Sweat from cold fingers slid across Jàden’s mouth, soiling the remnants of Jon’s breath with the scent of sex and blood. She yanked her head away from the wretched man’s beefy fingers.

Abducted again.

But fear’s vice-like grip on her heart couldn’t close the distance back to the wharf and the plumes of smoke along the cityscape.

Frank’s ship disappeared into the fog as he retreated toward the heart of the city. He hadn’t found her.

But everything was a mess again. She just wanted to get back to Jon.

Harbor waves rocked the longboat as Theryn crashed to his knees, a cut along his cheek streaking blood down his jaw. “Let her go, Granger!”

Jàden tried to twist out of the brawny man’s grip, but he had the strength of an ox. Granger grabbed her jaw, pulling her cheek close to his mouth. “Jon Ayers ain’t gonna save you. He’s already in irons.”

His putrid breath rolled across her nose, and she turned away, bile in her throat.

“He’ll come,” she whispered, the familiar words dropping from her mouth as if she’d never left the cage. She’d waited two long years for Kale to rescue her, clinging obsessively to the idea of a him as the hero so she didn’t have to be one.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

Maybe Granger was right. Kale was the love of her life, and he never did save her. Jon held no love for her. He’d save his men before giving her a thought.

“Don’t listen to him, Jàden.” Theryn spat blood onto the boat’s wooden bench. “Granger’s scared of the captain. It’s why he’s been cozying up to Hareth for years.”

Granger shoved her face against the icy bench and kicked Theryn across the jaw. “Watch it, Blakewood. There ain’t no orders to keep you alive.”

A large ship loomed ahead as they sailed further away from the wharf. Lights flickered high on the deck of a midnight black barge, black sails bearing a silver tower image with two moons—Shelora and Maori—near the left apex. The same emblem she’d seen on the Rakir.

These were the ones trying to kill Jon for the bloodflower.

“He can’t come here,” she whispered. Jon would be a fool to try and save her when he carried one of Hàlon’s most precious gate keys.

Granger grabbed her scruff and hauled her to her feet.

“I can walk.” She tried to shove him away, but he tightened his grip as a scream tore through the air. Jàden froze, her eyes on Theryn. “That sounded like a child.”

“Impossible.” He spat at Granger’s feet, but a shadow lingered in his eyes as if he wasn’t entirely certain of his own words.

As they slid alongside the larger vessel, armored men hooked the longboat to a pulley system and hauled them from the sea to the top deck.

Theryn struggled against his bonds, Granger’s men gripping each of his arms.

The Rakir ship rocked in the gusty seas, creaking like an old door. More than fifty black-clad soldiers stood on the deck, the Rakir emblem on their shoulders and a silver sword strapped to their backs.

Near the larger central mast, two cloaked figures were flanked on either side by soldiers covered head to foot in metal armor, the silver tower emblazoned across their breastplates. Each one carried a heavy iron pike. Behind them, a tall metal canister burned bright to fend off the frigid air.

Jàden’s heart hammered as Granger shoved her onto the deck. If she couldn’t get away from Frank and Bradshaw, she’d certainly never find a way to leave this ship.

Ice-blue eyes leered at her from beneath each shadowed cowl like glowing orbs. Both spoke at the same time, their voices interwoven. “Where is Jon Ayers?”

“He’s busy blowing up the city. But I can take him a message—” Theryn started, but one of the men holding him punched him across the jaw, silencing his snarky tone. Blood dripped from the corner of his lip.

Granger tightened his grip on her scruff. “She’s the bait. Ayers wants to protect this little lovely.”

Jàden nearly gagged on the stench of his breath, turning away from the poisoned heat.

“Come here, woman,” an old man’s raspy, snake-like voice slithered.

Clamping down stubbornly on her jaw, Jàden refused to budge.

The cloaked figures raised their hands, darkness whispering along the fringes of her mind. Power surged, tightening its web of air and forcing her to step forward.

But this was something new, a slick hiss crawling along her skin.

She dug her heels into the deck’s weathered wood, her weak muscles straining against the unfamiliar magic. “Theryn?”

“Working on it.” He tugged at his bonds, a grim expression on his face.

Energy, dark and slick as oil, slithered over her like a serpent.

They’ll kill anyone with a hint of magic, Jon’s voice whispered in her head. Because these men wanted it for themselves. To be the power in this world when no one else could.

This wasn’t magic. It was some type of energy manipulating the elements, just as the Violet Flame did when it burst from her hands. Compelling her toward the hooded figures until she was barely an arm’s length away, their power’s dark tendrils poked along her arms. Jàden shuddered under the slimy, alien brush of energy.

“I can feel your power.” Their blue eyes fixed on her, and they gasped. “Herana. So it’s true.”

A pale, withered hand shot out from the dark robes and grasped her wrist, a surprisingly strong grip for an old man. He turned over her hand, flecks of light and shadow lifting from her skin. “It’s been nearly three thousand years since I last saw this. The threads are incomplete.”

“What are you talking about?” She tried to wrench away, but the bastard had an iron grip.

Three thousand, almost a full millennium after she fell asleep. No way could these withered crusts of men be three thousand years old, unless they weren’t human.

“Who are you?” she asked.

The Flame flowed into her veins, crackling from its invisible well of power as tendrils of white light circled her forearms. She clenched her hands, torn between unleashing it to erase the guilt of Mather’s death and fear she’d not be able to hold the Flame’s power back next time.

“Feel her strength.” Their blue eyes widened, and the old man gripped her arm tighter, the other fumbling inside his robes. “Get the iron ready.”

Theryn shouted at her from across the deck. “Don’t let him touch you, Jàden.”

Before his words fully registered, the cloaked figure slapped a stone circlet onto her wrist. The gentle whisper of Jon’s strength disappeared along with the Flame, leaving her alone, hollow and cold.

“No!” She clawed at the old man’s hand, still too weak to peel back his fingers. Jàden reached for the Flame, no longer caring if it pushed her power too far, but an invisible barrier buzzed along her arms, just like when she’d first woken from hypersleep. “Theryn!”

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The cloaked figures threw back their hoods, revealing long, white hair and pale, wrinkled features. Glowing blue eyes fixed on her. “Your lives belong to us until Captain Ayers brings us that key.”

“No!” She understood now why Jon didn’t want them to have it. The energy they wielded felt like drowning in oil, and she would not subject the citizens of Hàlon to it. “I’ll die before I let you have that key.”

An old man nodded toward his guards. “Stoke the fires and hang the traitor.”

Armored soldiers grabbed her arms.

“Leave me alone.” Jàden dug her heels into the deck.

“Let her go!” Theryn’s voice was strained.

A scuffle broke out behind Jàden as the guards slammed her head against the mast. They wrapped her arms around the wooden pillar, tying her wrists to the far side.

Her vision blurred, pain shooting into her skull. Jàden’s pulse raced as hands grabbed her skirt and ripped it off, peeling her breeches away from her waist.

“No, no! What are you doing?” She yanked against her restraints.

Theryn jumped in front of her, his face bloodied and beaten, but the guards caught him again. They wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled the noose tight before he could squirm away.

“Listen to me.” His eyes locked onto hers, a grim determination in their depths. “Ignore the captain’s order, or we both die.”

Fire seared into her hip. Jàden screamed, hands clenched into a tight knot. The pressure released, and a red-hot branding iron was tossed into the burning metal container.

“Jon!” She tugged against the ropes, drool sliding from the side of her mouth. Where was he? Where was Kale? She tried to cling to both men, but she knew in her heart no one would save her again.

Kale was nothing but ash, and these men would kill Jon on sight.

No one’s gonna save you, darlin’. Frank’s voice seeped into her memories.

The storm clouds brightened as the insidious starship roared over the harbor. Almost as if his ship’s tracking system could somehow read her thoughts.

“I know you’re out there, darlin’.” Frank’s voice filled the air. “Ol’ Doc’s waitin’.”

Jàden gripped the leather bindings and screamed at the storm. “Fuck you, Frank!”

“Herana.” Blood dripped into Theryn’s eye, and for the first time she saw an uneasiness there. But his voice was as calm as a placid sea. “The captain told us about the day he found you. Show these fuckers what happens if they mess with a Guardian.”

Her hands trembled as someone dusted powder across her burned hip. She tried to reach for Theryn—Save me, please.

“I’m no Guardian,” she whispered. Why did no one understand this? She was weak, broken, and holding tight to a dream that would never come to pass.

The armored guard pulled the brand out of the fires, the iron glowing a brilliant orange.

Theryn was yanked up the mast, hanging by his neck with his hands bound behind his back.

“No no no!” All the pain and fear of her captivity slamming into her. “Let him go!”

“If you think you’re in pain now,” the guard said, tracing a clammy finger across her cheek. “The second brand always hurts worse.”

“What?” Jàden struggled against her restraints, reaching toward the Flame. “No, please.”

Iron burned into her flesh as the brand pressed the same spot on her hip. Jàden screamed, pain ripping through her whole body until its fire consumed her senses. A pulse of white light thrummed across a web of voices.

Help us.

Save us.

The whispered voices twisted into Mather’s, as if he bore witness to her anguish, even between lives. Theryn’s coming with me. Give up now and accept your fate.

“Never!” Jàden slammed her mind outward to throw the voices back to the abyss. She’d heard enough screams during her years in captivity, and she could bear no more.

The cuffs around her wrist shattered, and white fire surged in her veins. Jon’s strength followed on its heels and she clung to the sensation.

“I won’t lose another one of Jon’s friends.” Jàden slapped her hands against the mast, light pulsing along the weathered timber toward the sky and deep into the hull.

Wood exploded skyward, ripping the ship apart at the keel.

Orange and silver roared across the bay, spraying water behind the ship in a city-high rooster tail.

Her heart beat faster. “I’m not going back!”

The Flame’s power ripped through her mind. She reached through the threads of light, searching for the singular pulse of Theryn’s energy.

Frustration rippled back from far below her feet. He was already underwater.

Frank’s ship zoomed straight toward her.

Jàden drew the Flame’s crackling light into her body and stretched her hands toward the sea.

A column of water burst through the steel ship and tore it out of the sky. Metal exploded outward, and the wood deck cracked beneath her feet, plunging her into the harbor’s icy depths.

Saltwater seared into her burn, shooting pain through her bones. Brilliant orange illuminated the sea, waves surging and bodies grasping for the surface.

And amid the chaos, the heart of Sandaris beat louder.

Its threads of energy tugged her down, almost begging her to open herself up to more of the Flame’s power. Her thoughts shifted to the moon’s vision, a trail of giant bones illuminating toward the alien starship buried deep in the moon’s core.

She would never go to that horrible place again.

Jàden kicked away from the sinking steel beast, gasping for air when she broke the surface.

The icy wind filled her lungs.

“Theryn!” she called.

Ruptured down to the keel, the black ship’s decks lay open to the air. She swam toward the lower level of the stern and grasped onto a beam.

“Theryn!”

He must still be underwater.

Stretching along the threads of light with her mind, she searched for him again. Anger and determination rippled back, and she couldn’t tell one water-soaked head from another.

If Theryn died, Jon would never forgive her. “Please still be alive.”

“Where are you, Ravenscraft?” Frank’s voice sliced through the air.

Shit. Waves crashed over her as she scrambled for the stairwell and raced toward the next level. Her hip screamed in pain, heat pulsing from her chest to her knees beneath the burned skin. “Theryn!”

Granger kneeled on the far deck, hands over his eye with blood dripping through his fingers.

Theryn stood over him, the wind whipping his voice toward her. “You tell that fuck Hareth if he so much as looks at the captain or any of us again, I’ll rip both his eyes out and stuff his own prick down his throat.”

He kicked Granger in the chest, knocking him into the sea. Theryn held up the arrow in his hand, Granger’s eye skewered on the shaft.

Jàden slapped a hand over her mouth and forced back vomit.

A raspy voice slithered from the stairwell above. Icy blue orbs peeked out from the old man’s white hair slicked against his wrinkled features. He seemed to be enjoying himself as shadowy threads from his body whispered against her. “Oh, the power we will wield together.”

“Fuck you.” She bolted for an open doorway and slammed the door, shoving a bolt into place.

What am I doing? She’d left Theryn out there alone. He didn’t have her power, but maybe he was strong enough to—

No, she had to get hold of herself.

But the fear tightened her chest as she retreated several slow steps backward.

The old man breathed heavy outside the door, his power sliding through the air and across her arms. “You cannot escape me, Guardian. Come out or your companion dies.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” She couldn’t think straight.

Jàden scanned the small, luxurious room for a weapon. Layers of thick blankets covered the bed against one wall. On the other, a wooden chest sat open, stuffed with wires and hunks of metal. The hilt of a gun lay stuffed between a table leg and a cracked piece of shield panel.

“Hàlon technology.” She dropped to her knees and dug through the scattered items. A hair dryer with missing coils. Cracked coffee pots. The panel to a replicator. Someone had collected broken junk from her world.

A heavy body slammed the door.

Then Theryn’s muffled voice squeaked through the cracks. “You’re a Guardian, Jàden. Fight!”

“I’m trying!” She grabbed the gun hilt and pressed it between her knees. Her finger traced across an old datapad, and she stuffed that next to the hilt.

Her people had created everything to last millennia. If she could find enough pieces, maybe something would work.

The bolt slid back, and the door creaked open.

The white-haired figure leered at her from the entry. “You killed Rian, and you must pay.”

Theryn crashed into the old man. As they hit the floor, Theryn’s body slammed into the far wall.

Energy thrummed into the room, an oppressive, slick mire crawling up the walls and over her skin. The old man wheezed and glared at the dark-skinned bowman.

“Use your magic!” Theryn clawed at his neck as if something invisible choked him.

She tossed items behind her as she dug deeper into the chest, the Flame’s power pulsing so hard through her veins it threatened to consume her.

But she couldn’t lose control, not again.

Besides, Kale had taught her a thing or two about shooting. She yanked a small handgun free. “Theryn, firemark!”

“Little. Busy.” He kicked out his legs, the old man’s power squeezing the air out of him.

She slammed the chest shut and climbed on top. Jàden scrambled for his pockets, but Theryn was quicker, clutching her hand with a firemark between their palms.

His eyes said everything his mouth couldn’t: kill that bastard.

Jàden slapped the firemark into the hilt and swept her thumb across the transparent orb until it glowed. Red light bled through the etched steel lines to the tip of the barrel.

“Now I’m a fucking Guardian.” She aimed the gun at the old man and fired.

The bastard howled and stumbled back, gripping his shoulder.

Jàden fired two more shots into his chest.

Red light burned a hole through the old man’s heart, the light fading from his vivid blue eyes. He crumpled to the ground, the air in the room retreating to frigid ice.

Theryn crashed to the floor, rubbing his throat. His nose was broken and bleeding, the swelling around his eye darkening. Blood dripped from a dozen cuts as he gasped for breath.

“What the fuck is that thing, and where do I get one?” he said.

“Is he…”

She couldn’t even finish the words. Didn’t want to know.

Her hands shook violently, the gun slipping from her fingers. She’d never intentionally killed another human. Jàden slid to the ground. She nudged the gun with her toe, the dead man’s empty blue eyes staring through her. “I’m sorry.”

Two beefy hands grabbed either side of the door frame, Frank’s bulk filling up the space between. His hazel eyes pinned her, full of rage and the promise to make her suffer.

Mohawk slick against his head, a sinister grin curled the corner of his mouth. “Miss me, darlin’?”