Blood Bond

I awoke to a hide ceiling, rough folds of leather scrunched up to a point in the center. Oh, that's right. I had fallen asleep while staring at the stars; Meris or Kael must have taken me into the tent. Memories of that night felt like forever ago after what I had gone through in Blackwood—a place that felt like an entire universe away. No, even further. The walls there were so bleak, glowing white, and all the glass, clear and smooth, and the air, it was so pure that it had its own non-existence quality.

Here, everything felt so dirty in contrast, even the air held an essence of organic filth. I rolled to my side, and the jagged rocks poked at me from beneath the bedroll.

My fingers touched the right side of my chest. Damp again. That splotch of red was back, and dots upon the center of my chest. Another gown ruined. I should ask to wear red to sleep.

Meris poked her head through a flap in the tent. In one of her hands was a change of clothes, a simple faded green dress, and a wet towel in the other. She knew what to expect.

The men were already readying their mounts by the time I emerged. For some reason, their gazes all dipped when I walked past. I received a few inclinations of their heads, and even a snap to attention here and there. Something had changed in their perception of me; I was confused as to what.

Our breakfast was a meager one: a lukewarm plop of tasteless gruel that smelled faintly of burnt oats, followed by a slice of hard, dried bread. Roderic saved a seat for me, and I sat down with the men at the scattered logs around a much smaller and quieter campfire. Not much was said beyond a few simple greetings. Everyone sensed it—the weight of what was to come was heavy in the air. Afterwards, we mounted our horses and rode out.

The last few miles of the journey passed in a tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic beat of hooves on the well-worn road. The cobbled pathways were packed with merchants and travelers, but their heads snapped up as our column approached, and the sea of fineries and hauled goods parted before us.

It appeared. First as hazy peaks on the horizon, then resolving into spires that pierced the sky. The walls sharpened, and the crenellations appeared atop them. There stood Aethelgard, its silver outer gates gleaming in the sun, so massive that one could see the relief of the great guardians carved into them even from this distance. Home was now both tantalizingly and terrifyingly within sight.

My gaze drifted to the giant of a man riding beside me. Lord Borin Stonehand was uncharacteristically pensive. The usual gruff confidence was gone, replaced by a deep, thoughtful stillness. His jaw was set, and his gaze was fixed on the approaching gates, but his eyes seemed to be looking past them. His yellowed eyes held that look again, piercing, calculating—moving unseen pieces on the board.

He turned and his gaze met Meris's behind me. "Put that shroud on her. No need to make a scene on our way in. There are schemes here."

To my surprise, Meris obeyed without a cutting remark in reply. Had they been colluding behind my back? A heavy white shroud was thrown over my hood and cloak. I was now twice covered. Taking no chances, I suppose.

As our column approached the massive outer gates, the Aethelgard guard contingent was gone, replaced by grim-faced soldiers in the livery of foreign powers who snapped to attention as Stonehand passed. My eyes lifted to the ramparts. The royal banner of Aethelgard—a silver Aethelwing on a field of deep blue—still flew from the highest mast. But beneath it, new, jarring additions: four brazenly similar-sized banners fluttered in the breeze, proclaiming the authority of the usurpers. The golden sun of Rodinar, the grey mountain of Ironfell, the green spear of Veridia, and the silver ship of Serephos. They made it look as if they were supporting us. How dare they mock us!

We rode through the gates and into the cobbled streets of the lower city's commoner quarters. On the surface, life continued. Merchants called out their wares, and children darted through the alleys. But something was off. A wary, heavy atmosphere choked the air like smoke. The usual city symphony—the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the cries of vendors, the chatter of the crowd—was muted, replaced by a low, anxious murmur that died whenever our column of Ironfell steel passed.

In a busy intersection, Stonehand reined his massive warhorse to a sudden halt. He grunted, swinging his leg over the saddle and handing the reins to a waiting soldier.

"Roderic," he barked. His gaze swept over the crowd a few times before he continued, "Watch the girl. See she doesn't get into trouble." He gestured for Meris and me to move to the side of the road. "I have someone to talk with."

Before I could protest, he turned on his heels and walked away. I looked over at Roderic, but he only offered a helpless shrug. When I looked back, the mountain of a man who had been wading through the crowd had simply vanished.

Roderic led our horse into a small, cobbled square tucked away from the main thoroughfare, muttering something about waiting for his lord's return. My legs ached from the unfamiliar posture of riding with Meris, and I slid off the horse the moment she dismounted, desperate to stand on my own two feet.

While Meris busied herself with checking the horse's tack and retrieving a waterskin, I stepped away, trying to get some feeling back into my legs.

A sharp cry followed by a child's wail cut through the market din. My head snapped toward the sound.

Across the square, a richly dressed teenager with the arrogant bearing of high nobility was standing over a woven basket rolling on its side. Below him, a small, dirt-smudged girl no older than seven wailed over its spilled contents; black, rotted fruit and hard bread rolling over the cobblestones.

WHACK!

The noble boy sneered and struck her across the face with a contemptuous backhand, sending her stumbling to the ground.

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An older, scrawny boy dressed in rags scrambled over and threw himself between the noble and the crying girl, his thin arms spread wide. The noble teenager's face twisted in fury at the defiance. There was a soft shing of metal and a flash of reflected sun as he unsheathed a slender, needle-pointed rapier from the scabbard at his hip.

I saw the desperation in that boy's eyes, the light fleeing from them when he saw the blade. I saw from his eyes: him standing before his sister, one last attempt to protect her before this cruel world brings their end. No, this cannot be!

"Don't you dare!"

My voice laced with venom and anger rang through the square. Everyone froze. The noble, the refugees, the onlookers—all heads turned to me.

The sneer on the teenager's face shifted from the refugee boy to me. His hair was the color of a twilight sky, a lustrous, deep blue that framed an angular, refined face. But it was his eyes, the color of dark, wet shale, that held the real cruelty. The haughtiness was etched into his very being.

"And who are you to tell me what to do?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

"A being with honor and nobility," I snapped back, my anger still simmering. "Unlike the pathetic creature who preys on the weak."

His eyes narrowed. He leveled the point of his rapier at my chest, but I refused to flinch. With a theatrical flick of his wrist, a current of air lashed out. I felt it before I saw it. The wind caught my heavy shroud and the hood of my cloak, whipping them back off my head and revealing my face to the stunned onlookers. Wind magic! He has an air-affinity Seed.

A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"Is that… the second princess?"

"The useless one?"

"She's alive?"

"Gods, what is she doing?"

A wicked, knowing smile twisted the teenager's lips. "Oh, that Princess," he purred, his confidence swelling. "I've heard a bit about you. I am Prince Saleic of Veridia. Yes, that Veridia. You are far out of your depths here." He shifted his aim, the point of his rapier now resting lightly against the hollow of my throat.

That smile of his added fuel to the fire burning within me. I could see the utter contempt in the way he was looking at me. The point of the rapier? It's such a small thing. I've been stabbed by far worse.

"I don't care who you are," I said, my voice sharp. "Leave them alone!"

"You should have stayed hidden while you had the chance," he hissed, inching closer. "Kneel. I might even show you mercy."

I straightened my back, drawing myself up to my full height and meeting the contempt in his shale-colored eyes with the flames of my fury. "I am a High Princess of Aethelgard. I kneel to no one."

I took a deliberate step forward. The tip of his rapier, still pressed to my throat, forced him to take an instinctive step back. A collective gasp went through the crowd. He stumbled, losing his balance for a moment as his back collided with a solid, unmoving object.

Saleic turned, his face a mask of fury, ready to lash out at whatever had impeded him. His anger evaporated into shock as he found himself staring up at the unimpressed face of Borin Stonehand.

"What are you doing, whelp?" the giant of a man grunted, shaking his head slowly.

—

Kael slid in front of me. He thrust an open palm toward my chest, pushing me back a step.

A flicker of recognition flashed over Saleic's bewildered eyes as they darted from Stonehand to Kael. "You!" he shouted, but was cut off by the appearance of an entourage of men flanking him.

Roderic and the other Ironfell soldiers arrived as well, forming two opposing lines in the tense square.

"Uhm!" A harsh clearing of the throat cut through the rising chatter. Meris stood behind me, her gaze hard with disapproval. One hand was planted firmly on her hip, and I could almost hear her saying in exasperation, "I looked away for one second."

My eyes, however, went past her. Across the square, the scrawny boy was helping the little girl, still sobbing, onto her feet. Our gazes met between the blur of milling figures, and I inclined my chin toward him—a small, silent acknowledgment. It was all I could do. He seemed to understand and bowed his head low before the swelling crowd cut them off from view.

All around us, people were pointing at me, merchants, workers, beggars, kids, even guards. It looked like my cover was fully blown.

Stonehand's bushy eyebrows twitched. Steam seemed to rise out of him as his face contorted in rage. Whatever he had planned was now clearly up in smoke. He directed his glare toward Saleic and his men.

"Still here?!" he growled, and they immediately shrank back, dispersing into the crowd. Before leaving, Saleic took one last hard look at Kael, and Kael responded in kind.

I wanted to ask what that was about, but we were surrounded by onlookers, and more were coming, drawn by the commotion.

A new wave of whispers rose around us.

"It really is the second Princess!"

"She's with the Ironfell Lord!"

"Stonehand's been turned by her looks! The Regents must be cracking."

"A sign!" a woman shrieked, her voice filled with a desperate, fervent hope. "The high royals are taking back the city!"

That fervent hope rippled through the crowd, hands began reaching for me, Kael shoved one, and then another back. Roderic on the other side of me fended off a few more.

Stonehand stepped forward and roared, "Clear a path!" His men formed two lines of bristling steel, forcing a clearing in the frothing mob. Then, without warning, he yanked me atop his horse, seating me in front of him just as he had on our first journey together.

The world blurred past as Stonehand spurred his warhorse into a full gallop, charging out of the commoner's quarters and toward the main keep. Wind scraped at my face, the air howled as buildings zipped past us. Heads turned, and people pointed at me. It had been a long while since I'd felt this apprehensive, but I was, in essence, a trophy being paraded by the enemy. A bitter thought struck me as we approached the ivory gates of the main keep: this was just like what they had done with Astrid. The difference was, this was my own fault.

"What did you think you were doing?" Stonehand's voice finally rumbled after a long silence.

"I had to save that child. He was going to—" I paused, looking up into those yellow eyes. They must have seen countless deaths. What was one more to him?

"I know what you seek, girl. But justice for one can mean ruin for all. Here, you choose your moves carefully, else you'll never reach your goal." His hand gripped my shoulder. "Was saving that child what you truly came here to do?"

"No," I admitted.

"Good, know your path."