Dragonbound

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  I brace myself, almost wanting it to happen. To let everyone see how much he hates me. And yet part of me—a big part—really hopes Celeste will come to my rescue and intervene.

  But it’s Lord Varrens who grabs Father’s hand to stop him, while Celeste only gapes at me. “Please,” Lord Varrens says. “I only want a son before I’m gone. I don’t care about his bloodline.”

  So that’s it. He doesn’t even want me for my family. Which I should be relieved about, but somehow it just makes me feel even more useless. I glare at my father, my face hot with shame, tears prickling my eyes. “How could you do this to me?” I turn on my heel and walk away from him.

  “Virginia! Don’t you dare!” he shouts, but he doesn’t lift a finger to stop me.

  Celeste grabs my arm. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just walk out!”

  “Watch me. I didn’t see you trying to stop Father just now. So don’t try to stop me, either.” I twist out of her grasp, just as pissed at her as I am at Father, and make a run for the door.

  4

  I’VE ALWAYS HAD A SOFT SPOT FOR VIRGINS

  I can’t hide in my room, because that’s the first place everyone would look for me. And the last thing I want right now—besides marrying Lord Varrens, obviously—is to have Celeste find me sobbing under my covers and tell me I have to honor my duty as a St. George. Being a St. George is all great and wonderful for her, but not so much for me. And she might be brave enough to fight dragons, but she’s too scared or just too blindly obedient to ever stand up to Father.

  So when I get to the staircase, I don’t go up to my room. It’s only a matter of time before Celeste comes to drag me back to my fate, and I hate the idea that she knows exactly where to find me. Or at least that she thinks she does. I go down the stairs instead, down to the dungeon, the last place anyone would ever think to look for me.

  A few torches line the walls, their light dim, and I’m grateful for the darkness as the tears start to fall. I wish I could be stronger and braver, like Celeste. If getting married off to some bony old man was her lot, she’d take it with her chin held high. No running and no tears. She definitely wouldn’t be hiding in the dungeon, feeling sorry for herself.

  But I am not my sister. And now that I’m alone, hot tears fill my eyes and spill down my cheeks. My shoulders shake, and a loud sob escapes my lungs, echoing off the dungeon’s stone walls and empty jail cells. I lean against one of the walls, my hands pressed to my face. The stones are cold and harsh, unforgiving, just like everything else in my life right now.

  Then a chain jingles in the cell to my left. Metal scrapes across the floor. Cold fear floods my entire body and makes my heart race.

  Great. Just when I thought I was alone with my misery. If there’s anything worse than Celeste finding me crying my eyes out, it’s got to be this. Because I know we’ve only got one prisoner right now. One I thought would be in an interrogation room with a crew of paladins extracting information from him. Not here, in a cell, listening.

  Amelrik comes up to the metal door, right up to the barred window, and I hear him sniffing the air. My tears are all dried up, replaced with terror. I’m frozen against the wall, unable to move. And then I remind myself that he’s chained up and locked in a cell. He can’t hurt me, and even if he could . . . isn’t he the one who told me to run last night? Didn’t he try to save me from Lothar?

  “Virgin,” he says, in that sharp accent of his, and I can hear a surprised smile in his voice. “You’re still alive.”

  “It’s Virginia,” I snap. “And don’t sound so shocked.”

  “Is that any way to talk to me? I saved your life last night.”

  “You’re a dragon and our prisoner—I’ll talk to you any way I want. And all you did was tell me to run. I would have figured that out.”

  “You would have married him if I hadn’t been there.”

  Maybe. It’s not like I had a lot of time to get to know anyone, or that I even have a say in it. But if a good-looking prince had asked Father for my hand, wouldn’t he have chosen him over some old man? Pairing me with Lord Varrens seems like a last-ditch effort. “What do you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  “You wouldn’t be in this cell if you hadn’t stopped to warn me. Advice I didn’t need, by the way.”

  “What I meant was, I don’t care about you. Maybe Lothar can fake interest in a stinking paladin for a night, but he’s always been the better actor. I’ll give him that.”

  I push away from the wall, a burst of anger overcoming my fear, and move to face him. “Lothar was the only one who treated me like a person, and even if it was all a sham, at least he had the decency to fake it. Unlike everybody else who was there last night, treating me like a piece of property. And you can wipe that smug grin off your face, because I don’t owe you anything.”

  “Please. Lothar would have killed you if not for me. Even with my help, I’m surprised you’re still breathing.”

  I glare at him through the bars. “If this door wasn’t in the way, I would slap you.”

  “There’s that St. George charm. A slap in the face in exchange for saving your life? Sounds about right.”

  “You’re the one who put me in danger in the first place. My dancing partner wasn’t trying to kill me before you stabbed him in the chest.”

  “You have no idea what he planned to do to you. To use you for.”

  I swallow, wondering if I should believe him. Not that I think Lothar was there for any good reason, but still. “And what exactly were you doing there? Shouldn’t a dragon prince have better things to do than go around crashing my sister’s party?”

  “Shouldn’t a paladin have better things to do than cry in a dungeon?” He raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer. Torchlight catches the shock of dyed red hair at his forehead, while shadows from the bars in the window line his face, obscuring his sharp features and cocky smile. His skin looks pale and sallow, though maybe that’s just the lighting. Around his neck is an iron dragon ring, glowing a faint red, enchanted with Celeste’s magic—with St. George magic—keeping his powers bound and unusable. I’ve never seen one on a dragon up close. Blotchy red patches creep up his neck from under the ring. They look itchy and swollen, and there are lines of blood where he must have scratched at them. “It’s not polite to stare,” he whispers, his eyes a vivid green.

  My cheeks get hot, and I glance down at my feet. “It looks painful, that’s all.”

  “Well, you could always take it off. You could let me go, and then we’d be even.”

  Yeah, right. “Why did you tell me to run? And why didn’t you change forms, like Lothar? You could have escaped.”

  “Oh, could I?” He sneers at me, his lip curling in disgust. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.”

  “There’s not going to be a next time. You’re going to rot in this dungeon until—” Until my sister and the other paladins kill him, once they feel he’s outlived his usefulness. I clear my throat. “Until you’re sentenced to die for your crimes.”

  He laughs. “You think I’m going to die here? This isn’t the first time I’ve been caught, and it won’t be the last.”

  “Right. And you’re wearing that dragon ring because it brings out your eyes.”

  He grins. “Doesn’t it?”

  I grit my teeth in annoyance. I think about how Torrin and Celeste would be shocked to know I was down here, talking to a dragon. The whole barracks would be. They’d probably also tell me I shouldn’t be here. He’s dangerous, and I’m weak and powerless. A dud paladin with no business getting anywhere near a dragon, even one behind bars and bound by an enchanted iron ring around his neck.

  I clench my fists, hot anger suddenly burning in my chest. Celeste and Torrin might be my closest friends, but sometimes it feels like they don’t know the first thing about me.

  Tears prickle and threaten to fall again, but I hold them back. I look Amelrik in the eyes, bright and g
reen and striking, and ask in a voice that demands an answer, “Why did you help me last night? You say you saved my life, but you’re a dragon and I’m a paladin.”

  He shrugs and looks away. “I didn’t want Lothar to have the satisfaction of killing you.”

  “Oh.” I can’t help sounding disappointed. I don’t know what I was expecting him to say. Did I really think he’d have some profound reason for helping me? That maybe, just once, someone saw me for who I really am, even for only a moment, and decided I was worth something? Even if that someone was a dragon. “Is that all?”

  “Well, that and”—he sighs, putting a hand over his heart—“I’ve always had a soft spot for virgins.” Then he snickers.

  I gape at him.

  The door to the dungeon clangs open, and Celeste calls out, “Vee!” her voice echoing down the stairs and through the hallway. She rushes over, putting a protective hand on my shoulder and angling herself between me and Amelrik. “You shouldn’t be here.” Then, to Amelrik, “Back away from the door, beast! I said get back!”

  Amelrik holds his hands up and takes a step backward.

  As soon as he does, Celeste whirls on me. “Virginia St. George, I can’t believe you! Running off like that, and then I find you here, of all places, with a dragon.”

  “I’m fine,” I tell her. “I can take care of myself.”

  “He’s dangerous! You know that.”

  “He’s locked up.”

  It’s like she doesn’t even hear me. “And you, with no . . .” She pauses, glancing over at Amelrik and then changing her mind about what she was going to say, probably something about how useless I’d be if he somehow escaped. “You know better. He might be bound in that cell, but that doesn’t mean he’s not deadly. Words can be a weapon, too.”

  “And you think I’m so stupid I’d just do whatever he said?”

  “He’s a liar,” Celeste says, her voice hushed. “You can’t believe a word from him.” She sighs, putting her fingers to her temples. “But don’t worry—we’ll be taking care of him soon enough. Now come on, Vee. Father’s so mad he’s about to lock you up in one of these cells.”

  She tugs my arm, and I follow her, even though I think I’d rather be locked up in here than getting married against my will. But before I go, I glance over my shoulder one last time at Amelrik. He’s standing at the door again, peering at me through the bars. His mouth turns down, just a little. Not angry or scared, but . . . well, for someone who claims not to care what happens to me, he looks awfully concerned. Our eyes meet, and something passes between us, some kind of understanding, and then Celeste is hauling me up the stairs, out of view.

  5

  FAMOUS LAST WORDS

  Celeste is packing supplies for her dragon-hunting trip when I find her the next afternoon. She’s leaving tomorrow morning with a group of other paladins to track down Lothar. When I see her standing in her room, inspecting her sword, I get this bad feeling, like ice water being poured down my back.

  I’m never going to see her again.

  The thought pops into my head, unbidden. I don’t know where it came from. I shake my head to clear it and tell myself it’s not true. Celeste can take care of herself, both with her sword and her magic. It’s just my nerves getting the better of me.

  I clear my throat to get her attention, even though I’m sure she knows I’m here, lurking in her doorway. The best dragon hunter in the five kingdoms doesn’t not know her unstealthy little sister is standing right behind her.

  She sheathes her sword and turns around, her dark blue cape whirling behind her. “Did you hear?” she says. “We’ve got a lead. It’s only a matter of time before we track him down now.”

  The thought of getting anywhere near Lothar again sends prickles of dread running through my chest, but it’s obvious Celeste can’t wait to set out on the hunt.

  “How’d you find him?” I ask, stalling, because I don’t want to ask her what I really came here for. My voice comes out like a croak, and I clear my throat again.

  Her expression turns grim. “The prisoner talked. After some . . . prompting.”

  She means Amelrik, and even though he’s a dragon, and a jerk, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. “You . . .”—I stop myself from saying “tortured”—“you interrogated him?”

  Celeste nods. “He gave up the information about Lothar pretty easily. Not surprising, after what we saw between them the other night.”

  “But you believe him? You told me not to trust a word he said.” Funny how her advice only applies to me.

  “Vee, he wants us to kill Lothar. He made that clear at the party. And anyway, the Hawthorne and Elder clans have a pretty unstable history, from what I know. Tensions run high between them.”

  “So, what will happen to him now?”

  Celeste tilts her head a little, shooting me an Are you crazy? look. “We’ll hunt him down and slit him open from tail to gizzard.”

  “Not Lothar. Amelrik.” Do dragons really have gizzards?

  “Oh, we’re far from done with him. He’s got an awful lot to answer for.”

  So they’re not going to kill him. At least, not yet. I realize I was holding my breath and let it out slowly. I still have questions of my own for him—questions I intend to get the answers to, whether Celeste wants me talking to him or not. She just doesn’t need to know about it, that’s all.

  “I came here to ask you something,” I tell her, finally getting to the reason I came to see her in the first place. “I . . .” I brace myself, taking in a deep breath. I want to say this in the calmest, most rational way possible, but instead I just start blurting it all out. “I need you to teach me magic! I know I’m not the ideal candidate or anything, and I know what I said, about being a dud and not having the power. Not wanting it. But . . .” I squeeze my eyes shut. This is the worst part. “You were right.”

  The words leave a bad taste in my mouth, as if admitting she was right this once means she was right about everything, ever. That every time I’ve ever disagreed with her—and, believe me, there have been plenty of times—I must have been in the wrong.

  Celeste doesn’t look like she’s about to spout off an “I told you so,” though. She mostly just looks confused. “You want me to teach you magic?” She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

  Who else am I going to get to do it? After I practically begged Torrin to marry me and he turned me down, then saved my life, I’m not about to go crawling back to him, asking him to help me become a real paladin so I don’t have to marry some nasty old man. Plus, he’s not a St. George. He doesn’t know the family power. And I’m not about to ask Father for help—not that he would—so that leaves Celeste.

  “You said this is my chance. Do you want me to get married to Lord Older-Than-Dirt, or whatever his name is?”

  “Varrens,” she corrects me, as if it matters. Then she lets out a slow breath. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

  “In the morning. It’s only noon.”

  She hesitates, thinking it over. She looks almost like she might give in, then shakes her head. “You told me yourself you don’t even want the magic.”

  “And you told me it was my only way out of this marriage.”

  “I’m supposed to teach you something you haven’t learned in seventeen years? In less than one day?”

  My heart sinks. When she says it like that, it does sound pretty impossible. And it’s not like I haven’t been saying how impossible it is all along. Me and magic? Not going to happen. If it was, it would have happened a long time ago. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to give up and just accept that I’m going to be some walking skeleton’s baby factory. “It’s my last chance. And if anyone can teach me, it’s you. My kind, smart, loving sister, who would never turn her back on me, and—”

  “Flattery, Vee? Really? How vain do you think I am?”

  “Not vain enough, apparently.” I sigh. “I just want to try. One last time. And I’m going to do it whether you help me or not.�
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  “Did I say I wouldn’t?”

  “You didn’t exactly jump at the chance.”

  “Yes, well, your kind, smart, loving sister, who’s also the best paladin in the world—you left that part out—is going to help you. I’m leaving in the morning. It might be a day trip, or it might be weeks. I might not be back in time for the wedding. So this really is our last chance. If I’ve got one day to teach you magic, then you’re going to learn it in one day, damn it. Even if it takes all night.”

  “You don’t mind? I mean, there’s a chance”—a pretty big chance—“that I’m not going to succeed.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “Then call it a wedding present. You either learn it or you don’t, but at least you’ll know you tried. And, besides, what’s the harm in it?”

  “Famous last words,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. You’re right. What could it hurt?” Worst case, I’m a failure at magic and I don’t learn anything. Which isn’t any different than how things are now. “We’ve got nothing to lose.”

  She claps me on the back, a little too hard, almost knocking the wind out of me. “That’s the spirit!”

  “Right.” It’s just my entire future that’s on the line here. Just my happiness, my safety, and my uterus.

  No big deal.

  Celeste scowls at the dragon ring sitting on the dais in the Ceremonial Room. A cold, lifeless circle of iron, just like it’s been for the past twelve hours. It’s after midnight, and I’m exhausted and sweaty and ready to throw that stupid ring across the room.

  “Again,” she commands, her voice stern and her face impassive, not showing any of the disappointment I know she must be feeling.

  I know I certainly am. “Celeste, it’s not—”

  “Keep trying,” she snaps.

  My arms are shaking from fatigue, but I hold my hands over the ring again. I shut my eyes and will the magic to work this time. I picture a spark igniting inside me, my St. George magic flowing through my veins and pouring into this stupid ring. I imagine it binding a dragon’s powers and rendering them useless.