Page 111 of The Demon Tide

Eastern Realm

One day prior to Xishlon

Bleddyn’s rune skiff touches down at the city’s docks just as dawn’s blue glow is reaching into the still-dark sky, the desire to survive and go after Lukas thrumming hot through my core.

Maritime activity bustles all around, my breath tightening as I note the port’s heavy military presence, the soldiers searching incoming vessels and standing guard along the dock’s adjacent boardwalk. I’m hyperaware of both my Elfhollen glamour and the runic weapons strapped under my Xishlon garb. And the Wand pressed into the side of my boot, its bolstering starlight tree firmly ensconced in the back of my mind.

Every type of ship and skiff is either docking or embarking as far as the eye can see, some of them piloted by female crews—something not seen in Gardneria. Many are festooned with strings of Xishlon runic orbs, decorated with violet flowers or gleaming, filigreed hearts and aglow with purple light. I glance skyward and take in the vertical city rising before us like an impossibly steep staircase. Rune ships dart overhead, the soaring vessels fogged with blue runic penumbras in the predawn light.

Worry tenses my brow as I take in how rune-based the city is, most of its infrastructure dependent on huge, sapphire-glowing circular support runes on the undersides of buildings, walkways, and suspended roads—runes powered by Noilaan’s dome-shield.

A chill races down my spine.Vogel could destroy this entire city with one swipe of his Shadow Wand.

Bleddyn finishes securing the skiff and then taps my arm, urging me to follow. We start off down the dock, all thought vaporizing as I take in the large posting nailed to a piling at its end.

Wantedby the Vu Trin Forces of Noilaan.

Elloren Grey, formerly Elloren Gardner.

Black Witch of Gardneria.

A dazed nausea rises as my gaze lowers to the line drawing of my face, a nail hammered through my forehead. My Gardnerian features are exaggerated—harsher and more angular than they actually are. But still, if I were unglamoured, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to identify me. My light-headed rush intensifies as I glance around, wanted postings tacked to almost every piling up and down the boardwalk’s length.

Bleddyn shoots me a harsh glare before grabbing my arm and pulling me back into motion. The posters fly by, one by one, some vandalized with slashing Noi script scrawled over me, my face clawed clear off another.

Bleddyn cocks an ironic brow at the faceless poster. “Rather defeats the purpose, don’t you think?” Something catches her eye and she stiffens. I follow her gaze toward the heavily armed soldiers marching toward us with an air of purpose.

My pulse quickening, I angle my head down. They’re clearly on duty, scanning the pier and the ships with searching eyes. Eyes that fixate on us as we near.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles as they pass. I let out a shuddering breath, following close on Bleddyn’s heels as she makes a sharp turn through a busy fish market, then into the expansive gardens that edge the city’s river-level tier.

On guard against the threats that could be bearing down, my eyes dart around the lush gardens, the flowers’ phosphorescent buds glowing every shade of violet against predawn’s cobalt luminance. Noi Wisteria trees close in around us, their pendulous, iridescent-purple fronds cascading down. Awareness touches my tangled lines like the brush of fingers, a palpable malice shivering to life and spreading through the grove.

Black Witch!

A vision of fronds slapping around my neck from all sides accosts me, so vivid I can almost feel the phantom stings. Ire rises in my throat, thick and hot. Tensing, I exhale hard, attempting to force my fire aura toward the trees in counter-attack, but quickly discover my magic is tangled so alarmingly tight I can barely summon a trace of its invisible aura.

The trees’ murderous energy fades as I follow Bleddyn out of the grove and onto a lantern-lit circular plaza. I slow, my whole body going rigid as I face what lies in its center.

A huge statue hewn from black opalescent stone stands before me. It depicts a larger-than-life Icaral who strongly resembles Yvan, wings powerfully outstretched as he throws a stream of stone-fire mercilessly toward the dead Black Witch splayed under his feet, his boot crushing her temple.

For a moment, my emotions storm, as I imagine a very different statue. A statue that defiantly rages against the cursed Prophecy images of both Realms—a tall, angular-faced Icaral and Black Witch caught up in a fire-bonding kiss.

“Look familiar?” Bleddyn asks from beside me. I glance at her, lost in an abyss of conflict, the forces bent on demonizing me feel like a multitude of walls closing in.

“Bleddyn, I need you to tell me where we’re going,” I say, a knot clutching my throat.

Her brow tenses as she stares at me, a surprisingly compassionate look entering her emerald gaze. She leans in close. “To the rune ship of a Resistance worker I’m friendly with. I’ve secured a spot for you working in her restaurant for a day or so.” She lowers her voice, stressing each of her next words. “The ship is warded by Smaragdalfar varg runes.” She gives me a significant look, understanding gathering inside me—it’s likely that both Vogel and the Vu Trin won’t be able to track me through them.

“C’mon,” Bleddyn prods, motioning me forward, and we head for the plaza’s far end.

I glance once over my shoulder at the statue, my heart twisting as I wonder how, if Yvan is truly alive, we’ll ever manage to navigate a world dead set on upholding a Prophecy that casts us as mortal enemies. My thoughts slingshot to Lukas, pain lodging like a thorn in my chest over the Wyvernfire bond running hot through my lines, my heart forever cleaved in two.

But there’s no time to wrestle with any of it as Bleddyn and I stride onto the First Tier’s already crowded main thoroughfare, pictures of my evil face tacked onto every shoppe and lantern post and hostile tree.

Dawn breaks over the tiered Voloi Mountains, its eastern glow brightening the sky as Bleddyn and I take rune lift after rune lift toward Voloi’s cloud-high Sixth Tier. We step off the final lift, and onto an amethyst-cobblestoned road, pale sunlight shafting over merchants setting out wares for tomorrow’s Xishlon holiday—bunches of violet roses, heart-shaped lilac flower wreathes, lavender trinkets, moon-decorated lace and every hue of purple garb. I’m amazed by just how varied the people look here—so many hues of skin tone and hair color, but most wearing distinctively Noi-style dress.

An attractive young Noi man wearing a moon-polka-dotted plum tunic is stringing a line of violet-rose decorated runic orbs across the narrow street. He pauses, grinning as he looks toward a nearby apothecary shoppe. “Find the moon with me, Zara Ko!” he tosses out flirtatiously to the elegant teal-hued young woman in a black apron staffing the shoppe’s window.

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