by David Estes
“Levi,” Boronis said, “come meet my daughter, Gwenny.”
Gwenny, always Gwenny, she thought, even though she’d asked him to call her Gwen a dozen times. Regardless, the introduction surprised her, especially because she knew the two men didn’t see eye to eye on most things.
She bowed to Levi formally, in the manner of her people, and said, “May this be the first of many meetings.” It was the traditional first greeting, and she was pleased to discover he knew the proper response:
“May Orion shine on our friendship.” Though many of the humans had either willingly or grudgingly adopted the Orian traditions, there were plenty who hadn’t, a cause of occasional strife within Ferria.
“Well met,” her father said, in appreciation of them both. “Gwenny, Levi is a—”
“Captain,” she said. When she saw her father’s eyebrows flare upward in surprise, she added, “I’ve seen him sally out from Ironwood with his platoon. Eastern seaboard patrol, if I’m not mistaken?”
Boronis laughed. “As you can see, Captain Freestep, my daughter takes far too much interest in the business of war.”
“We all have a responsibility to protect our lands,” Gwen said.
“Hmm,” her father mused, not sounding convinced. “Now, Gwenny, was there something you were going to tell me?”
Oh. He’d noticed her unease earlier. She wanted to tell him, but hadn’t expected an audience. Especially not Alastair’s father. Yet, there was nothing for it. Rip it off quick, she thought, like a bandage stuck to the skin with clotted blood.
“Yes,” she said. “I wanted you to know that I’ve met someone.”
Her father’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh? Someone special? Who, pray tell, is this lucky Orian lad?”
Like a bandage, she reminded herself. “He’s not Orian,” she said.
Boronis Storm’s eyes narrowed. Then he seemed to share a look with Levi, whose lips were pulled into a tight line. The situation is even worse than I thought. She’d always believed her father would be the problem, but what if both fathers opposed them? “Choose your next words carefully, daughter,” her father said.
She jutted out her chin defiantly. “Father, I cannot choose my words any more than I can choose the yearnings of my heart. Both my words and my heart have made their own choices. And I’ve chosen this very man’s son, Alastair Freestep. Oppose me if you will, but you cannot stop us.”
“Can we not?” Her father stepped forward, his violet eyes flashing.
Suddenly she felt less confident.
And then Levi Freestep’s lips quirked up and a chuckle escaped the back of his throat. He tried to disguise it as a cough, but it was too late. Her own father’s stern expression melted into a broad smile as he laughed. He wrapped Gwen up in an embrace, kissing her forehead. “I will not oppose you, nor your heart,” he said.
Gwen pulled back and stared at him. Was this really happening? Could she have so poorly misjudged her father’s reaction? Had she agonized over this moment for no reason? “You will give your blessing?”
Her father’s eyes twinkled like twin fields of dew-covered lavender in the morning sun. “I already have,” he said. Levi stepped forward and slapped him on the back like they were old friends. Both men looked past her.
Shaking her head in wonderment at this unexpected turn of events, Gwen twisted her neck to see what had caught their attention.
Her heart stopped.
There, standing just beyond the edge of the forest, was Alastair. He wore his green legionnaire’s uniform, complete with shiny silver buttons and the eastern sigil, twin swords crossed over a field of black. His long dark hair was combed back, tucked behind his ears. He’d freshly shaved the shadow from his cheeks. His lips curled into a dazzling smile, brighter than the noonday sun. His stormy eyes radiated determination, and to her delight, a sliver of anxiety.
He strode forward, step by step, his eyes tethered to hers. When he reached her, he raised a hand to her chin, and gently pushed it up, closing her mouth. She hadn’t even realized her lips had fallen open.
Then he dropped his hand, holding it palm upwards. Oh, Orion, am I dreaming? Gwen thought. Is this real? It was an offer, in the Orian tradition. Take my hand, and take me. It was an offer to bond.
She took his hand, her palm pressing against his, their fingers threading together. Then she made her own offer, extending her opposite hand in the same manner. Alastair didn’t hesitate, grasping her hand and accepting her for his bondmate.
And then he kissed her.
Their promise had been made, and Gwendolyn hadn’t even had to sacrifice her father’s love.
A week later, Gwendolyn Storm still couldn’t believe that Alastair Freestep had been so bold as to ask her father for his blessing to bond with her. And he did it before my father had departed for the south, Gwen marveled. Unexpectedly, Boronis Storm’s scouting company had crossed paths with Captain Freestep’s platoon. The two men had shared a laugh and struck up a warm friendship based on their children’s budding relationship. Evidently, once their preconceived notions of each other had been struck down, they had more in common than they thought.
How it had been kept secret from her, Gwen had no idea. Perhaps she was so love struck that she’d been blind to the deceit. No, she thought, Alastair’s fear of my father had been well put on. He was a talented actor, nearly as talented as he was a poet. She would get him back, one day.
Regardless, as she prepared for their bonding ceremony, set to occur later that day, she couldn’t be happier. Though she didn’t have any sisters of her own, the other Orian maidens had descended on her in force, channeling the forest’s ore deposits to manipulate her marriage armor to perfection. The symbolic armor wasn’t meant for battle, and thus, they had significant flexibility as to the design. They’d done a wonderful job, and Gwendolyn hoped Alastair would find her as alluring as ever. Sheathed firmly against her slender but muscular body, the armor revealed just the right amount of skin: the small of her back, her lithe shoulders, the hollow in her neck that Alastair liked to kiss so much. The design was finished with a thin metallic band that wrapped around her head, studded with a clear multi-faceted gemstone. Sprigs of lavender were tied amongst the braids in her long, silver hair.
Her father came to see her when she was ready. He held both her shoulders, shaking his head. “You are a sight,” he said. “Your mother would’ve loved to see you like this. So happy.”
Gwendolyn’s eyes blurred with unshed tears. “I miss her,” she said. Her mother had been fifty years older than her father. She was taken far too soon, having lived for only a century and a half, passing on when Gwendolyn was just a little girl and her father barely older than a century.
“So do I,” her father said. “But she smiles upon this day from the Great Forest of Orion.”
“I know.” She blinked away the tears and smiled. Cupping a hand to her father’s face, she said, “I never thought you would give your blessing for us.”
“This again,” her father said, but his tone held no anger. His eyes twinkled. She’d asked him half a dozen times what Alastair had said to gain his support, but her father refused to tell. Alastair was no more helpful, saying only, “That’s between your father and me.” Gwen knew she shouldn’t dwell on it, but the curiosity was eating her alive.
“Please tell me,” she implored him. “This is my bonding day wish.”
Her father laughed. “You don’t always fight fair—you know that?”
Gwen shrugged. “Not when I want something.”
He grasped her hand. “I see so much of your mother in you. I could never resist her either.”
“So you’ll tell me?”
“Maybe later,” he said. “The sun is stretching for the horizon. It is time.”
It was the most beautiful bonding Gwen could have imagined. As she stood on the iron platform that stretched over the forest floor, she took in everything, memorizing every detail: the shiny ore sculptures set
amongst the Orian and human guests, depicting prowling cats and soaring hawks and proud legionnaires; the flower petals sprinkled on every surface, pink and purple and orange and blue; the line of legionnaires—Alastair’s fellow soldiers in training—encircling the entire ceremony, their dress armor gleaming in the last rays of sunlight; hers and Alastair’s fathers, garbed all in white, standing side by side, proud as ever. She even saw Sasha the ore cat stalking through the woods, watching with shining silver eyes.
And finally, Alastair, wearing ornamental armor that sleekly accentuated his strong arms, his broad shoulders, his muscular chest and abdomen. He ascended the iron steps to where she stood. His eyes roved over her body, lingering on the bared skin before meeting her gaze.
He took her hand and she fought off the urge to kiss him before the ceremony had well and truly started. “I have no words sufficient to describe you today,” Alastair said.
“We don’t need words. Not anymore,” Gwendolyn said.
One of Orion’s humble servants, a woman named Arwen who’d been a friend of the family for years, and something of a mother figure to Gwen as of late, stepped forward to officiate. “We stand before our fellow Orians, our human allies, and the Great Orion, to bond these two individuals together in this—”
She stopped suddenly, when a commotion arose from somewhere in the audience. Someone shouted for silence, and it sounded like the commanding voice of Gwen’s father.
The officiant began again. “As I was saying, we are here to bond these two—”
Again, there was a noise, and this time it was sustained, a palpable buzz running through the audience, like the current from a lightning-struck tree. All heads turned toward the sound, including Gwen’s and Alastair’s.
Someone ran down the path. The path that led directly to the forest city, the stronghold of Ferria. The runner was fleet of foot and, based on the coppery tinge to her hair, clearly had significant Orian blood coursing through her veins. She was shouting something as she ran, her words garbled at first, but slowly taking shape.
“We’re under attack! Ferria is under attack!”
As if to emphasize the runner’s warning, something shrieked from above, a dark sinewy form blotting out the sun. Several people screamed in terror, and beneath the iron walkway, guests scattered like fallen leaves, seeking shelter amongst the enormous trees. The circle of legionnaires broke, and they filled the pathway, charging for the city, to which their ultimate duty was bound. Next to Gwen, Alastair’s body tensed, shocked by the sudden change in mood. Gwen, on the other hand, was made for intense situations like this one, her cheek burning with fire as her heromark flared to life.
Though her skinmark was strange to others, it had been a part of her from the day she was born, giving her a measure of strength, speed, and agility far superior to any human or Orian she’d ever met.
And it was a good thing she didn’t freeze up now, because the dragon dove with otherworldly speed and violence, spewing a gout of flames from a maw so large and black it could’ve been a cave.
Gwen grabbed Alastair roughly and dove from the platform, hauling him behind her. She landed on her feet, cat-like, while Alastair grunted and rolled, his armor rattling. Their escape wasn’t a moment too soon, either—she could feel the heat of the flames in their wake, enveloping the platform in a fiery inferno. Liquid ore splashed all around them, the metal instantly melted by the dragonfire. Several drips hit Gwen’s exposed skin, burning her, and she wished she’d worn full armor rather than the impractical, but gorgeous, suit she was garbed in.
A burning body collapsed nearby. Arwen, who would never get the chance to bond them. The realization hit Gwen like an arrow to the heart.
Both of their fathers were by their sides in an instant, having fought through the crowd to get to them. “Are you injured?” Boronis Storm asked, clutching Gwen’s arm. Somewhere above them, the dragon shrieked again. Gwen glanced up, but couldn’t see the beast.
“No,” she said.
“I’m fine, too,” Alastair echoed, though as they helped him to his feet it was clear he was favoring his left foot.
“Find a place to hide,” Levi Freestep said, a pained expression on his face. His command was unlawful, considering his own son was a legionnaire and duty-bound to defend the city to the death. He was allowing personal feelings to determine his actions in the midst of a battle.
“Yes,” Gwen’s father agreed. “Stay out of sight. The dragon cannot breach the deep parts of the forest.” Evidently, the two fathers were in agreement—their children’s lives took precedent over any sense of duty.
Gwen’s father kissed her on the forehead and said, “We have to go. Be safe.” The two men spun and ran down the path toward Ferria.
Alastair winced. “You’re not fine,” Gwen said.
“It could be worse.”
Tears bit at Gwen’s eyes as his words rang true in the burning remains of the woman nearby. She’d known Arwen her entire life, and she’d been the closest thing to a mother Gwen had had since her real mother’s death.
She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on the woman’s death, however, not now, not when danger was all around. “We can make it to the trees,” Alastair said, even as the dragon shrieked and dove once more. “Hurry!”
He tried to pull Gwendolyn along, but at that moment she saw a little boy, naught more than seven. He was stuck in the center of the clearing, having tripped while trying to make his escape. His parents were gone, perhaps assuming he was right behind them. He cried, his eyes wide with horror, staring at the monster swooping down from above.
Her skinmark blazing with heat, Gwen ripped herself free of Alastair’s grasp and charged for the boy, moving faster than humanly, or Orianly, possible. She could feel the dragon closing in, its wings buffeting her with displaced air. She scooped up the boy under one arm and dove, flames washing past her, as hot as a blacksmith’s forge. As they rolled, she focused on protecting the boy, hugging him to her chest. When they came to a stop, she could see the ends of her silver hair sizzling and burning away.
The boy’s eyes were huge and wet, but he was unhurt. Above them, the dragon circled, its dark scales shimmering. On its back, Gwen could make out the shadowy silhouette of a rider, backlit by the sun. Thankfully, the clearing wasn’t large enough for it to land, and yet they were a long way from safety, and there could be other victims still in danger. Where is Alastair? she wondered, but she didn’t have time to dwell on the question, because the dragon could strike again at any moment.
Gwen fought to her feet and was about to carry the boy toward the forest, when Sasha the ore cat appeared next to her, her head cocked to the side expectantly. Without words, Gwen knew exactly what the beast offered. “Protect him with your life,” she said, and the cat bobbed her head in understanding.
She placed the boy on Sasha’s sleek back and helped him wrap his arms around her silver neck. “Hold on tight,” she instructed, and the boy clasped his fingers. Then they were gone in a blur of ore, slipping into the forest.
The dragon, or perhaps its rider, seemed to realize that most of their prey had moved on, and it veered off, a black spear rocketing back toward the city.
The rest of the clearing was empty, save for several charred, smoking bodies and one other, who was limping toward her.
Alastair. Thank Orion. Gwendolyn raced toward him, dropping down to help him out of his boot and inspect his leg. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“You need a healer,” she said, shocked by the amount of swelling.
“I need to get to Ferria,” he said. “I need to do my duty.”
“You’re injured. Your father commanded you to seek shelter.”
“Others will be worse off. And my father was wrong in his command. My duty lies with Ferria.” His tone was resolute, and she realized he’d sounded the same way when he’d told her he loved her. Stalwart. Certain.
“We’ll go together,” she said.
She knew plenty of ma
le Orians who would insist she, a young woman, remain behind, but Alastair wasn’t like that. He’d never once tried to stifle Gwen’s dreams of being a scout for the king, and never treated her like she was anything less than capable. He nodded and they started down the path, avoiding puddles of liquid ore—the melted statues that were once so beautiful.
Though Gwen had expected the attack on the city to be bad, nothing prepared her for the scene in front of her. Half a dozen dragons circled the walls of Ferria, systematically diving and testing the kingdom’s defenses. Outside the castle, the half-metal, half-forest dwellings were destroyed, iron beams mangled and twisted or simply melted down, tree trunks and branches charred and scorched. Hundreds, if not thousands, of bodies littered the straight, narrow streets. People wandered about, their eyes blank, searching for loved ones who were most likely already dead.
“Orion save us all,” Alastair breathed.
It’s too late for that, Gwen said, bile threatening to creep up her throat and into her mouth.
She swallowed it down. It was too late for the dead, but not the living.
Avoiding the corpses, they wound their way toward the castle. When they reached the enormous iron gates, they found the thick doors torn from their hinges and discarded as easily as loose bark from the trunk of a tree.
Inside the first ring in the multi-ringed castle, legionnaires fought Southroners. The enemy soldiers wore thick leather armor and were armed with whips and dual-edged blades. Calypsians. Using a strategy the southerners were known for, they attempted to herd the legionnaires into “flocks” which could then be attacked by dragonriders hoping to extinguish large chunks of easterners.
How they’d managed to attack without warning was a question that kept rattling around in Gwen’s mind. The rumors of invasion were true, but hadn’t come from Phanes, as expected. Instead it was the Calypsians.
