City of Fog and Ruin (Blade and Bone Book 2)

  CITY OF FOG AND RUIN

  Blade and Bone Book 2

  D.K. HOLMBERG

  Copyright © 2022 by D.K. Holmberg

  Cover art by Felix Ortiz

  Cover design by Shawn King

  All rights reserved.

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  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Author’s Note

  Series by D.K. Holmberg

  Prologue

  EDWARD

  The night was quiet and calm, shrouded in a hint of the fog that hung all throughout Sanaron. The fog had long protected the city over generations, and it was one that the people hadn’t truly understood until recently—when his daughter Morgan had begun digging into its origins. Something about it seemed different tonight, though. Edward wasn’t certain why or what that was, only that he could feel some change in the air.

  He stood on the rooftop of his home and looked down on Sanaron. He tapped his fingers in a steady rhythm as he watched the street. The fog swirled as if alive, a quality he always appreciated. It would move in throughout the day, billowing like a blanket that draped over the city, and then pull back out and settle deeper in the bay, like a protective arm that swept out into the night.

  “Sir?”

  Edward turned. Soran was an older man who had served his family for most of his life, and now his graying and balding hair added a distinctive appearance that even his deep-blue jacket and pants did not.

  “What is it?” Edward asked.

  “You have a visitor. They brought this.”

  Edward strode over and took the bundle of fabrics that Soran offered him. He pulled it open, glancing down at the small piece of silver inside. The symbols along the edge were faint, and in the shadows and fog of the night, he could scarcely make out what they said. But he could feel it.

  “Who gave this to you?”

  “Your visitor. They said they wanted to meet with you. That you would understand.” Soran frowned, regarding Edward for a moment. “I think…”

  “Get on with it, Soran.”

  “There is danger here, sir. I think you need to be careful.”

  Leave it to Soran to notice the danger. And I should have seen it.

  “You’re probably right,” Edward said, his mouth dry.

  After what had happened to Morgan, and after the way Reims had thought to betray his offer, Edward had decided to make his own arrangements to protect the city. There was a danger here, and he had to ensure that the danger was dealt with. And he thought he could.

  He wouldn’t tell Morgan his plan yet. But in time, she would need to be brought in as well. Alliances needed to be made. It was a lesson he had been taught when he was younger.

  Morgan didn’t really understand that, but Edward had seen the need to forge alliances, even if they were dangerous ones. Given what was taking place outside of Sanaron, within Reyand and other places, they would need alliances.

  He motioned for Soran to head down the stairs, and Edward gripped the piece of metal as he followed inside. He had seen something like this before. Anyone who spent much time in Sanaron would come across something like this eventually, though these trinkets were usually little more than a warning. The city itself offered protections against the kind of danger these witchcraft staffs posed.

  Still, he knew he should bring Soran with him. Ever since rumors of magic within the borders of Sanaron had begun to spread, Edward recognized the need for additional safety. He wasn’t foolish enough to ignore such threats. Besides, it wasn’t as if Soran was without talent.

  “Bring your blade.”

  Soran frowned. “It’s like that?”

  “It might be.”

  Soran nodded and stepped away. Edward grabbed his cloak and threw it around his shoulders before pulling the hood up. It might be better if he went unnoticed in the streets.

  When Soran returned, they headed out. The wind whipped out of the north, carrying a chill and lifting some of the fog. Edward strode at a rapid pace until he reached the docks.

  “Did they tell you which one?” Soran asked.

  “Pier nine.”

  There were some who thought nine was unlucky, but not Edward.

  It seemed fortuitous for this kind of meeting.

  He hadn’t encountered anyone outside. It was late, and since he had been stationed atop his home, he knew the streets were relatively empty and quiet—almost an overwhelming silence that hung over the city. It was peaceful, at least for those who appreciated such things, as he did.

  “We didn’t have to do this now,” Soran said. “We could have met with them any other time. And certainly not here, where nothing is controlled.”

  “It’s night,” Edward said.

  “And there is a certain power in the night,” Soran said.

  “But we don’t have to fear it, Soran.”

  “I don’t fear the night. I fear what prowls in it.”

  Edward smiled.

  Almost as if on cue, there came a soft, mournful cry in the distance. He had been hearing them more often. They didn’t have many wolves around Sanaron, but perhaps the recent rains moving south had changed their hunting patterns.

  “How long do you intend to wait for this person?” Soran asked.

  “It’s not just any person,” Edward said. “I have to meet with the Prophet himself so we can avoid any unnecessary magic in the city.”

  Soran looked over to him. “At what cost?”

  A voice laughed from nearby. “At what cost? Why, the only one that matters.”

  Edward turned, but he couldn’t see anything. The fog wasn’t nearly as dense down by the shore, yet it seemed almost as if there was something that precluded him from seeing deeper into the shadows.

  “The Prophet, I presume?”

  There was another burst of laughter.

  Soran gasped, and Edward felt him stiffen. Soran reached for his throat, clawing at it, eyes wide.

  “Soran?”

  Soran turned to him. Blood poured from his lips as he mouthed one word: “Run.”

  Edward glanced b
ehind him.

  This was supposed to be an alliance. The Prophet claimed we could work together.

  That was the thought that stayed with him as the figure stepped out of the shadows.

  Then his throat constricted, and the darkness swallowed him.

  Chapter One

  KANAR

  There was no reason why Kanar should mind coming to the Painted Nails. The brothel was the nicest in Sanaron—not that Kanar spent much time in them—but there had to be better places where he could meet with Malory. This part of the city was relatively quiet most of the time, though lately there had been increased business even this far along the shore. He suspected that Malory appreciated the activity, given her line of work.

  The interior of the brothel was dimly lit, and a hint of fragrance lingered. Scattered tables with tall-backed chairs offered a measure of privacy for those who wanted it. Booths and comfortable couches provided a place for both worker and client to converse. A full bar ran the length of the brothel, though the bartender seemed bored tonight.

  Kanar stood in front of the desk, waiting for admission. “You know who I am,” he said.

  Ima looked up at him through full lashes. “I know, Mr. Reims, it’s just that she’s made it clear that everybody has to be escorted in.”

  “Even the clients?” He had no idea how Malory could operate a brothel if every man had to be escorted in. At some point, the women would have to be alone with the clients.

  “She has specific rules now.”

  Kanar couldn’t imagine what those rules might be, but he didn’t have to wonder. It wasn’t his responsibility. This wasn’t his establishment.

  He looked past her. He nodded to the muscle dressed in black who stood behind Ima. There were probably other, less visible security measures.

  Ima motioned to a wooden chair to the side of the entrance. “I’m sorry.”

  Kanar took a seat and rested his elbows on the armrests as he waited. He glanced around and noticed that this part of the brothel was quiet and not as well decorated as it was further in the establishment.

  He didn’t have to wait that long.

  A pair of men strode forward. They were not nearly as large as the man standing behind Ima, but they were dressed in the same black jacket and pants. He didn’t remember Malory wanting her employees dressed so similarly, though perhaps that had changed with the threat in the city.

  Kanar started past the desk, but the tall, muscular man pushed on his chest.

  “No weapons.”

  Kanar glanced down. His sword was sheathed at his side, the only visible weapon he had. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”

  “No weapons,” the man said again.

  Taking a step back, Kanar could feel the two men behind him. He didn’t need to turn to know they were there. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, concentrating, while trying to decide what he might do. He wasn’t leaving his blade behind. There were many reasons, not the least being that King Porman himself had given it to him and that the blackened blade provided Kanar’s namesake as the Blackheart.

  Would it be so bad to leave the blade behind?

  Malory wouldn’t keep it. Kanar knew that.

  He started to remove the blade from his waist, when he noticed a man slipped toward the stairs in the back of the brothel, an unsheathed knife concealed beneath his cloak.

  So much for no weapons.

  Kanar darted past the pair of men, shouldering through them, as he raced toward the stairs. A shout rang out, but he ignored it, his own blade coming unsheathed. By the time he reached the stairs, the man had turned to look at him briefly. Dark eyes flashed.

  “I don’t think she wants you up there,” Kanar said.

  The man darted forward.

  So did Kanar. The man was fast, but something changed for Kanar when using his blade. That was something he hated to acknowledge, but it was true.

  He reached the man, grabbing for his cloak, and yanked.

  The man tumbled backward, landing at the bottom of the stairs—and right in front of the men who’d tried to keep Kanar from making his way into the brothel with his blade. “I thought you said no weapons?” Kanar asked. “Maybe I’ll see what Malory has to say about him.”

  The men lifted the man and dragged him away.

  Kanar sheathed his sword. At the top of the stairs, he knocked, and the door opened.

  The slender woman sitting there was one he didn’t know. Her hair was dyed purple, and her eyes were nearly black. She had a sharp jawline, a lithe figure, and was generally not the kind of woman Malory would employ, looking as if she was ready for a fight rather than seduction.

  “Sounds like some commotion,” she said.

  “A little. I’ll let Malory know I took care of it.”

  The woman smirked. “I can manage that well enough.”

  “We don’t know each other,” Kanar said.

  “I know who you are.” She flicked her wrist, waving the two men off. “I think she would be disappointed to learn that you had to fight your way in.”

  Kanar glanced down at the blade he wasn’t supposed to have. “He probably wouldn’t have gotten past you, I suppose.”

  The woman’s gaze drifted to his darkened blade, and then she looked back up at him. “No. He would not have.”

  “Mind if I pass, or do I have to fight my way in to see Malory these days?”

  Though he didn’t know who she was, there was no doubt in his mind that Malory had hired a mercenary to offer an additional layer of protection to her establishment. In the past, she’d always used her girls. At least she was smart enough to hire someone more talented this time.

  She got to her feet. She was almost as tall as him. A pair of curved blades were strapped to her waist. The leather wrapping around the hilt bore a distinct pattern, as were the small black-and-red tassels. The sign of Juut.

  She had to be incredibly skilled to have reached that level. Red indicated somebody of high standing, though he didn’t know anything about black.

  But having two swords meant that she was equally capable with both hands.

  “I might enjoy that,” she said.

  “I might as well,” Kanar said. “But not today.” He stepped past her and half expected that she might try to intervene, but she did not. Instead, she strode alongside him.

  “You want to give her some advance notice?”

  “I already have,” she said.

  She had used some sort of witchcraft, he suspected. And here he thought Malory would stay away from that.

  “I’m not here to hurt her,” Kanar said.

  “I’m sure, but that changes very little.”

  “You’re still coming along.”

  “For now.”

  They reached the end of the hall and the door leading to Malory’s room. The woman knocked in a rhythmic pattern; three, then four, then one. When she was done, she pushed the door open without waiting for Malory to welcome them.

  Malory stood in the back of the room. Always distinguished looking, she wore a floral robe that stretched to the carpeted floor. Her black hair was pulled back into a decorative bun, a slender pin holding it in place.

  A long, bladed weapon rested on the table, but she didn’t reach for it.

  “What have you done now, Kanar?” Malory asked.

  “I just came to see you. You’re the one who decided to make it more difficult for me.”

  “Difficult for you means safe for me.” She glanced at the woman. “You can leave us, Wular.”

  The woman bowed and then stepped out, closing the door behind her. Kanar suspected that she had stayed close by, listening.

  “Hiring new help, I see,” he said.

  “Should I not? You’re the one who warned me that the Prophet will target this place.”

  “I suspect that the Prophet knows I’ve been working with you, and that places a target on your back. Like the man I stopped getting up the stairs just now.”

  “Like yo
u need to protect me from him?” Malory asked.

  “Are you sure the Prophet is a man?”

  Malory grinned as she stepped forward. She glanced over to the blade resting on the table near her and paused. “Have I had such influence on you that you see women as your equal?”

  “I’ve never viewed it otherwise,” he said.

  She stood near the table, her attention still on it. “I suppose that you haven’t.” When she looked over to him, she smiled tightly. “What brought you here today? My people wouldn’t have had issue if you’d come when we agreed.”

  “Consider it my way of testing things.”

  She frowned. Malory could be a hard woman, and in this moment, she looked even tougher than he’d ever seen her. “Testing me, or my protections?”

  Kanar shrugged. “You wouldn’t be pleased if I didn’t attempt to test your defenses. I think we both know that.”

  She motioned to the pair of chairs angled toward a cold hearth. The last time he’d been here, a warm fire had crackled in it. He thought it strangely fitting that she would have it darkened today, as if she was ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

  Kanar took a seat. He wasn’t worried for his own safety, though he did think Malory might try to get back at him. He wasn’t sure what she might try, but he suspected that she would prepare for him the next time he came to visit.

  She tipped her head to the side, and he noticed that the pin holding up her hair looked like a slender sword. Probably poisoned, as well, though he didn’t know that with any certainty.