DAIMON (Nerys Newblood Series Book 1) Read online

  King Matric doesn’t care about that though, only that his rule is kept safe and he likely won’t let me live if I promise real nicely to not try to overthrow him. Just because I have a spirit guide doesn’t mean I want to be anyone’s hero. Coen and the inky man are right, though. We may never get this chance again. We have the supplies we need, the daggers and longsword might be reported missing soon. I close my eyes and think.

  We’re at the North Wall, which is the best place to be if we are going to escape and we can’t get out of the East Wall. But, whatever is happening at the East Wall might affect the rest of the patrols. I pull Coen’s hands away from me and peek around him. A crack splits the sky wide open and the once hovering clouds begin to pour.

  “Are you kidding me?” I hear Coen mutter with disgust as a wave of rain slaps the both of us in the face. On any normal day, I would be inside relishing the warm sounds of the rain. Presently, however, I agree with Coen.

  He’s here. I freeze, an unexpected tingle shooting through my insides. It’s not painful, but the feeling reminds me of lightning in a great storm. Crackling and twisting to the tune of its own song as it snakes its way through me. I can’t even feel the rain sliding into my boots anymore.

  Who’s here? I ask. The inky man doesn’t reply, instead he nudges me a little to the side. I relax as I feel my body turn away from the North Wall. Fighting it will only leave me with a pounding headache later. As my eyes focus through the semi-darkness, a shadowed figure dashes across a rooftop in my field of vision and leaps between buildings before bounding to the ground and disappearing altogether behind several barrels. Water slips over the edge of the rooftop, the only evidence that something–someone–had disturbed that area a moment before.

  “Coen, did you just see…” I’m frozen staring in the direction where the figure disappeared.

  “What?” Coen whispers.

  “I-I’m not sure.” We need to go check it out though. It’s probably dangerous and a part of me just wants to take the original plan and apply it to the North Wall and bash through anything else that gets in our way, but I know that will get the both of us a one-way ticket to the dungeons. I slip through his thick arms as they anchor me against a wall and scurry around the building, trailing after the figure. Coen hisses my name from across the dangerous open area, but I sense the movement of him following me a moment later.

  Around another building through an even smaller alleyway, I hear Coen grunt when his big frame gets stuck. He turns sideways and though it’s still a tight fit, he manages to continue at a slower pace. We reach just under a guard station set at the top of the wall without being noticed and I motion for him to wait here while I go ahead. He growls in warning and I know he doesn’t like it.

  “You’re too big,” I whisper. “They’ll notice you.”

  “Then hurry,” he huffs back.

  The courtyard of the North Wall is slightly less accessible by the general populace only because there are several houses and buildings backing against it. If they catch us, we won’t have any excuses when they take us to the East Wall. The North Wall is also barren, which is a pro and a con. Less people to watch out for, but also more open space and less hidey holes. If my map is correct, there should be an irrigation vent here though, large enough for a man Coen’s size.

  I’m rummaging as quietly as possible through several grain bags and peeking behind barrels while trying to hurry. The smells of rotten food leaves a sour feeling in my stomach. King Matric has allowed his people in the lower city to starve for the last few winters and it disgusts me that so much food in his court goes to waste when there are people who need it. A dark emotion crawls through my veins as I press against the top of one barrel, leaning over to search for the vent when the top slides off and a hand reaches out to grab my wrist.

  I clench my teeth against an accidental shout as I find myself face to face with eyes so bright they match the light of the moon with the color of a cloudless sky. My mouth gapes open as my eyes widen. Shifting in my mind sends that lightning feeling back through me and the inky man, though quiet, is watching through my eyes.

  The boy—man, I mentally correct as he stands up—is lean and fit. He must have popped a few joints out of place just to fit in the barrel, because once he’s fully standing, I cannot possibly fathom how else he squeezed into such a small space. Blue eyes narrow on my face. His jawline hardens.

  “If you scream, I’ll have to hurt you,” he threatens. “I don’t want to, so don’t make me.”

  I blink at him in confusion. “Scream?” Screaming would only get me caught. His gaze flicks over me with disinterest before coming back to my face. I notice his eyes glow, pupils expanding and my free hand comes up automatically to pull my hood closer. “What–?” he begins, but before he can finish the thought, a hard body is slamming into me, all muscled limbs and heavy breathing. The barrel flops over and I hear the other man curse quietly as he goes with it, spilling out like wasted grain.

  “We have to go,” Coen hisses.

  “What the hell?” The stranger grunts as he climbs the rest of the way out of his hiding spot, revealing long limbs and his own sack. His eyes darken to indigo as they travel from Coen to me.

  Coen spares him a half glance, hunching over me protectively before leaning down to whisper in my ear again. “Your guide was right, we’ve got to go now.”

  A siren sounds in the distance, an angry noise rising up over the shacks and brick houses. Coen and I mutter a curse, scrambling up. I knew something was off and it dawns on me, tonight is the perfect night for someone to sneak out of the city. We must not be the only ones with the same thought. But, it makes no sense. Most citizens are content here. They seem just as desperate as we are. They aren’t motivated by the inky man like I am.

  “How did you know?” I choke out. Coen gives me a look. Of course he knows. He’s known me practically my entire life and it’s not like I can be very subtle when I’m talking to a discombobulated voice in my head. Hell, I probably reply to the inky man out loud without even thinking about it.

  “I haven’t found the drain yet,” I admit, panic settling in my stomach. If the guards find us trying to escape, they’ll know. Even if Coen and this stranger don’t have spirit guides, they may be judged as if they do. No one else would supposedly want to leave King Matric’s castle in the middle of the night, and only soldiers and tradesmen are allowed beyond the walls.

  “I know where it is.” Coen and I turn to the stranger.

  “Then why haven’t you left yet?” Coen asks, distrust evident.

  “I felt like I was being followed,” the stranger shrugs before eyeing us warily. “Can’t say I was wrong.”

  The alarms are loud and intense, big recorded noises blaring through the city. The agitation of the guards nearby lingers in the air. They keep their weapons close, sweeping the area with their eyes. They can’t see us, but they are on complete alert now.

  Turning back to the stranger, I grab his coat lapels to get his attention. Both he and Coen are glaring at each other, eyes assessing, and I am much too short to be on their level. He glances down at me in surprise. We need him to help us.

  “Show us,” I demand. Come on Blue Eyes, I urge silently. Don’t argue. Just help us. A warm hand grabs one of mine from his jacket. Blue Eyes pulls me behind him as he leads us down the North Wall.

  Shouts sound nearby and I grasp Blue Eyes’s hand, my nails digging into the skin of his palm as sweat slicks down my spine. The sweat and rainwater soak the pack under my cloak. Our clothes stick to our sides like second skins. Fear and acrid bile rise in my throat, choking me, until he pauses and shoves me forward, behind a series of grain bags. Coen dives over top the both of us as someone dashes over the grain bags and lands between us and the drain.

  A startled face turns to survey the three of us sprawled on the ground together. Why does it feel like everyone and their mother is trying to get out of the city tonight?

  The new stranger has a lo
nger face, lighter skin, and hair so dark it’s almost black. The strands are thick, covering most of his forehead and leaning into dark molten brown eyes. He’s not nearly as tall or large as Coen. Instead, his stature is closer to Blue Eyes. He tilts his head as if examining a problem.

  “This way!” I hear a guard holler and before I can even think of my actions, I push the new boy aside and reach for the drain pipes, hoping to find one that’s loose. They won’t chase us beyond the wall, especially at night. It’s too dangerous. My hands slip through the mud beneath the pipes as I try to pry them apart, whimpers of distress escaping my throat.

  Escape, the inky man says again.

  “I’m trying,” I snap, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes. I can’t be here anymore. It’s dangerous. Not just for me now, but for Coen and Blue Eyes and whoever this new stranger is as well. Unsafe.

  “I know!” I hiss as loud as I dare and slap my open palms against the unyielding bars, heaving.

  “What’s wrong with her?” The new stranger asks. His voice is smooth, lyrical, like silk sliding along my nerves.

  Him. I want to rip the inky man from my skull and pound him into the ground.

  Do you want to die? I shoot back angrily before shaking myself. I don’t need this right now.

  “We need a way out of here,” Coen says in reply to the new stranger. Blue Eyes is watching me, I can sense his intense gaze as I recheck the bars. The shouts are coming closer.

  “Are you the one they’re chasing?” he asks the stranger, pulling his eyes away.

  “Yeah. So, we might want to exit ASAP.” He leans over me, gripping a bar and with a flex of muscle in his forearms yanks hard. The pipe budges ever so slightly and a sheen of hope sparks in me. With his hands on the top and mine on the bottom, we pull again and manage to loosen it.

  “Wait,” Coen says, coming closer. “Both of you pull on the bottom. You–” he points to Blue Eyes. “We’ll pull on this one.” He points to the bar next to it. If we get both free, there will be enough room for each of us to slip through single file.

  “Are you escaping, too?” The stranger asks.

  We stare at him and though I want to make a smartass remark, because it’s entirely too obvious, I grit out a “yes” and yank again on the bar in my hand. The dirt is completely drenched in rain, turning it to mud and the bars on the bottom slip a little bit after each hard yank, even more so when the three guys rejoin me and begin helping.

  “Spread out!” We hear a guard yell no more than a few yards away, likely just out of our line of vision. Blue Eyes stops and looks over his shoulder.

  “We need a distraction,” he says. Coen looks to me and I shake my head fervently. Without him, these two could throw me to the dogs to save their own skins. I’m a good fighter, dirty when I want to be, but against two and in these circumstances, it’s safer for him to stay with me. He sighs and looks to Blue Eyes.

  “I’m not leaving her.” Blue Eyes considers me for a moment.

  “Alright,” he says. “You don’t have to. Just leave the bars spread open when you get them loose.”

  “What are you—?” I begin, but before I can finish the thought, Blue Eyes is dashing through the downpour. The three of us—Coen, the stranger, and I—stare after him in shock. Moments later, we hear guards yelling as they make their pursuit in the opposite direction.

  “Hurry up,” the stranger says. “We don’t know if he’ll get caught and rat us out.” Even though I don’t know Blue Eyes that well—I don’t even know his real name— I don’t think he will turn us in, even if he does get caught. The water running through the drain combined with our struggles is eventually enough to erode away the heavy earth surrounding the bottom of the bars and when they pop free of the muddy earth, relief floods me.

  “Her first,” Coen pushes me towards the bars, nudging the stranger out of his way with his bulky shoulders. The stranger is just as tall as Coen, though not as large. If he wanted to go through first, I know he could put up a hefty fight. It surprises me slightly when he doesn’t, instead gesturing in another ‘hurry up’ movement for me to go.

  “What about—?”

  “No time, we’ll leave the bars undone like he asked, just go,” Coen urges me. I squeeze through the bars, my upper half sliding through easily, but stopping when the bars reach my hips. With a short wiggle and a push on my butt from Coen, I slide through with minimal discomfort. The stranger is next.

  Once again, the stranger surprises me because as he comes through the other side of the drain, he stops and stands with me as I wait for Coen when I expect him to dash away. Brown eyes glance down at me as I stare up at him, and a blush creeps up my cheek, spreading heat. Hopefully, there’s enough mud on my cheeks to disguise it.

  Coen’s head comes through the opening just fine, but the moment the extra bars reach his broad shoulders he has to back up and turn. The stranger and I both get down on the ground outside the drain and reach through, each of us grabbing an arm as Coen lays on his side and wiggles forward.

  “Should have taken out another bar,” Coen grunts as he shifts and shimmies through.

  “Shouldn’t have eaten that last meat pie,” I tease. Coen growls, his mouth opening in a retort that he ends up swallowing as his shoulders break free and he slides through. He stays on the ground a moment more, reaching back through and pulling his longsword behind him.

  After strapping the stolen weapon to his side under his cloak, which is now doing nothing against the rain at our backs, he turns to me. “We should go.”

  No! The inky man’s voice ricochet’s through my head. Wait for him! I flinch at the vehemence in the inky man’s smoky voice, but don’t disagree. We can’t leave him.

  “I can’t.” The stranger is watching us, brown eyes alight with curiosity. A startled shout echoes in the distance and we all raise our heads. The guards have gone much farther away than we anticipated. I had thought that Blue Eyes would only lead them on a merry chase. Despite the yelling in the distance, a few moments later, someone grunts as they land in the pit we’ve dug out at the drain and wiggles through. A cap of blond hair, dirtied by all of the mud and rain pops up.

  “Can I get a little help here?” Blue Eyes asks drily. I almost laugh as the three of us move forward, reaching for his arms like we had Coen and pull him through the muddy exit.

  “Now we can go,” I announce.

  Coen becomes the leader and charges across the short field into the tree line of the forest backing the North Wall. My bones are shaking with chill and my hair is pressed tight to my dirty scalp as more wind and rain fall. My hood is soggy and more of a hindrance than anything else, so I let it flop back and run my fingers through my wet hair to smooth it out of my face. Both the stranger and Blue Eyes stare.

  We trek through the forest at a quick pace, my legs working twice as hard to keep up with the three of them. At one point, my boot catches on a root and I go sprawling into the stranger’s backside. He turns and helps me up, snatching my pack before I can reach for it and slinging it over his own shoulder.

  “That’s mine,” I hiss, holding a hand out for him to return it. He shakes his head, brown eyes filled deep with amusement.

  “I’ll give it back,” he says, grinning. “Don’t worry, I won’t drop your stuff.”

  But I do worry. I don’t care about him dropping it so long as he doesn’t steal it. Everything Coen and I have is in that bag and, more importantly, so is the dragon’s blood. It seems that might makes right in this case, however, because Coen nods his head for me to let it go and I know if I don’t let the stranger carry my bag, Coen will end up lugging it. With a groan, I give in gracelessly and rush to catch up with them.

  The rain doesn’t let up even a smidge until the black sky begins to turn blue with the early light of predawn. I’m falling behind, bone weary and tired down through my bones, sagging after every step. Every time I stumble, they turn and one of them helps me up. They are so energetic that it’s a little diffic
ult not to be envious. I don’t regret our choice, though. The lack of anxiety from both myself and from the inky man is relieving. We feel safe for a change, not under constant guard.

  “I’m gonna scout ahead,” Blue Eyes says with a glance back. “Why don’t you guys take her and sit for a bit until I get back.” One look in my direction and Coen readily agrees. I have to wonder if I look as bad as I feel. When we find a tree with hard roots sticking up from the ground with enough room for us to sit and not be on the forest floor, I sink onto the root with a groan and know I must look worse than I feel.

  My soles ache, my back is curved and it cracks when I sit up straight. Coen sits next to me and I lean my wet cheek against his equally wet shoulder, my eyes sinking closed as we wait.

  Adrenaline pumps through my arteries, flooding my system and keeping me alert. My mind is silent, the inky man gone. This is before. Before he arrived, before I was marked, before I became the host of a spirit guide.

  A tall head marches above the crowd, gray hair matted with blood. He has already spent days inside of one of Matric’s dungeons. My heart races. That could be me. It will be me if I don’t get out of here. My feet are frozen to the ground, though, ice forming along my ankles when I try to take a step back. I don’t want to watch this again. I don’t want to see any more death. He holds his head high, with fear in his eyes, but a fire keeping them trained on the King and his son, Edwin. My eyes, too, turn upward to the royal’s watching from the balcony above. Just once, I would like to see them down here with the rest of us. Starving with the commoners. Anger pulses in my gut.

  The man continues toward the gallows. Ice, like the kind at my feet, trickles from my eyes and over my cheeks. This is not right. I know the moment they drop the noose around his neck, his fate and mine will be sealed. Sad eyes meet mine as he raises his neck for the executioner to lower the rope. He knows it’s me. I’m the next host. The moment he’s gone from this world, the inky man will jump from him to me and the chase will continue. It’s a wonder the King hasn’t figured out that this is not how you kill a host of a spirit guide.