The Thorn and the Sinking Stone

by CJ Dushinski

Overview

Warring families. Forbidden love. And danger they can't escape…

Daggers. Roses. Cowboys. Boat Men. Survivors of Earth's Last War, four "families" vie to rule the dreary streets of Rain City through violence and blood. Valencia Hara, Princess of the wealthy Black Roses, is raised in warrior ways with sharpened steel. But she is no ordinary Rose. She is Cursed—tainted with the ability to see seconds into the future…

To avenge his father's death, Sebastian Leold, of the rival gang Two Daggers, must face off against the Black Princess, he with his dagger, she with her katana sword. Yet a secret from a shared past leaves him unable to kill beautiful Valencia; nor can she kill him. For they once knew each other beyond their blood feud…and they have more secrets in common than they know.

But in a world filled with vengeance and violence, there can be no room for love…

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781633751729
Publisher:	Entangled Publishing, LLC
Publication date:	03/10/2015
Sold by:	Macmillan
Format:	eBook
Pages:	313
File size:	1 MB
Age Range:	12 - 17 Years

About the Author

CJ Dushinski is the debut author of The Thorn and the Sinking Stone. Born amongst the wheat fields and blue skies of the Canadian prairies to wonderful parents who really did give her two letters for a name, CJ's imagination has always run wild, weaving fantastical stories set in dark and wondrous corners of the world. Currently residing in Calgary, Canada, and working in the aviation industry, she keeps one hand on her passport and pen at all times, ready to pick up, see the world, and write.

Her website is cjdushinski.com.

You can also find her on Twitter at @cjdushinski or on Facebook at: facebook.com/cjdushinskiauthor.

Read an Excerpt

The Thorn and the Sinking Stone

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By CJ Dushinski, Robin Haseltine and Liz Pelletier

Entangled Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2015 CJ Dushinski
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-172-9

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CHAPTER 1

The Sinking Stone: Sebastian

Rain City, West Bank: The Cathedral

Finn "Lucky" Leold was murdered in the street. I saw it happen. Over and over. And never wanted to think of it again.

Maybe it was the shock — or the overexposure to a life of spilled blood on ashen streets — but I, Sebastian Leold, his son, felt nothing at all as I carried the casket to the canal outside the cathedral. Not shame, nor regret, nor grief. Just an emptiness so vast I felt swallowed by the sea.

Ahead of me, my younger brother Callan supported his share of the casket's weight with his shoulders slumped in an awkward bend and head bowed deep, shadowing his features. Our older brother Kane led the funeral procession, nodding solemnly to passing mourners, meeting their eyes in turn. Most of them, draped in layers of black silk and dabbing red, swollen eyes, I didn't know. A testament to how many lives Lucky had touched — for both good and bad.

What did it really mean now that he was gone? Were the Two Daggers finished? Would we go on without him? In that moment, with my feet falling over charcoal-colored cobblestones slick with rain, it didn't seem possible. It didn't seem real. But at the same time it felt too real. Too loud and too close.

I knew, without question, Kane would take up the mantle. He was a born leader, a good man able to protect and defend against our many enemies. But God forbid, what if he died, too? If I were forced to lead someday, would these strangers crying for Lucky's death ever cry for mine? I didn't think so. I wasn't built like my father, proud, strong, and kind. Nor like Kane, a little rough around the edges but with good intention. I was too lost in death to lead, and people don't follow the weak. So I prayed I'd never have to.

The cathedral bells tolled long and solemn at my back, their sweet, mournful tune resonating through the yard. The casket's weight was nearly too much for the slight build I'd inherited from my mother, and I tightened my grip to hold on.

Just hold on. Eventually, the grief of Lucky's loss would lessen.

Or, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe the darkness of his death would linger — forever — like the darkness over Rain City, eternal and unrelenting. In that moment, the emptiness settled on my shoulders, heavy, and I was stone, sinking under its weight.

We reached the stubby dock that jutted from the churchyard into the narrow channel of dark, seething water cutting through the streets to the sea beyond. Together, the four pallbearers lowered the casket into a small wooden boat filled to the brim with flowers in loud shades of bright yellow, royal blue, and blood red. I couldn't stand the sight of them. They screamed joy in the midst of all this sorrow, demanding attention and breaking the bleak surroundings of mist and stone buildings pressed so tight they'd block out the sun. But there was no sun, just a mute gray sky settled over the city like a shroud.

When I stepped back the boat rocked, swinging the lantern at the helm. I choked on something in my throat. It didn't feel like tears, but it sure wasn't laughter.

Callan looked at me, his eyes brimming and hair mussed as if he'd forgotten to brush it. I had the strangest urge to pat it down.

"Sebastian," he said in a voice uncharacteristically small. "What do we do now?"

What did we do now, what ? Now that Lucky was dead? Now that his body was in the boat? I couldn't answer. So I said nothing, trying not to notice my father's casket, the smell of incense, and the dozens of eyes staring at me, waiting for some kind of reaction. But there was none. Nothing but cold, hard, emptiness.

Unable to look at anything else, I turned to the church and followed the spire into the sky, where a neon-red cross burned against gathering storm clouds. Soon, as it always did here in this misbegotten place, it would rain and wash away Lucky's blood.

The priest stepped from the wide doors of the cathedral, robes trailing behind him in the rising wind, making his way through the crowd toward the boat while clutching a worn bible and chanting something in a long-dead language. It bothered me. Those last words had to be perfect, and I wouldn't know what he said because I couldn't understand them.

Whatever the words were, Lucky, I knew, had been far from perfect. He'd done a lot of bad things to a lot of bad people. Maybe he didn't deserve kind words of farewell, but he'd been the only parent I had left. He'd protected me, loved me. I wanted God to know that. I wanted it to count for something.

"Good-bye," I whispered as the priest set the bible on top of the casket and pushed the boat from the dock.

Finn "Lucky" Leold was dead. My father was dead. Murdered by a Black Rose.

CHAPTER 2

The Thorn: Valencia

Rain City, East Bank: Hara House

"Say it, Valencia!" Godfrey yelled, taking a swing in my direction.

"The House of Hara is an ancient house"— I repeated meticulously, taking one step forward, one back, before arcing my blade high —"one of steel and blood and many enemies. We came from the Far East, across the great green sea, red desert, and snow-capped mountains in search of land untouched by the of war2025. To stake his claim, Pek Hara erected an impenetrable keep at the mouth of the Olas Canal, somewhere deep within the ruins of what was once southern Europe. It reminded him of our home, where Pacific waters once pounded against emerald bluffs, and white birds filled the skies. It was here, on a rain-soaked coast of salt and rock, nearly one hundred and fifty years after the end of the Last War, in a long-forgotten city once renowned for beauty, that Rain City was born anew, forged from the survivors of many fallen nations."

"Too slow," he snapped, smacking my lower back with the flat of his blade. "Stay focused. Continue!"

I hissed, but didn't cry out. I wouldn't show weakness. "Our ancestors grew to be as strong as tamahagane steel, casting shadows tall and black. Soon everyone in Rain City knew our House to be as deadly as we are lovely, with thorns sharp enough to draw blood. The Black Roses we are called, although our enemies have labeled us Thorns. Brought to Rain City as the keepers of the blessed Shinto gods. We have warrior's strength in our blood and unbound knowledge in our veins. We are the house of steel and blood and many enemies ..."

"Not bad"— Godfrey shouted as I stole left —"for a child!"

Godfrey, my bodyguard, was what I considered a giant. Towering above mere men at six foot seven, he was broad as a bear and no hint of grey, despite being well into his forties. He rarely smiled, but when he did it always reached his eyes. The sign of a good man, my father used to say.

"I'm not a child," I wheezed, swinging my blade high and spinning to meet his attack. Godfrey was stronger than I, obviously, but his jabs were as fierce as if he fought a man twice his size. "You keep faking left." My breath was tired and heavy, coming in burning gasps.

"How else will you learn to read a feint?"

My sneakers squeaked over the polished wood floor of the mirrored practice hall. From every angle, I saw my reflection lunge forward and back in a swirl of glistening steel-and-black hair. Sweat beaded my forehead and slid down my cheek. I regained focus, seeing his every move before me, painted on the air. "I can read your feints just fine," I said, rearing up, twisting sharply to my left and driving the point of my blade down toward his heart, stopping just shy of the blade piercing flesh. I grinned. Still undefeated.

Godfrey laughed, pushing the blade casually aside. The sound bounded around the empty room as he swept back, lowering his double-edged blade. "There isn't a soul in this city you couldn't beat with that sword. Your father was wise to train you as a warrior. Someday soon you'll be known throughout Rain City as the Unbeatable Rose. You are our secret weapon. The other Houses won't see you coming. We're done for the day." He sheathed his weapon and grabbed a towel from the floor, running it over his hair. "You did well, young princess."

His prized katana was a replica of a traditional samurai sword brought by Great Grandfather Pek Hara from the island of Haha-Jima nearly a century past. Four great houses now ruled Rain City, each as different and deadly as the next, but the Black Roses were the only ones to train in the art of Samurai. That made us special. That made us unbreakable. And for me, Cursed as I was, going up against gutter rats with dull blades and poor shots, it made me invincible.

I dropped to my knees in a heavy breath, resting my katana across my thighs.

My sword, a beautiful curve of steel with an elongated ivory handle, bound in leather cord around iridescent fish scales, had been given to me by my father, a gift for my twelfth birthday. The grip was topped with a traditional cap of a bronze rose and looped with a red lanyard and gold tassel. It was a family heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. My brother Garrett had been angry the day I'd received the katana. As the oldest, he thought it was his right to inherit the family sword — but our father knew with my Curse I could do the most damage with the blade.

Eyes shining with exertion, Godfrey smiled at me. "You're an impossible opponent. How long has it been since I've been able to beat you?"

With a snort, I climbed to my feet, returning my sword to the black lacquered case strung across my back. "I think I had just turned fourteen. Don't feel too bad, Godfrey. Knowing your next move makes it easy." I motioned with my hand as if he could see inside my mind. "I see it like colored light dancing ahead of you — streaks of color. It's your future laid out like a path. All I have to do is follow it, and I'll anticipate your next move before you even realize what you're going to do."

Godfrey nodded and, although he was the closest thing I had to a father, he seemed uncomfortable with the explanation of my gift. I ignored the flicker of anxiety across his face. It was hard enough being Cursed in a city that had outlawed us; the last thing I needed was for the man I considered a father to tell me the truth: he was scared of me.

Godfrey took a swig from a glass bottle and gave a refreshed sigh. "You understand your skill well enough, princess. For now, work on getting faster. Being faster than anyone else. One-on-one you can't lose, but my worry is what happens when you have two or three men my size coming after you. And believe me, once the other Houses realize how good you really are, they won't take it easy on you. They won't play fair."

Skill, I thought and took a sip from my own bottle, letting the water kill the fire in my chest. It was hardly a skill. It was, in all sense of the word, a Curse. I was Cursed.

I took another sip from the bottle, letting water trickle down my throat, soothing the fire in my chest. I'd known since I was a child that I was different from other little girls. No one else at school played with guns and swords. No one else had a bodyguard. I'd always known I was the daughter of a great man, a revered man, but it wasn't until I grew older that I realized he was feared, too. And it wasn't until he'd been murdered that I realized he had enemies. My father was Bane Hara, The Black King, leader of the infamous Black Roses, the fiercest gang in all of Rain City.

And I? I was the Black Princess.

I turned to the open window, listening as rain drummed against the pane. Through the sound, I heard the gears of the gate in the courtyard below. Garrett had arrived home from wherever the previous night's work had taken him.

"Your brother," Godfrey echoed my thoughts and slipped his sword into the sheath at his hip. "I should go."

"I'll come," I said, adjusting the sheath across my back, because the blade was too long for my height worn any other way.

Garrett, the Black Prince, was nine years my senior, and had not inherited our father's ability to be both kind and strong. He was all harsh words and cruel commands, cut from the same cloth as my icy-cold northern mother. As a rule, I avoided him, but curiosity had the best of me. It was the day of Lucky Leold's funeral — head of House Leold, leader of the West Bank's Two Daggers, and the man responsible for my father's murder. Whatever Garrett knew, I wanted to know, too. As of last month, I was officially old enough to begin my initiation into the Black Roses. I had every right to know the business of the family gang.

The Black Roses had been at war with the Two Daggers since the day the Haras had stepped foot in Rain City. Pek Hara had laid claim over the commercial East Bank of the city, forcing the other gangs out and leaving the Leolds across the river with the snarled shanties and warehouses of the Slums. No one knew exactly who had started the bloodlust; some claimed it was Pek himself who killed the son of the first Dagger over a gambling debt. Odds were it was something a lot less dramatic. A nobody street-level Dagger attacked a nobody street-level Rose over control of some main shipping canal. It didn't matter who had started it. All that mattered was that a hundred years later it was still raging, with no end in sight.

We left the practice room at an identical pace, both imposing as the warriors we had trained our entire lives to be. We met Garrett and his men in the foyer below, reaching the bottom of the staircase as the door to the courtyard shut at their backs.

Garrett waved silently for us to follow, leading the small band of Black Roses into his office. With the tired sigh of someone who'd been out all night and was now in no mood to talk, he sat himself behind the large desk, the wide leather chair dwarfing his tall, slender build. His face was tight with stress, the muscles pulling his thin lips into an irritated scowl. "Shut the door," he commanded.

As one of Garrett's men shut the door, Godfrey rested a hand on his sword hilt and strode to stand beside Garrett's closest associate. The man sneered at Godfrey now, his onyx eyes flickering with some likely insane inside joke. Next to him, our cousin Liam leaned against the bookshelves flipping casually through a book. He was Garrett's right-hand man, second in command.

"We need to talk," Garrett spoke softly, though he was never really "soft." All his features were hard; his words were hard, he, himself, was hard. He looked to Liam with molten silver eyes that cut dangerously under the gentle tone of his voice. "Where's Mother? Has someone sent for her?" Liam nodded. "I called for her the minute we got back. She should be here soon."

I crossed to the chair before the desk and sat to wait as Godfrey moved to stand at my back, his presence always surrounding like a shield.

Like a ghost summoned to life, my mother appeared in the room through a hidden door in the bookshelf. "You wanted me?" she asked in a cool northern accent, sweeping into the room like a terrible wind, her gown of flowing black silk trailing behind her.

For three years she'd worn the black of mourning. Today, her white-blond hair was pulled back in a severe bun cutting sharply against her long, pale neck. Her eyes, the only trait Garrett and I had inherited from our northern ancestors, narrowed with loathing at the sight of us. She trusted no one. Not even her children. Though no one, or at least not me, had ever known why.

They all called her crazy behind her back. The Insane Ice Queen.

Garrett pointed a stiff hand to the chair beside mine. He'd never had patience for our mother or her moods. She obeyed silently, carrying herself across the room like the queen she believed herself to be, and lowered herself to the chair. She'd been raised in a different world, one of snow and ice, a thousand miles from the sea. There was no love in her heart, and what little there had been had been reserved for our father. When he died, all her love, it seemed, had died with him.

"Go on," she urged once seated. "I hate being summoned like a criminal."

Garrett's gaze burned ice, reflected in her glare. "Watch your tongue." He pressed a hand on the desk, rising over her. "I wouldn't bother with you at all, but I thought you deserved to know how The Two Daggers took our justice in the death of Lucky Leold."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Thorn and the Sinking Stone by CJ Dushinski, Robin Haseltine and Liz Pelletier. Copyright © 2015 CJ Dushinski. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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