But the idea of Havoc touching Wylde, his fingers cupping her cheeks, his lips on hers… Kascien snarled and lunged. The hilt fit his hand perfectly, as if it was made for it, and he swung with ease. Metal clashed together, shrieking battle cries over and over as their blades swung and slashed.
Kascien jumped back, barely dodging a swing that would’ve gutted him. Shit! His left hand swung down and he felt a tremor of magic at his fingertips. Trying not to lose focus, he threw his hand out and willed power through his palm, out into the air where it dissolved and sliced into Yuri like tiny crystal knives.
She hissed and dropped back, blood welling from thin cuts on her arms and chest. Kascien shot her a smirk and drove forwards, jabbing. Yuri shrieked and pulled on her coat of armored scales, but not before Irianthe nicked her arm, drawing a fine slice across her skin.
And Kascien could feel a foreign power, a feral magic, wind up his blade arm. He staggered back, feeling it ripple and ascend past his shoulder. As it did, scales of jet black—Yuri’s scales—whispered up his arm. He glanced up at a gasp and watched as her scales faded back to flesh. Vulnerable flesh.
His knee connected with her legs, knocking them out from under her in one fell swoop. She fell and he covered her with his body, Irianthe poised just above her throat, the blade brushing the skin in a deadly kiss. Shock flooded those ice green eyes, quickly replaced by a mixture of amusement and a sliver of fear.
“Go ahead. Make the final cut.” Yuri spoke calmly.
Kascien swallowed the lump forming in his throat, forcing his hand to be steady. Somehow, miraculously, he’d won. Irianthe… She’d taken Yuri’s magic and brought it to him. It had been his to control. He pursed his lips and forced his hand to steady. He saw the perfect bead of crimson well up from the shallow press of the blade at her throat. His heart hammered in his chest.
“Kass.” Wylde’s voice was soft, but enough to turn his head to the side. She slowly shook her head and the tension in his shoulders eased, making them sag forwards.
He pulled away. “I can’t. I don’t want to.” Their eyes met and Yuri’s lip twitched into the beginnings of a smile. He frowned. “Why are you grinning?”
“I knew you couldn’t do it, kid. You’re not a killer. You think I’d have been so calm if I’d doubted that?” She laughed. “Let me up.”
Mackie and Halo surged forwards, but Yuri’s glare stopped them dead.
Kascien got to his feet, then offered a hand to the woman. She took it and he pulled her up. She cleared her throat. “Bluff, let the princess—excuse me, ex-princess—go. She’s free to do what she wants.”
Bluff’s eyes widened and a small smile stole across his face.
Yuri turned to Kascien, stroking a fingertip down Irianthe’s blade. “So she works against any magic, too… You’ve got one hell of an advantage over Wyvern or Mage, kid. I suggest you learn to fight a little less recklessly, and you could get somewhere someday.”
“I don’t want to get anywhere,” he said, feeling stubborn.
“Sometimes, you have to fight for freedom…” Yuri murmured, then patted his shoulder roughly.
Kascien looked up at her. “Do you want us to leave then?”
“Where are you really gonna go? No, Kass. You won fair and square. You and Wylde are welcome to stay among us.” She glanced at Mackie, who was scowling. “As rogues. As equals.” She nodded and walked towards the village, breaking up the cluster of Wyverns who’d been watching their duel.
Kascien let the breath out of his chest in a whoosh. He turned, only to see Wylde smiling up at him…and it was a shy smile. One he’d never seen from her before. And god, if it didn’t make her look totally kissable… He quickly shoved back the thought.
“You okay?” He traced a cut on her cheek with one finger, but the wound was already scabbing over.
“Why not? Everything’s alright now, yeah? We’re together…”
Kascien laughed at the faintest of pinks that dusted the Wyvern’s cheeks.
“Yeah. It’s all good. New beginning. New life. We’re awesome.”
She only grinned.
Chapter Seventeen
Standing tall, Romas rapped his knuckles on the heavy oak door, just once. There was a click and a creak and the door swung open, welcoming him into the Sovereign’s lair. For once in his life, in his entire loyalty to his lord, Romas felt a prickle of unease slide down his spine as he entered the cocoon of magic that flowed through the room.
“Ah, Romas. You’ve kept me waiting. That’s unlike you.” The man’s voice was cool and clipped, not at all amused by Romas’s tardiness.
Romas bowed low, hands clasped in front of him, fingers looped around his left wrist. “Apologies, my lord,” he murmured, meeting the Sovereign’s green gaze for a moment before dropping his own. Not before he saw the flicker of a smile on the Sovereign’s lips. Not a friendly smile, but then again, when had the Sovereign ever been friendly?
“You called?”
“Indeed. I’ve decided that you shall take the drakehounds to Vanla to meet with the Wyvern. Make sure he holds up his end of the bargain. Three dragons. If not, I trust you know what needs to be done.” The man’s eyes flashed.
Romas nodded slowly, but discomfort made his gut ache at the command. “Of course.”
“I’ve arranged for Markus to station a caravan out at the edge of the desert. He’ll have silver chains ready to secure our dragons. You can hitch my new strain of drakehounds in the back once you’re finished with your task and ride back to Albany with him.”
Markus was a grunt Mage trying to work his way up into the Sovereign’s good graces. Romas’s lip wrinkled a fraction at the thought of the greasy man. There wasn’t anything Markus wouldn’t do to prove himself to their lord. He had no morals and Romas didn’t approve, but he knew better than to speak his opinion aloud.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll have you head out in six days, hounds in tow. It’s time to see what my precious new creations can do.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Wait. Yes. If you happen to see our dear Kascien, bring him back to me. Alive.” The man smiled a thin, cold smile, hands clasped in his lap as he relaxed back in his chair. He snapped his fingers at a slender Mage woman and she bustled off to bring him his glass of red wine. “That is all.”
“Sir.” Romas bowed again, then backed out of the room. The door snicked shut behind him. He turned on his heel and strode off down the hall, his boots clicking on tile with each step he took. And with each step he took, nerves twisted his stomach like a pretzel.
He had always been loyal to the Sovereign…but now he had reason to doubt the man’s intentions.
Pulling out his piece of Portal chalk from his breast pocket, he scribbled a door onto the wall. “Esperidion,” he commanded, his voice ringing out. The Portal shimmered to life and he walked through, deposited into the fake-bright whiteness of the laboratory. He knew where he was going.
The Hall of the Forlorn was dim, fluorescents buzzing dully, flickering to signal their death wish. The cells turned to pale stone, iron bars slatted through each door. They were the only shiny thing down this wing of the building. Romas’s hand pressed against the cool plate glass as he peered inside.
His twin brother lifted his head a fraction and their identical eyes touched. Around his throat were red-violet splotches, bruised fingerprints. Romas felt another wave of uncertainty, a sliver of fear trickling through the cracks in his once rock-solid shell. Vik was his brother, his twin…and he was locked away for life, by order of the Sovereign, to never see daylight again.
The other slaves paced and howled nonsense, dulled through the glass. Agitation shone in their wrinkled, battered faces. Their eyes were haunted, sunken, exhausted. Afraid.
But Vik wasn’t. He was calm, steadfast, quiet. He sat in the back of his cell, hands in his lap, watchful of Romas. The brothers stared at one another for several minutes. Then Romas let out a curse and pulled the stolen
key-card from his pocket. He might as well join Vik in the fucking Hall of the Forlorn for this.
He swiped the card. The red light on the sensor beamed green and the door unlatched. It swung open and he was deposited into the bleak, chaotic mood of the slaves who had crossed the Sovereign in the past. A stench wafted up, nearly choking Romas, and he glanced down to see the corpse of their Sovereign past, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, beginning to rot away in the hot room.
Romas gagged and stepped over the body, making a beeline for his brother.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Vik’s voice was soft.
“Neither should you,” Romas said, shaking his head. They were quiet for a moment. Then: “Brother, I hate this. Why?”
“I had to. You don’t understand and I can’t expect you to. Just know that I had to. I don’t regret it.” A smile swept across Vik’s face.
“The Sovereign wants Kascien back. He’ll kill to have him back, just to make the boy suffer. You gave up everything, for what? To let a fool boy go?” Romas snarled, ramming both hands through his dark hair. “So goddamned stupid, Vik. You gave up your life. Your life!”
“I know.” Vik dropped his gaze. One hand reached up to rub at the bruises at his throat.
“You know.” Romas snorted, then softened, his lips downcast. “I hate seeing you like this, brother. You should be free. This isn’t fair. I hate not being able to change this.”
“You can change this, Romas. You can.”
Romas’s gaze snapped up, drilling into Vik. “How?” That word was uttered softly, almost timidly.
“Save Kascien.”
He snorted.
“He’s our only hope, Rom.”
“He’s a useless slave.”
“He’s our future. Trust me, brother. Save Kascien. Don’t let the Sovereign have him. Please.”
They stared at each other for a moment, Romas’s breath hitching in his throat. He swallowed back a lump of emotion and reached for Vik’s hand, squeezing the man’s knuckles once. “Of course,” he said roughly.
“Thank you.”
They said no goodbyes; Romas merely stood and left, locking the cells behind him, leaving the Hall of the Forlorn in his wake. He strode down the corridor, a fire lighting his heart. He didn’t like Kascien—he never had—but he loved and trusted his brother. They shared a twin’s bond… And if Vik said to save the boy, then he’d save him.
And probably end up in the Hall of the Forlorn as well.
At least they’d be together then.
***
Kascien stood, cornered against the wall, both hands lifted, as if to protect himself. Magic flowed down his arms, pooling between his shoulder blades in a satisfying burn. Castor threw a ball of energy his way. Kascien slammed his hand up, palm flat, and the orb bounced away and scattered into harmless energy.
A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead as he sliced down three more power balls, then lobbed two of his own. Castor reached out, caught them without a word, and swung them back.
Kascien’s gaze skirted to the window, to his freedom, only yards away. Wylde was out there. With Bluff. And it made him anxious to pass this lesson quickly and go out and join them.
He was only distracted for a moment, but energy slammed into him, ramming him back against the wall. The power vibrated through his body, smarting where it hit. He rubbed his chest and shot a glare at his teacher.
Castor scowled. “Head in the game, Kascien.”
“Sorry.” He just couldn’t focus today. He waved his arms, shaking out the energy that tingled along his nerves. Then he spread a palm and willed power through his fingers, spiking out. Castor caught it and deflected easily, without even breaking a sweat. It was like a mental sword fight, their powers clashing like blades of steel. Kascien felt the tug and pull of exhaustion as he struggled to out-power the older Mage.
Castor’s foot slid back an inch, then two as Kascien pressed with a growl. The man swung his arm back, sending Kascien sprawling. “Getting better,” he said. “Come at me again. Call upon your magic and double it, Kascien. I know you have more in you than that.”
They went on like that, back and forth, until the room was filled with the rich scent of magic and the underlying trace of sweat. Kascien finally leaned back against the wall, his breath coming in short pants. Castor patted his shoulder.
“Dismissed. You’re doing amazing for such a short amount of time. You should be proud of yourself.”
Kascien shot him a quick ‘I’m good and I know it’ grin, but he didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted out the door, wiping sweat away with the back of his arm. His stomach rumbled with the beginnings of hunger as he began to look for Wylde.
His heart turned to lead as he saw the princess sitting close to Bluff, their backs to him. Wylde’s shoulder bumped against the other boy’s. Kascien felt a rush of…was that jealousy? He was jealous of Bluff?
God, he needed to get a grip.
Wylde wasn’t his. She was her own person, a free spirit. Who was he to tell her who she belonged with? She wasn’t his, no matter what his twisted heart thought. After all, she’d told him just the other night that Bluff had been her closest friend. The boy she thought she would someday marry, before her father exiled him from the clan.
And damn, if it didn’t sting. He felt protective and possessive of Wylde, and definitely jealous of the other boy. All because of a girl.
But she wasn’t just any girl… She was Wylde Debraux. Beautiful, sassy Wylde, who he’d been through hell and back with. He wanted her to be his. He’d come so close to losing her before…
Taking a deep breath, he forced it out through his nose and relaxed a notch. He could be civil; he would be civil.
“Hey guys,” he said, coming up on the other side of Wylde. She and Bluff turned to him with grins on their faces. Wylde patted the spot beside her and Kascien flopped down so they made a Wyvern sandwich. The sand was hot against his butt after baking in the sun. “‘Sup?”
“You smell like a Mage.” Wylde smirked at this.
“Oh?” He lifted an arm and sniffed his armpit, then shot her a look. “I don’t smell anything.”
“He is a Mage.” Bluff rolled his eyes.
But his curiosity was piqued. “No really. What do I smell like?” Because he sure as hell wasn’t smelling anything beyond the musk of himself.
“You smell like sugar. Raw, pulsing energy. That, and sweat.” She gave a small laugh, flicking him on the nose. “Bluff and I were just gonna go for a fly.” She rubbed her bare wrists; the silver bonds her father had put on her had been cut off by Yuri the night before. “You should come. We can teach you how.”
“You don’t mind?” Kascien met Bluff’s gaze.
The boy stared at him for a moment, then lifted one shoulder in a shrug and looked at Wylde. A smile flitted across his lips for an instant, and then it was gone. “You guys go ahead. I might go see if they’re planning on a hunt today.” He stood up and dusted the butt of his pants off.
Kascien half-expected Wylde to tell him to stay, but she only nodded. Bluff wandered off, hands in his pockets, leaving them alone, and Wylde turned to Kascien. They both got to their feet, shaking off sand. “Just you and me, then.”
I wouldn’t have it any other way, he thought, a smile surging to the surface.
“Lead the way, princess,” he said with a low mock-bow. She snorted and gave him a shove, hard enough that it sent him sprawling forwards. By the time he regained his balance, she was darting across the dunes, halfway to Wyvern, dark scales quickly overtaking flesh.
Kascien sprang after her, the hot breeze ruffling his sweat-damp hair. His strides were longer than hers and he caught up to her in a matter of moments. He butted his shoulder against hers and she let loose a growl that ripped up her throat with force. Her eyes gleamed, claws sprouting from her fingers. She bent her arms and wings shifted into place.
Keeping pace, he unfurled his own wings, holding them close to his body to
keep from catching on wind. Wylde bobbed her head, sprang into the air, and was off with just a couple wing-beats. Kascien felt nerves climb up his throat, the fear of falling from the skies lighting through his mind.
“Catch me if you can!” Despite the gravel to her Wyvern vocal chords, her voice was musical, beautiful.
His.
He let out a shriek and dove into the air, wings catching on wind. He flapped, muscles bunching and working, lifting off the ground inch by slow inch. Wylde dipped and soared, beckoning him higher, and he bounded into the sky after her. Warmth fluttered up beneath him and his wings caught on a thermal and together they flew, wing tip to wing tip, through the sky.
“Beautiful flying!” Wylde called against the wind and Kascien felt his heart do a happy flip.
They flew in silence for several minutes before Wylde dove down, banking and landing in a light jog as her feet touched the red sands. Kascien swerved and circled. Great, she expected him to land? Where were brakes when you needed them?
“Ease down; you can do it.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve been flying since you were a little kid. Kids are made of rubber!”
“Come on.”
“I’d rather not.”
“You can’t stay in the air forever.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Kascien Trump, get down here this instant!” She stamped her foot for emphasis.
He couldn’t help but laugh. Here goes nothing… He floated in large circles, each lap getting closer and closer to the ground. As his feet brushed sand, he pulled in his wings like he saw her do and jogged towards where she’d landed. Holy crap, he’d actually made it, alive and in one piece.
When he reached her, Wylde smacked him hard across the back of the head. His teeth clicked together. “You can’t waste all your energy flying, idiot. Do you wanna be stranded in the middle of the desert come nightfall?”
Spellbound Page 16