Spellbound

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  “Kascien has been branded a slave to the Magi leader. Not only is the Sovereign cold, but he’s ruthless. He punishes those who anger him mercilessly and although they are Magi, our enemy, they deserve a better leader. Kascien has withstood many punishments from the man, most of which were not deserved.”

  She reached out, motioning to the spellbinding, two fingers tracing the branded skin. “He is bound to the Magi, bound because he was born with little power. This is hardly fair to a grown man, let alone a child.”

  Wylde paused as she caught Kascien’s eye—wide, the pupils dilated, his lips parted slightly. He was pale and trembling. Did this assembly truly frighten him so much? She broke off her speech and turned to him. “Kascien? Are you alright?” She touched his cool, clammy face and frowned. “Kass?”

  Kascien opened his mouth as if to speak and then he twisted, his head snapping back and his eyes rolling back in his head. His body contorted dangerously, painfully, as he doubled over. Wylde reached out for him as he fell, holding him to her chest and stroking back the hair from his face. His eyes met hers, wild and pained, and she felt her own heart twist.

  Then he bent over and began to retch.

  Chapter Eight

  He heard voices all around him, heard Wylde calling his name in a tone that he’d never heard her use before—was it worry? For him? Yet, try as he might to open his eyes, to tell everyone that he was okay, he couldn’t. And he wasn’t okay. Not really.

  Even as he drifted along, growing numb to the magical powers wreaking havoc in his soul, he knew he was in deep shit. The Sovereign was the only one with this amount of control over him, the only one who could possibly hurt him so badly. It hurt. It hurt more than anything he’d ever been through before. His body felt like it was being seared, torn into pieces, and fed to the drakehounds. His head throbbed angrily with each pulse of power rushing through his system.

  Then there was only blackness.

  “Kascien.” The words were dull, behind a pane of glass or perhaps under water. Kascien stirred, his muscles screaming in pain, his bones feeling brittle. He pried open heavy eyelids to see Wylde hovering above him, a golden bandanna wrapped around her head. Her brow was furrowed with worry but it sprang up and smoothed out when he met her eyes.

  “It’s the Sovereign, isn’t it?” she asked. He attempted to wiggle his toes, then his fingers, and he found Wylde clinging to his hand. “He’s doing this to you.”

  “I…” Kascien began, but his throat was dry and thick, like he’d swallowed both flypaper and cotton, one right after the other. “Yeah. I guess he is. No one else is that damn strong.” He pressed his eyes shut and tried to focus on breathing. In. Ouch. Out. Ouch, damnit. And again. “I feel half dead.”

  “Kascien, you’re one giant bruise. The Healers said you shouldn’t have lasting damage, but you look…terrible.”

  He snorted and gasped at the flash of pain. “Thanks for that. I can see us now: No-Hair and the Giant Bruise. It’ll hit the front page, I’m sure.” When she didn’t laugh, he sighed. “How long have I been out?”

  “Almost three days. I had our eldest Healer working on you round the clock. You just kept…writhing.” Her voice was barely audible. And frightened. Kascien could guess why: If the Sovereign could do this to him hundreds of miles away, he would surely die if he came face to face with the Mage. Unless he was unbound. “And my father… He doesn’t want to start a needless war by harboring you.”

  Kascien met her eyes, finding them gleaming with anger. “What do you mean?”

  “They’re refusing to let you go through with a bonding. They say that it will infuriate the Magi and that it’ll start a war. Don’t give up hope—I’ll talk to them again, Kascien, I promise. You got me out of there. They have to see that we owe you this much.”

  He took a deep breath in, held it, then let it out. “It’s okay, Wylde. It’ll be okay.”

  But he wouldn’t be. He was fucked. Double fucked, actually. The Sovereign would eventually find him and drag him home. He’d be tossed into the Hall of the Forlorn, where he would rot until he was dust and bones. So comforting. He shivered, tugging the blankets up around him although he was doused in sweat.

  “I’m strong, remember? I can beat this.” Whatever this was.

  “No you can’t,” she growled back. “And we both know it. If we send you to brave the Vanla alone, you’ll die, whether it be by the beasts of the red sands or by the Magi finding you and snapping you in two.”

  “I could go back and plead insanity.”

  “This isn’t the time for jokes, Kascien.”

  “Sorry. Trying not to let my doom become evident. It’s better if I live in denial.”

  Wylde stood then, smoothing down the beaded silk dress she wore, the bodice giving her enough cleavage to—Kascien! His mind snapped at him. You’re going to die and all you can think about are some girl’s breasts? Damnit.

  But she wasn’t just some girl. They were Wylde’s breasts—it made a difference, or at least he tried to reason that it did.

  Wylde shook her head, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “I will make them understand the situation. I promise you. Rest, Kascien.”

  Kascien didn’t have a choice. As he opened his mouth to mouth off a comeback, a flare of pain gripped his lungs in a vice and he snapped rigid, convulsing. He felt hands on his arms, heard other Wyverns murmuring in low tones. Then he fell unconscious once again.

  Ahh, sweet oblivion…

  ***

  Wylde paced the floors of her father’s throne room as she waited for his return. Her hands wrung together in front of her, twisting and clammy with a sudden onslaught of nerves. She hated seeing Kascien this way—he might’ve just been some human slave, but he’d saved her life. He’d brought her home and she’d be damned if she didn’t help him in return.

  The power that the Sovereign had over him was terrifying and for once in her life, Wylde was truly afraid. She hunched her shoulders and straightened the bandanna she was wearing to protect her head from the Vanlan sun. And to protect her scar from prying eyes. She’d never had to be self-conscious before—she was King Reitsch’s daughter, beautiful, the apple of any man’s eye, should she give them the time of day, and yet… The one person that scar didn’t seem to bother was the one boy she couldn’t have.

  Kascien.

  Her brow furrowed. She felt the need to climb to the roof of the Nest and just dive, fly as fast as she could through the desert to rid herself of these feelings bursting to the surface of her heart. But that wouldn’t be smart—she didn’t need to give her father a reason to trust her even less. He was already furious about her escapade in the Shining City. Not that she was planning on a repeat performance anytime soon.

  With a sigh, she gave up on her father and spun on her heel. She reached for the door, ready to head back up to Kascien’s room. He needed her. Or maybe she needed him to need her. She wasn’t sure. Either way, she wanted to be with him.

  The door swung open and she nearly ran headlong into her father’s broad chest. She stumbled back with an apology, but he reached out and steadied her with his hands upon her shoulders. “My Wylde. What brings you here?” he asked, but his tone was resigned. He knew.

  She met his gaze anyway, staring deep into their golden depths. “Father, I implore you… Let me save Kascien.”

  He let out a long hiss of air. “I’ve already given you my answer. He is not safe. If he stays here, the Magi will hunt him down and we’ll have a war on our hands.”

  “You were willing to dive into war to save me!”

  “That’s entirely different and you know it. You’re my daughter and you’re the only heir Kiir’vanan has.” He reached up to touch her cheek, but she slid away, pressing her back against the door to steady herself. Her legs wobbled and threatened to fold out from under her.

  “We can’t send him back there. He will die, Daddy. He is slowly dying now. The Sovereign’s power is eating away at him and soon he’ll be nothing m
ore than a shell for the Magi to find.”

  “Then he dies and we will ship his body back to them.”

  Wylde’s head spun, frustration building in her chest like a volcano threatening to burst. “Damnit, don’t you see?” She raked her hands across her skull, tearing off the bandanna and flinging it to the floor. She began to pace. “You don’t care that he’ll die? Even if we could do the one thing that saves him? We have the chance, Daddy. I will talk to the Elders—I will handpick the dragon he bonds with so that nothing goes wrong. Please! Just listen to me!”

  She reached for his hands, but he jerked out of reach, his face void of emotion, and her heart sunk. “You’re just going to let him die… He saved my life. Isn’t that enough for you?”

  “I’m sorry, Wylde. I have to do what I feel is the right choice for my clan. As soon as the boy is well enough to travel, I will have it arranged that he’s sent back to Albany.”

  “You are, essentially, murdering him,” she spat, her skin prickling. Everything was spiraling out of control. Her mind whirled, her heart a deep, dull ache. All for a human. Why should his life matter so much, anyway? She shook her head.

  “Mother would rue your decision.” Her voice was quiet as she composed herself and turned away, but not before she saw him flinch.

  She hoped like hell it hurt.

  She found herself at Kascien’s bedside once again. There was a thin sheen of sweat on his pale face and his hair was fanned out around him on the pillow. Had he had wings, he might’ve been an angel, the look of peace so vivid on his face. No one was hurting him at the moment, but he was far from safe.

  Wylde felt tears spark behind her eyes and she tried to blink them away, but they fell onto the pillow instead. She dropped to her knees beside Kascien, grasping his hand in both of hers.

  Then she began to pray.

  It was the prayer the Healers had uttered at her mother’s bedside. They had taught Wylde the words, the inflictions so she could aid her spirit in the healing, but the bleeding had been too severe… Her child—Wylde’s newborn brother—had died in her arms after only minutes of existence. His mother had died hours later. Reitsch had been away when she’d died, unable to say a final goodbye to his mate. He had mourned…

  Wylde let the tears slide free and dapple the sheets. She had known better than to bring her mother into their argument. Shame burned her as she forced power through her hands, her eyes fluttering shut. She chanted the prayer in Vanlan, the words rolling off her tongue.

  She was going to lose him, just like she’d lost her mother. The fact clenched at her heart so tightly that she began to cry harder, silent sobs shaking her body. This was not like her—she didn’t cry, but she couldn’t stop. Even as her tears made her and Kascien’s clasped hands slick, he didn’t stir.

  Wylde dared to hope that the Sovereign had decided to leave him be, or perhaps the man thought he was dead by now, with so much power forced through his system. And yet, in only a day or two’s time, Kascien would be marched back through the desert and deposited in the Sovereign’s hands, where he would be ruined for good.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  Wylde looked down at Kascien, hard and hopeful. Just like her father thought he was doing the right thing for his people, she knew what she had to do.

  She wiped her face dry and slipped through the winding halls of the Nest, finding a batch of smelling salts in a Healing room. She returned to Kascien’s side and waved the salts under his nose, watching him slowly come around. He looked at her, a little surprised. Surprised that he was still alive?

  “Kascien,” she said softly, taking his hand and squeezing it. “Are you well enough to walk?”

  “Damn, I have a headache,” he said, blinking away sleep and stifling a yawn. “Yeah. I think so. I think I’m good. The Sovereign must be asleep, the bastard. Why?” His green eyes met hers, muddied with confusion. “Did you talk to your father?”

  “I did. He’s sending you back to Albany as soon as you are well.”

  He visibly flinched and his gaze dropped to the sheets tangled around him. His hands made fists, his knuckles bleeding white. His nod was small, resigned, and she ached for him.

  “Alright.” His voice was tight.

  “Get some pants on, Kascien.” Her words were a command. “We’re going for a walk.”

  Goddess, she was going to get into so much trouble for this.

  ***

  Kascien felt a rush of nerves. He was conflicted, to put it simply. He’d saved Wylde’s life—without him, she would still be strapped to an exam table with tubes and needles pumping vile shit in and out of her body. She would still be the Magi’s little experiment, her beauty ruined.

  But he’d only agreed to save her, at least at first, to save himself. So sue him, he was self-preserving. But as time went on, he found he’d saved her out of fellowship. She was the closest thing to a friend he’d ever had, having been solitary besides his masters for so long. He’d never been allowed to get close to anyone and he hadn’t wanted to after his mom died. People only hurt you.

  And now her father, who should be indebted to him for saving his daughter’s life, was ordering him returned to the Sovereign? Why? So the man could kill Kascien with his bare hands? Slit his throat, gouge out his eyes, and cut out his tongue? Or perhaps so he could rot in the Hall of the Forlorn. Kascien sneered inwardly. Maybe that was just where he belonged…

  Yet there was a stirring deep within his gut, something that told him that there was more than just friendship between him and the Wyvern princess. He couldn’t help but notice the blush that spread across her cheeks and the way she held his hand tightly as they slipped through the shadows, through the various corridors in the Nest. It was a ghost town, they were so empty.

  He could tell she was nervous, but she was also eager. Whatever she was planning to show him, he was guessing it was big. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to let her hand go. Call him stubborn, but even if she was a princess and heir to an entire freaking clan of Wyverns and he was just the worthless slave of the Magi leader, he refused to give up his last few moments of happiness. Because he was happy.

  “I liked your bandanna,” he whispered to her, feeling light headed. “Forgot to tell you earlier.”

  She grinned in the darkness, but elbowed him in the ribs. “Shh.” She tugged him along. He was lost—he had no idea where they were or where she was taking them, but they were obviously leaving the Nest. She pushed through the front doors. The sand outside was still warm although the sun had set hours ago. It felt nice against his sore feet. They had cramped, along with the rest of his muscles, at the Sovereign’s magical onslaught.

  Still, he limped on.

  They headed down a cobblestone path, through the tiny desert village. Behind the row of buildings was a large stone stable, smelling strongly of hay and manure, but somehow inviting at the same time. It was dimly lit, horses snuffling and snorting behind stall doors. Wylde pulled a tooled leather bridle off a hook and went into a stall at the end of the aisle. A moment later, she led out a small but sturdy dappled gray mare. The mare’s ears swiveled around, resting on Kascien as she gave a small snort.

  “Kass, meet Miriel. Mir, this is my friend,” she said, stroking the horse’s nose. Her eyes met Kascien’s. “Miriel has been mine since I was a child. She was a gift from my mother. Grab that stool over there and climb up. I’ll hold her.”

  Kascien glanced around, finding a small step stool, which he positioned next to the mare. Miriel tossed her head, but Wylde held her still as Kascien ambled onto her back. He felt a tickle of hysteria rise up his throat as he glanced down at the ground. If he fell…damn, it’d probably hurt.

  Wylde didn’t bother with the stool—she leapt gracefully onto Miriel’s back to settle in front of him, using the reins to urge the mare out of the stable and onto the sand. Kascien took a deep breath as warm air shuffled through his hair. He wrapped his arms around Wylde’s waist to steady himself. If he was bein
g honest, he rather liked the feel of her skin beneath his fingers. Perv, he snorted inwardly.

  “Where are we going?” His words jumbled up and down from the horse’s bumpy gait. If two riders bothered her, Miriel didn’t seem to notice; she just kept trekking. Kascien craned his neck to see that the Nest was far behind them. No one was following them, wherever they were going. It was like no one really cared that they were gone. Shouldn’t a princess be guarded or something? Not that he was complaining.

  “They’ll ground me for this, I’m sure,” she said, her own voice smooth as satin. He wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but it quickly became apparent as the mare snorted, sidestepped, and gave a little buck. Kascien sailed over her head and landed in the sand a yard away.

  “Damnit…” That hurt.

  Wylde unhooked the mare’s bridle and dropped it to the ground, slapping Miriel on the rump. The mare whinnied and galloped away, headed back the way they came.

  “Uh. Wylde? How are we gonna get back? Are we going back?” He got to his feet, looking around, but she said nothing. She just grabbed his hand and led him under an arch of sandstone.

  He heard the faintest sound—whuffing, followed by a low, steady growl—and he froze mid-step. Wylde spun, scales lining her skin as she made an odd noise in her throat. She was talking in a rushed voice in Vanlan, something Kascien couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

  Then he looked up—right into the vivid blue eyes of a large dragon with a houndish nose and a whipcord tail of spikes. He staggered back, but Wylde’s hand snapped out to grab him, keeping him from fleeing.

  “I need help. Please. I can’t let him die. Father does not agree—he doesn’t know we’re here, but he just doesn’t understand.” Her voice was pleading for a moment before she reverted back to her desert tongue.