A Curse of Blood & Stone (Fate & Flame 2)

“She will meet us in Eldred Wood as agreed, or she will die trying,” comes Zander’s cold response.

“What about Annika?” Tonight’s disaster unraveled in a blurred fury, with little time to think of anyone but myself. Elisaf handed me a dagger and told me to run, so I ran, not realizing that Zander’s sister was not following.

“Annika will say and do what she needs to survive. Besides, Atticus knows her well enough to know she was blind to this.”

But whose side will she be on now? I arrived in this world a sworn enemy to her and lingered in that role for weeks, even after saving her life—twice in one night. But she seemed to be warming to me, finally. Granted, our relationship is still tenuous, but I’d come to see the sharp-tongued princess as something closer to friend than foe.

“Fretting about others will not help our current situation. We will have plenty of time to dwell later,” Zander adds, his tone softening.

We’ve gained maybe fifty feet in the water when metallic forms pour through the cracks and crevices between the buildings, armor glinting against new torchlight.

There’s no sign of Cecily or Arthur. I pray they made it to safety.

“Over there! That must be them on the water!” someone shouts.

Zander curses.

My own thoughts repeat it. Damn these Islorians and their superior vision.

“Archers! Ready!” a familiar voice hollers.

“That’s Boaz.” The captain of the king’s guard has yelled at me enough times that I recognize his booming voice. “He’s commanding the soldiers to fire on you?” On Islor’s rightful king?

“More likely on you. I’m just collateral damage.” The skiff jerks forward, Zander and Elisaf’s strokes increasing in both speed and strength.

But it’s not enough.

A dozen flaming arrows launch into the night sky with the first volley, sailing toward us like shooting stars.

“Get down!” Zander hisses, abandoning his oars and diving forward to shield me with his body.

I cower, my stomach clenching as balls of fire illuminate the water’s surface, revealing our exact location before plunging into the sea.

Zander wastes no time peeling away from me. “Is everyone okay?” The chorus of ayes pulls a sigh of relief from him.

“You don’t have armor.”

He still wears the ink-blue jacket he wore to the tournament, the velvet fabric useless against flying metal. “A choice I am regretting.” He moves into position to row once again. “We are lambs in a meadow of wolves, and some of those arrows will be forged in merth.”

Far more deadly if they land true. And he was willing to take one for me.

“Thank God they missed,” I mutter, more to myself.

“I will thank the fates for nothing but the suffering of my people,” he growls, the oar blades churning through the water with angry strokes.

Elisaf matches his pace. “I’m afraid Boaz will not miss again.” I’m not used to hearing anxiety in my night guard’s voice.

“Then we must do what we can to stop them.” Gesine stands facing the shoreline.

“Are you mad, woman?” Zander scolds. “Sit down before you are dead and useless to us.”

“We will all be dead and useless shortly.” Gesine’s cloaked arms reach out on either side. “Are you ready, Romeria?”

My eyes bulge with surprise. Me? For what? I shoot her a questioning look, but she’s not paying attention to us, her head bent forward as if in prayer.

Whatever this powerful elemental is about to do, it involves her abilities—the three shimmering emblems marked on her forearm, hidden beneath the heavy wool, that depict her affinities to water, air, and earth.

A breeze stirs from the dead calm, like a teasing summer wind, fluttering strands of my hair, caressing my cheek.