Spellbound

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  He’d heard enough to understand. Wylde was going beyond her father’s wishes to make Kascien a Wyvern. To perform the bonding ceremony she had talked about, so that he would be unbound from the Magi.

  “Wylde.” His heart picked up speed, threatening to bottom out. She was going to get in trouble for nothing. “Wylde, let’s go back. It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

  Wylde stepped forward. “His name is Kascien.”

  The dragon snapped his gaze to Kascien, snorted, and then took off with a heavy flap of his wings. Wylde said nothing, her grip firm on Kascien’s hand try as he might to tug free. He had no choice but to follow her into a cavernous area of the desert, the sides rising up in a sandy bowl. It kept the clan safe, and God, what a clan.

  All around him were dragons, giant creatures with snake-slit eyes, leather wings, and winding tails. They were adorned with scales of all gemstone hues and spikes ridging their crowns and backs. They hissed to one another every now and then, but they were otherwise quiet as they watched him curiously.

  “They share mindspeak,” Wylde whispered to him. “They are considering my appeal—your name means something to them. Hold your head high. Look bold, unafraid. You need this to survive, Kass, and I won’t let you die, okay? One of the dragons has to understand.”

  Together they stood in silence for many agonizing minutes. Kascien attempted to look ‘bold and unafraid’ as she so put it, but found it difficult with a throbbing head and his heart threatening to fly up his throat.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a small, silver dragon stepped forwards, rising back on her haunches. She began to rattle in her throat, bringing her muzzle close enough to Kascien’s to blow warm breath in his face. It blew his hair back and made him blink—and then gulp, as he saw the dragon’s teeth.

  “Uh. Hello there…” What else did you say to a dragon about ready to bite your head off?

  “Thank you, Jaovari,” Wylde said, dropping low in a bow. Kascien quickly followed suit, earning the shortest of nods from the silver dragon, who breathed in and whistled out through her nose. Wylde turned to him, excitement gleaming in her eyes.

  “She has agreed to take you on. She understands that this could mean danger to both of you, but she’s willing to help us.” Her voice was colored with relief, but Kascien’s mind paused at her words.

  “How is it dangerous?”

  “Sometimes…the bond does not go through all the way.” Wylde glanced between him and Jaovari, frowning. “In which case, both parties die. But Jaovari feels that with your hint of magic, you will be safe. She feels you both have a good chance of survival.”

  She gave a small grin. “She thinks you will make a stunning Wyvern.” Then it faded as she glanced towards the pre-dawn sky, pink tinting the darkness. “Let’s hurry, before my father can stop us.”

  She looked deep into Kascien’s eyes, smiled, and reached for his hands. He gave them to her without a second thought and she squeezed his fingers and whispered something in Vanlan. He thought it might’ve been a prayer.

  Jaovari sat back and offered a clawed paw. Wylde used the tip of her own talon to make a quick slice in the dragon’s hand and dark violet blood beaded up. Kascien winced at the flash of pain across his own palm as Wylde made a cut. She pressed his bloody hand into the dragon’s paw. Jaovari’s claws curved around his hand, securing him there, and Kascien felt a tremor of power at the mingling of blood.

  Jaovari’s voice was suddenly sharp, fluting in his head. The words were a mix of tongues, but he caught a bit of it. Wylde held their clasped hands together, whispering a chant.

  “Blood bonds us. Magic ties us. Your wings are mine and mine are yours. I will share with you my grace, my strength, my soul, for as long as we both live. You will be hunter of the red sands. We are one,” said Wylde.

  In his head, he heard the voices of the entire clan of dragons, a varied stream of voices in the back of his mind chanting the same words Wylde spoke.

  “Repeat it.”

  Without hesitation, as he was growing bolder, feeling safer among the dragons, he did. He repeated every last word, waiting for the touch of the dragon’s magic to seal the deal. It didn’t come.

  Then, his heartbeat paused, stilling in his chest as something painful and brilliant forced itself through his veins, through his very soul. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound escaped him. Terror gripped him for one horrifying moment, then he was let loose of its hold.

  He felt himself radiate, pulse with power, and damn, it felt so good. Was this how Wylde felt all the time? His vision cleared and he saw a very startled Wylde staring at him.

  No. Obviously something was wrong.

  Jaovari dropped his hand with a hiss and retreated behind a larger male. The dragons’ eyes were locked on him, suddenly wary and totally alert. Wylde’s fingers were pressed against her open lips, confusion gleaming in her eyes.

  Kascien took a breath, but it was effortless—living was effortless. It was as if he were floating on cloud nine. He looked down at his hands to see brilliant silver scales slide across his flesh, a little ticklish. Then the sheen mottled with orange and red swirls, as if painting fire across the surface.

  “Wylde,” he breathed, his voice unfamiliar in his head. But he felt good. More than good.

  “Kascien.” Wylde paused, looking between the dragons who he could hear arguing at the back of his mind, their words heavy with fear. The dragons feared him? Why? Wasn’t he one of them now?

  “What’s going on, Wylde? Did the bonding not work?” But of course it worked—he was scaled, half-dragon right now. A lump grew in his throat and he swallowed thickly. “Wylde. Please.”

  “You are…unbound, Kascien,” she said softly, her silver eyes as wide as saucers. “Unbound from the Sovereign’s grip. You are Wyvern. But…” She paused, pacing a few steps towards the dragons, resting her hands on Jaovari’s muzzle. They touched foreheads and then Wylde turned back to him. She reached him in three strides and reached for a strand of hair.

  A strand that had turned bright white.

  “You are strong, Kascien. You’re a mage.”

  Chapter Nine

  The glass of burgundy dropped to the floor and shattered on impact, sending a splash of wine and shards of glass skittering across the hardwood. The Sovereign’s green eyes narrowed and he stood, snapping his fingers at the nearest slave—the weakest he owned—to clean up the mess, pronto.

  There was a rush of magic on the air, crackling at the back of his mind like a virus, winding itself into his brain. Strong magic. The hair at the back of his neck spiked up in alarm. Stronger than him and no one stronger than him was allowed to live. He snarled, then stormed out of his room.

  He pulled a slender piece of Portal chalk from his breast pocket, quickly scribbling his way into Esperidion. The halls were brightly lit, the white pristine, and it did nothing more than make the Sovereign angry.

  He hurried down the next hall, finding himself in front of the Nursery. The corridor was lined with rooms, hospital-esque, where the Magi women could have their children. Newborns typically stayed in the Nursery, but children were permitted to be cared for by the nurse as well should their parents be busy.

  There was a new energy. It had to be the birth of the newest Mage. The Sovereign’s lip curled up in a sneer as he paced down the hall, reading the charts on every door, telling him who was in what room. Only two had newborns within the last few hours. Mirana Caldwell had had a boy, and Josephine Mariel had twin girls.

  Twins were rare among the Magi—it had to be one of them. Typically in that situation, the stronger of the two babies absorbed the magic in their mother’s womb. One would be born stronger than usual and the other, weak or often barren of magic. That was it. It was just a twin.

  He swung the door to the Nursery inwards. The nurse on staff looked shocked, then flattered that her Sovereign was visiting the children, but he brushed her off with a flick of his wrist. She stiffened, then dropped h
er gaze to the floor and bustled off.

  The Sovereign walked past the cribs and touched each child’s arm, casting out feelers. Each baby woke up crying and his brows narrowed in frustration as he willed them back to sleep with a spell. He found the twins, curled up each in her separate bed. As he’d predicted, the bigger of the two girls had significantly more magic than the smaller one…but neither child had the power he’d felt moments ago. No one in the entire Nursery did. Which was a good thing for their mothers—he wouldn’t have hesitated to put the newborn down.

  He found himself jittery—him, jittery!—and he scowled. No, there was a reasonable explanation for this and he would find the solution. He would send scouts out looking for that source of pure, raw magic. And then he would have the owner annihilated.

  He walked through the halls, heeding the nervous glances of the Magi who resided or worked there as they gave him a wide birth. He passed through a hall where the next generation of drakehounds was being created, little embryos floating in tubes of blue gel. They had been able to mix two of the strongest hounds together, creating offspring who would essentially be more powerful than either parent. Their first attempt at mixing them had been a failure; the pups had either been strong or extremely feeble. The feeble ones survived, but the strong? They withered and died before maturity.

  Failure.

  His mind flickered back to the growing pack of drakehounds kept in the kennel—or more to the point, to the slave boy who had been assigned there. His lip curled. The slave who had eluded the staff of Esperidion during an accidental lockdown, taking their captured Wyvern with him. The Sovereign growled, then froze.

  Kascien.

  Of course. The one who slipped through the cracks…because of his pity. God damned fool was what he was.

  He found the Hall of the Forlorn easily enough; dim and dungeon-like, that was the way he’d ordered it. He strode through the glass doors and the slaves should’ve recoiled at the sight of him. He was the reason they were here, after all. They were the ones who had tried to outwit him, beat him, cross him. Instead the slaves, as weak as they looked, lunged at the ends of their chains with animalistic snarls on their faces. Hatred clouded their eyes.

  “Do you feel it then?” A voice murmured from the corner, thick and sullen. The Sovereign turned to see a withered old man with fiery green eyes, shackles hanging loosely from his ankles.

  He sneered at the slave—the worst of them all. The old man looked at the ceiling and crossed himself, then offered the Sovereign a half-crazed smile. “Don’t you feel it? That’s the taste of your downfall, Lucien.”

  Lucien. The Sovereign flinched at his name, his lips rising in a silent snarl. He raised his hand, swinging back. The man slammed up against the wall. There was a sick crack of bones—ribs breaking—and the man wheezed in pain. The Sovereign hauled him up by his shirt collar and spat in his face. “You are fucked, old man. I will be taken down by no one!”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed, drilling into the Sovereign’s, so vivid and familiar. “I warned you, Lucien. This day was fated to come. You are no Sovereign. You are a monster. It is time for a new era of leadership for the Magi. This is what has to happen—”

  “Shut up!” The Sovereign’s voice cracked as he shook the man like a ragdoll, his head snapping back and forth. The man’s eyes lost focus, growing distant, then empty, as he sagged in the Sovereign’s grip.

  The Mage threw the body to the ground, discarded, and spat on it again. So the old man had up and died on him, leaving him with such…words of wisdom. He sneered. Just like always. “I don’t need you. I’ve never needed you!”

  “He’s right,” a soft voice echoed. There, chained to the wall, was Vik Harper, his dark hair tangled and a bruised ring around one eye, but he was still fiery with spirit. The Sovereign met his gaze. Vik had been a traitor, the one who let Kascien and the Wyvern princess make their getaway. He hadn’t stopped them. He had to’ve known the consequences.

  The Sovereign sauntered up to Vik and bent down until their noses were only inches away. Vik merely smiled. “There’s no way you can win against him. There will always be someone stronger than you, my lord. You can’t keep killing them off. One day, someone’s going to outwit you.”

  The Sovereign lashed out, sending Vik sprawling, and then grabbed his wrist and hauled him back up. “You seem to know a lot for someone trapped in the Hall of the Forlorn. Tell me what you know and maybe you’ll see the light of day again.”

  Vik shook his head. The Sovereign began to twist his wrist. A fleeting look of pain crossed Vik’s face, but he kept his lips clamped shut. There was a crunch as Vik’s wrist was twisted so far around that it snapped. He moaned softly and the Sovereign glowered at him.

  “Suit yourself. I have the bad feeling that it’s you who’s trying to outwit me.”

  Vik took in a shaky breath. “He will come for you, my lord,” he said, spitting out the words with vehemence. “You will die at his hands, at the mercy of magic so much stronger than your own. And when you fall? Your people—your loyal followers—will cheer.”

  The Sovereign’s magic wrapped tendrils around Vik’s throat, constricting tightly. The Mage squirmed, gasping in air as his face turned first red, then began to go a sickly shade of violet. The Sovereign sneered down at him as his once-loyal follower began to writhe.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said, striding out of the room, his magic recoiling as he left Vik and the corpse of his dearly departed father on the floor of the cell. He would leave him to rot in there—let that be a lesson to the disloyal.

  ***

  “How?” Kascien’s voice was quiet as he stared at Wylde, those green eyes imploring. Worried. Wylde nibbled her lip and shook her head. She didn’t have the answer to why he was a Mage, why his powers had suddenly burst forth in a display of radiance. Just that they had. And he was.

  “It had to be the bonding. It unleashed whatever bonds you originally had,” Jaovari said, stepping closer to them. She seemed bolder now, as if she could feel that Kascien was on their side. The other dragons, in turn, crept closer as well, alert and waiting. They whispered among themselves in hushed tones.

  Kascien shook his head. “I only had one bond. The Sovereign branded me his slave when I was five. I’ve never had power—only a trickle, enough for me to use a piece of Portal chalk or work a Spellbike. How can I suddenly be a Mage?” He ran both hands through his hair.

  Wylde gazed up at the sky, which had become streaked with pink and gold, feeling contemplative. “Perhaps your mother bonded your magic as an infant?” Anything was possible. “Perhaps you were a danger to yourself, or to others. Maybe they planned on unbinding it when you were old enough to control it?”

  “As I said before, my mother didn’t care for me much,” he said. “I was handed off to caretakers and sitters once I was old enough to leave the Nursery. She wouldn’t have bound me for safety; I don’t think she would’ve even cared if I’d died.”

  “What about your sire?” A dark-scaled dragon bowed his long neck, his shoulder brushing up against Wylde. She touched it gently with her palm, the scales beneath her hand cool to the touch.

  “I don’t have one,” Kascien said, his eyes snapping to the dragon, as if to warn him off. The dragon shook his massive head and glanced back to Jaovari, who moved closer. The female spread her wings wide, touching Kascien’s shoulder with the leathery tip of her right one. The hook caught on the fabric of his shirt.

  “I suppose it does not matter, Kascien. You are Magi, but you are now Wyvern as well. A twinblood.”

  “You’ll have to pick a side,” another dragon piped up from the back. “Their side or ours.”

  Wylde frowned, listening to the dragons argue and growl in the back of her mind. They weren’t sure who to trust; they weren’t certain if Kascien was even safe.

  “He won’t return to them,” she announced, stopping them mid-sentence with a hand raised. The dragons regarded her, flicking their small ears b
ack. “They have treated him poorly, enslaved him when he was nothing but a nestling himself.”

  She looked to Kascien, whose gaze seemed to soften just by looking at her, and she smiled. She reached out a hand to him, showing him he still had her trust and her friendship, Magi blood or not.

  “You will stay with us, Kascien?”

  When he nodded, she found herself grinning from ear to ear. He placed his hand in hers and squeezed her fingers and she sidestepped closer to him. His power was tremendous, radiating off of him in little bursts of magic. His aura was thick and violet, similar to the magic most Kiir’vanan Healers had.

  “I will teach you to be Wyvern. You will take to it like a fish takes to water.”

  “You will do no such thing.” The voice boomed across the keep and dragons scrambled backwards, bending at the knee and dropping their necks in a bow. Wylde’s heart skipped a nervous beat. Swirling down in a spiral was a small fleet of Wyverns. Her father was at the head of them, his expression furiously disapproving. “Wylde, step away from that boy this instant.”

  Wylde glared at him and hissed, showing off the tips of her fangs. Why couldn’t he just accept this? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

  “You knew I couldn’t let him die! He is unbound now, Father,” she said, gripping Kascien’s hand tighter. She saw her father’s gaze linger on their clasped hands. He iced over, his eyes darkening with storm clouds. “He is Wyvern, whether you want to admit it or not. You will not cast a fellow nestling into the hands of our enemies. The Magi are his enemy too.”

  “Do you not feel the magic billowing out of him?” Reitsch demanded. “Or see the cursed streak of white in his hair? He is most definitely a Mage. He isn’t welcome in my Nest. Return to my side, Wylde.”

  His voice was acidic and Wylde snorted. He might’ve been her father, but she was nearly an adult. She was no longer a child to be ordered around, though at that instant she wanted to stamp her foot and scream at him.