Read Dream Storm Sea for Free Online Page B

man could never encounter a Feaster and hope to live. Fos also knew he was destined to survive the night. So what do I do that no other would?
    “Has to be another way,” he said.
    “Unless your blood starts glowing with magic, we take the hard way.” Emesea gripped his shoulders and heaved him out of the block.
    Trousers ripped. Boot buckles burst. Skin stung, but he could stand.
    He towered over Emesea. He would never have believed a woman her size could move him if she had not just proven it.
    “Maybe Feasters should be scared of you,” he said.
    She spun the hammer and chisel around her hands. The fire tinted her smile red. “Let’s go.”
    Fos wanted to run. Into blackness, into a mad flight, every nerve urging him on. He forced himself to a measured pace.
    The mountains blocked half the sky’s stars. Fos could not see much beyond dark shapes of hulking buildings. The tangle of Emesea’s hair bobbed in front of him. He felt something cold pressed into his hand and only then saw Inannis handing him a sword.
    The thief said not a word. His breath rasped and made clicking noises. He bent over, muffling a cough in the crook of his arm. He could not keep up with the fast walk.
    “Pick him up,” Emesea said.
    Fos hesitated, remembering the spine-searing pain from Inannis's poison. Like picking up a scorpion.  Fos still preferred that to another moment’s delay.
    The thief seemed to weigh nothing. Fos handled him like he would any venomous creature, with great care. When Inannis was nestled over Fos’s shoulder, the thief whispered in Fos’s ear.
    “One block further and to the left. A paper shop with a weak window. Ground floor. We’ll smash it. Then barricade it. May have to gag anyone inside, and leave before sunrise.”
    Away from the glare of the fire, Fos’s eyes began to adjust. The flat of his scimitar shone with moonlight. Not much further, he thought.
    His stomach clenched and flipped. He felt as if claws raced across his back and down his calves.
    Emesea chuckled. “Feels like a fight.”
    In front of them hovered a leaf design, festooned with spirals and crescents. The curving shapes interlocked in artistic perfection. Vines and flowers and curling rosettes all were stenciled in the air, on nothing. Fos recognized them as henna patterns, more complex than he had ever seen. They swirled across pale buildings. They etched the street in curving labyrinths, pulsing in and out in tides of filigree.
    He could have stared at any one design for hours, details growing within it, lines ever twining and looping. Instead, his gaze was pulled to the center of the henna, to the hub of the stylized jungle.
    A woman stood there, her skin black with pigment. Layer after layer of henna peeled off her. “You broke free,” the Feaster said, “all to play with me.”
    Fos was not surprised by her beauty. Neither was he shocked when her foliage of brown lines shredded a carpet hanging above a doorway. They peeled wood from a shutter and bit wedges out of buildings. Pretty or not, the henna’s edges will be sharper than my sword.
    He glanced down at the weapon in his hand. It seemed so puny. This can’t be the way.
    The thief had already slipped from Fos’s grasp. Emesea had closed her eyes and set her feet to charge, seemingly ready to fight the Feaster blind.
    Fos pulled back on Emesea’s shoulder and stepped forward. He rammed his sword into the flagstones. Its blade broke. His voice did the same when he tried to speak to the Feaster.
    “I—I’ve been looking for you.”
    “Liar.” The Feaster smiled, her mouth full of stars.
    She’s right. I don’t want to tell her this. But I’d better.
    He hammered his words out. “You’ll need to carry a message.”
    “What of my needs?” The Feaster's henna tilted forward to enfold Fos like a lily enclosing a bee with its petals.
    “The message is for your lord.” Fos had to stifle a groan. Chills raced each other up his legs and around his body. “Lord