hit him in the leg, something to slow him down. But with no one listening, maybe he could trigger Jon’s anger. Get him to drop to Éli’s level before he lost Jon to the rooftops again.
“Your sister begged me to bed her, Jon. Every night until I lit the stick that set her on fire.” Fighting Jon never gave Éli the peace he needed after the Tower stole the last shard of his soul, so he’d tried seducing Jon’s sisters. The oldest spurned him, already happily bonded with her new wife, and the youngest no more than a child. But the third sister had fallen victim to his false charms. Éli bedded her with a single purpose: to produce an heir to both the Hareth and Ayers bloodlines.
And Connor was now trapped on the high council barge just beyond the horizon and in danger of getting branded to the Tower’s will.
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Éli clenched his jaw. They would not turn his son into a mercenary. When Jon didn’t show his face, he bolted toward the harbor, trying to cut off his path.
The beast lifted one wing and turned away. A building exploded, rock and wood shooting into the sky. Éli’s horse whinnied, and they both slammed to the ground.
Pain shot up his arm, rocks and debris raining down.
Shaking off the ringing in his ears, Éli stumbled to his feet, coughing through the cloud of dust.
“Horse!” Damn thing better be alive. He gritted his teeth, agonizing pain throbbing from his fingers to his collarbone.
The excruciating sizzle in his arm eased after a few moments, but his shoulder ached. Unwilling to lose one more second, he stumbled through the fog. His horse trotted toward him, a jagged shard of wood lodged in its shoulder. It looked to be a shallow wound and wouldn’t lame his companion. He’d deal with it later. Right now, he needed to catch Jon.
Grabbing the reins, Éli swung into the saddle.
“To the harbor. Let’s move!”
Shadows followed him through the dust, keening wails high on the air a block over. Another explosion ripped apart the building behind him. Rocks clattered to the cobbles beneath. Orange fire burst from the sky beast, cutting a swath of flames across buildings. Citizens screamed and ran in a dozen directions. People burned to ash in the span of a heartbeat.
Éli cursed. Heat rolled through the icy air as he dodged through streets and alleys, getting as far away from the creature as he could. The wharf came into view through the fog and snow, rotten fish wafting through the air.
Ships broke free of their moorings as waves crashed against the wharf. One drifted several spans off the pier, black horses loose on the deck.
As the second sun lightened the sky, fog rolled apart, revealing a giant barge with the Tower and two moons on its sails. The high council vessel. A warning prickled the hairs on the back of his neck. His son was on that ship.
“There,” he shouted to the few men still at his back.
Jon stood on the edge of the docks, a dagger gripped in each hand. He paced the wharf, dark eyes fixed on each of the soldiers. His hair and beard had grown long, creating the image of a half-crazed woodsman.
Éli stopped his horse a few spans back, the remainder of his men circling Jon in a half moon on the edge. He had to tread carefully. He wasn’t above swimming after the bastard but he would rather fight Jon on dry land.
“Did Mather cry for his woman when he died? A brother for a brother, eh, Jon?”
The air seemed to grow more frigid as Jon shifted his weight onto his back foot. He slammed the twin daggers into their sheaths and drew a long, silver sword, the hilt bound with white cloth.
“Stay away from me and stay away from my men.” Jon’s voice held a deadly calm, sharper than a razor’s edge.
Now he was finally getting angry.
The Rakir drew their swords, but Éli nudged his horse forward. He considered telling Jon that Connor was alive, but he wasn’t ready to play that card yet.
Instead, Éli did what always forced the anger out of Jon.
“Do you know”—he slid to the ground and unsheathed his sword—“I could smell your woman’s hair through that soldier’s nose? I wonder if it’s as soft against my own fingertips.”
“You’ll never touch her.” Fury bled into Jon’s eyes.
Bullseye. She meant something to him. Though Jon always did have a soft spot for weak females.
The roar of the sky beast grew louder. He charged Jon, swiping aside the white-bound blade with his sword as they hit the sea together, the icy cold seawater snapping him alert.
Explosions thundered along the dock, spitting fire and wood over their heads through the shimmering surface water. He slammed his elbow across Jon’s jaw.
Jon kicked him in the gut, pushing them apart.
Whipping his sword around, Éli sliced the blade across Jon’s shin. But Éli was running out of air. He swam for the surface for a breath, searching the choppy gray waters. “Jon!”
The bastard had to come up for air soon. Wreckage floated on the small swells, the Tower barge looming beyond the harbor.
Jon wasn’t anywhere.
Éli slapped the water. “Mother fucking horse shitter.”
Rage burned in his chest as he slid beneath the waves again. It couldn’t be over this quick. Where was that fucking bastard?
Dust and debris littered the tide, making everything murky. Jon was nowhere to be seen.
He climbed onto the dock, the wharf-side street scattered with rock and wood, a wide crack running along the cobbles. Dust and smoke swirled around him. His eyes burned as he turned toward the sea, searching for a bobbing head.
“I’ll find you, Jon Ayers. I haven’t finished yet.”
He wasn’t even close to done.
Neither was the sky beast. It slid along the shoreline inland, almost as if it hunted something. Or someone.
Sheathing his sword, Éli whistled for his horse. The black limped toward him, blood dripping down from the chunk of wood buried in his shoulder.
“I’ll get that trembling oaf to stitch you up. Can’t have me a lame horse.” Not all the men in his regiment took proper care of their mounts, but Éli was meticulous about his. The temperamental stallion had gotten him out of more scrapes than he liked to admit, and someday the two of them would find a way to disappear, far away from any Tower laws.
But not until Jon suffered enough pain to satisfy the rage in his heart.
Fucking Jon. Fucking sky beast.
Éli grabbed the reins and clutched the faux bloodflower. He would not be thwarted again.
If Granger had been successful capturing the woman, Jon would come to him. But for today, he had another duty. He had to get Connor away from those old pricks.
“To the barge,” he shouted to his men and turned toward the far dock, where his own ship was moored.