Anna Stephens - Bloodchild

Harper Voyager

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2019

Copyright © Anna Smith 2019

Map copyright © Sophie E. Tallis 2017

Cover illustrations © Shutterstock.com

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Anna Stephens asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 978008215996

Ebook Edition © July 2019 ISBN: 9780008216016

Version: 2019-07-22

For Mark.

For everything.

Forever.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map

Rillirin

Mace

Crys

Corvus

Tara

The Blessed One

Dom

Crys

Rillirin

Tara

Mace

The Blessed One

Crys

Corvus

Tara

Rillirin

Dom

Crys

The Blessed One

Mace

Crys

Rillirin

Tara

Corvus

Mace

The Blessed One

Rillirin

Dom

Corvus

Rillirin

The Blessed One

Tara

Mace

Crys

Dom

The Blessed One

Tara

Crys

Tara

Mace

Corvus

Rillirin

Tara

Rillirin

The Blessed One

Corvus

Tara

Crys

Rillirin

Dom

Crys

Mace

Dom

Crys

Corvus

Dom

Crys

Mace

Corvus

Rillirin

Mace

Epilogue: Rillirin

Acknowledgments

By Anna Stephens

About the Publisher

Sixth moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

Fort Four, South Rank forts, Western Plain, Krike border

When the fort’s warning bell began to toll, Rillirin knew they were all dead. Rilporin had fallen and the Mireces – and Corvus – were coming. Her luck had run out and she was going to end up back in her brother’s hands. It was over, all the running, all the fighting and freedom, the moments of joy. Her hands went to her belly and she stiffened her spine and found her courage. No. It might be over, but it wasn’t over without a fight.

She snatched her spear from its place by the door and sprinted from the infirmary where Gilda was having the wound in her shoulder checked, out into the drill yard. Soldiers were spilling from the barracks and donning armour.

‘What’s happening?’ she demanded.

‘Scouts are back. Enemy force – big one – heading our way, but from the east not the north.’

‘Listrans? Reinforcements?’ someone muttered. ‘Please, Dancer, please let it be reinforcements.’

‘Tresh, maybe,’ someone else said and was shushed. Officers were shouting the Rank into line, so she slipped free and ran into the corner watchtower and up to the allure before anyone could stop her. On the eastern wall stood Colonel Thatcher, commander of Fort Four, staring through his distance-viewer at the approaching dust cloud. Four was the fort closest to whatever was coming for them; Four was where the battle would begin.

Thatcher took his time and Rillirin was about to scream when he lowered the distance-viewer. ‘Rilporians. Palace Rank in the lead, what looks like Personal Guards at the rear. Civilians in the centre.’ He turned to a captain. ‘Sadler, flag it over.’

The captain complied, whirling red and yellow flags through a complex series of gestures that was repeated on the wall of Fort Three and on to Two and then headquarters. The bell began ringing the all-clear even as the news travelled and Rillirin leant forward and put her forehead against the stone of the parapet, breathing deep to channel the adrenaline flooding her. Rilporians. Did that mean they’d won? The thought stood her up again so fast she stumbled. Below, the drill yard erupted into excited speculation quickly curbed by the junior officers in charge.

Fort One sent a heavy mounted patrol out to greet the advancing troops, General Hadir himself leading them. Within minutes word came back to open the gates and prepare the infirmaries and kitchens for a mass influx.

Rillirin could make out the army now, or what was left of it, marching in weary time. A mass of civilians in the middle just as Thatcher had said, and more Rankers behind to protect them. And to one side, tramping through the dry grass of the Western Plain, a loose, flowing group in boiled leather and chainmail. The Wolves. Her breath caught in her throat. They were here. Dalli and Lim and Isbet and Ash and all the rest. They were here.

She watched until the formation split, groups peeling off to each fort with the Rankers shepherding the civilians in, watchful to the last. As soon as she knew the Wolves were coming to Fort Four she ran back down into the drill yard. Her heart was yammering in her chest, her head swimming with fear and excitement.

Dom.

Would he be here too, among his people or maybe in the Rank’s custody for his … actions? It would be hard to see him in chains, of course, but once everyone understood what had happened, that the things he’d done hadn’t been his fault, not really, it would be different. It might take even Gilda a while to forgive him, but she would, all the Wolves would. They had to.

Her thoughts stuttered to a halt as the gates opened and people began streaming in. Civilians, hundreds of them rushing with glad relief into the nearly empty fort that had once contained the South Rank’s Fifth Thousand, soldiers who’d marched to Rilporin to aid the king and now, maybe, if they were lucky, marched back. A babble of voices rose from soldiers and refugees alike as Rank physicians and any soldier with healing experience hastened towards the newcomers, and a sergeant with a voice that could crack stone directed them to form up in lines before half a dozen hastily assembled tables and chairs to give names and be allocated quarters.

Rillirin hopped from foot to foot, desperately trying to see over and through the press to the Wolves who’d been trailing the group. And then …

‘Dalli! Dalli!’

The short woman turned when Rillirin screamed her name. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘ Rillirin? Fuck the gods, girl, get over here!’

Rillirin sprinted around the edge of the throng, shoving between people with muttered apologies, and flung herself bodily into Dalli’s arms where she burst into tears. ‘You’re alive, you’re alive,’ she sobbed.