Dragonbound

by Chelsea M. Campbell

  I imagine all that, but I don’t actually feel anything. Well, unless feeling like I might collapse counts, but as far as magic goes, I’ve got nothing.

  “You have to want it,” Celeste says.

  “You’ve been telling me that all day. It’s not helping.”

  “And you haven’t been listening.”

  I sigh and press my palms against my eyes, trying to remember why I ever thought this was a good idea. It’s just making me feel worse about my situation, and Celeste telling me that I’m a failure because I don’t want it enough? It’s like saying I’m choosing to be old-man bait. Or worse, like I’m not guilty enough for what happened to Mother.

  “Again,” Celeste says, even sterner this time, though she must be getting tired, too.

  “It’s late,” I tell her. “You have to get up early tomorrow, for the hunt. And this is obviously not working.”

  “I’m not giving up, and neither should you.”

  I shake my head and slouch down on one of the wooden benches, my body sore and stiff. This rock-hard bench isn’t exactly the most comfortable place I’ve ever sat, but right now it feels infinitely better than staying on my feet. “I’ve tried. I really have. But we’ve been at this all day, and now all night, and I don’t have it in me to keep pretending anything’s going to happen.”

  “You just have to—”

  “What? Want it more?” I glare at her. “It doesn’t matter how much I want it. I don’t feel anything. I just . . . I don’t have magic, okay?”

  Celeste sits down next to me. I think she’s going to lecture me some more, but she stays silent for a minute, then says, “Do you know why that dragon’s locked up in our dungeon? Do you know why I didn’t want you even talking to him?”

  “Maybe because he’s a dragon?” It all sounds pretty self-explanatory to me.

  “Right, but it’s more than that. He’s also a liar. A con artist. The kind of criminal whose weapons are words and trickery. You can’t trust a single thing he says.”

  “And you think I’m so stupid that I’d . . . what? Let him go if he asked me nicely enough?” I roll my eyes at her. “There’s nothing he could ever say to make that happen.”

  “He’s responsible for the deaths of hundreds of paladins. He’s infiltrated cities up and down the countryside—ones with stronger forces than ours. He charms his way in and wins their trust, and then, once he knows their weaknesses, the purple dragons invade. They’ve taken out several paladin settlements.”

  I swallow, suddenly feeling sick. “They what? How long has this been going on?”

  Celeste looks away. “A couple years.” She clears her throat. “Almost three.”

  I gape at her. “And you never told me?”

  “We didn’t want to scare you.”

  We. So it wasn’t just my sister who thought she needed to protect me. Is that why Torrin knew just how dangerous Amelrik was? Because he’d known about his crimes for years? “But you said Amelrik’s from Hawthorne clan. The purple dragons are from Elder. Are you saying he’s working with them?” That doesn’t make sense. I mean, it would explain how he knew Lothar, but not why he wanted to kill him. “I thought you said those two clans weren’t on good terms.”

  “I did. Their history is . . . complicated.” She looks away as she says it, and I know she’s leaving something out, either because she thinks I won’t understand or because she thinks it’ll scare me. Either reason kind of pisses me off. “And anyway,” she goes on, “it hasn’t happened for a while. Nearly six months now.”

  “I could have handled it. I can handle it.”

  “You never leave the barracks. Not since . . .”

  “Since I pretty much killed our mother? Yeah, I noticed.”

  “Vee, you didn’t kill her. It wasn’t your fault.”

  It’s not my fault that I couldn’t save our mother from a dragon, but it is my fault that I don’t have magic, because I don’t want it badly enough? “Yeah, right.”

  “I mean it. There was nothing you could have done, except get yourself killed, too. You have to stop beating yourself up about it, because it’s not healthy, living like this. Never leaving the barracks. But if this is the only place you feel safe, then I didn’t want you thinking dragons were going to show up at any moment and murder us all in our beds.”

  “Then why are you telling me now?”

  “Because if you know just how dangerous that criminal is, then maybe you can picture what it would be like if he got out. If he was after you, and the only thing separating you from certain death was your magic, then maybe you could do it. I thought if the danger felt real, then maybe the magic would, too.”

  “The danger felt real when Mother died. When that dragon transformed out of nowhere and ripped her to shreds. I couldn’t do anything then. What makes you think I can do it now?”

  “That was a long time ago. And it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. We have to keep trying. There’s not always going to be someone around to protect you. The only way you’re ever really going to feel safe is if you can rely on yourself.”

  She says it like she thinks I don’t already know that. “Fine. Let’s try this again.” I heave myself up from the bench, stretching my arms and yawning.

  “Close your eyes,” Celeste says as I approach the dais. “Imagine that Amelrik’s escaped. That he’s hunting you through these halls, invading the one place you thought was safe. He’s stronger and faster than you, and his senses are sharper. And he’s got magic. He’s going to transform into the monster he really is. One swipe of his claw could gut you. One fiery breath could roast you alive.”

  A shiver runs down my spine. I try to stay focused on the scenario Celeste is laying out for me, but instead of imagining what it would feel like to be sliced open, I can’t help replaying Amelrik’s words from earlier.

  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.

  And, of course, my favorite: I’ve always had a soft spot for virgins.

  I remember the smirk on his face as he said that, and rage boils inside me. Amelrik doesn’t know the first thing about me. Well, except for the virgin thing, but that’s not any of his business. I didn’t ask him to save me, if that’s even what he did, and I certainly don’t owe him anything.

  I’m tired of needing people to save me. Whether it’s Celeste or Torrin, or now even a freaking dragon. I’m tired of them all thinking I’m helpless.

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

  My hands clench around the dragon ring. I grit my teeth so hard I feel like they’re going to break. I squeeze the iron collar like it’s Amelrik’s scrawny neck.

  There’s a flash of red. A spark that arcs between my hands, then fizzles out and disappears. I wouldn’t even be sure I really saw it—maybe thinking about Amelrik made me just that pissed that I was actually seeing red—but a hint of sulfur lingers in the air.

  Magic.

  I drop the ring and jump back, as if it bit me. It lands on the dais with a clatter, looking like an ordinary piece of iron. Not enchanted. But . . .

  “I felt it.” I gulp in air like I don’t remember how to breathe. Every nerve in my body is alive and on fire and not sure how to feel.

  It was just a spark, but it was magic. Real magic.

  Celeste’s mouth is hanging open. Despite all her pep talks, she obviously can’t believe it. Then she shrieks with joy and grabs me in a hug.

  “I did it,” I say, hardly able to believe it myself. I’m not a dud. All the St. George genes didn’t pass me by. And if I did it once, maybe I can do it again.

  And maybe I won’t have to get married in two weeks.

  6

  YOU’RE NO PALADIN

  The next evening, I march down to the dungeon and straight to Amelrik’s cell. I yawn, still tired from staying up until almost sunrise, even though I slept until late afternoon. A fact that got me a stern talkin
g-to from Father, since apparently I was supposed to have lunch with Lord Varrens.

  I told him me missing my hot lunch date was probably for the best, since I didn’t think I could sit so close to my future husband without ripping his clothes off right then and there. And think how scandalous that would be. Then Father turned an ugly shade of purply-red and started shouting at me to go to my room.

  I wanted to tell him about my success last night, even if it was just a spark. But just a spark isn’t a spell. It doesn’t automatically make me paladin material, and, anyway, it only happened once. No matter how many times I pictured Amelrik’s stupid face telling me how he saved my life, I couldn’t re-create my success.

  Which is why I’m here in the dungeon, getting fresh material. That, and there’s something thrilling about defying my sister’s orders not to talk to him again.

  Celeste would kill me if she knew where I was. But she left at the crack of dawn with a group of paladins to go hunt down Lothar. She’s miles away by now. And even if they catch him right away and come home early . . . Well, she’ll be too tired from staying up all night and too happy about hanging his head on the wall to be mad at me. At least, not too mad. And Amelrik might be dangerous, but he’s collared and behind bars. What’s he going to do to me?

  “You really are one to talk,” I say, recalling my conversation with him, my voice echoing off the dungeon walls. “You’re surprised I’m alive? You barely survived that encounter with Lothar. And you got captured by paladins. Great job on that. I’ve been thinking, and I’m pretty sure the reason you didn’t transform is because you’re a coward. In human form, you could blend into the crowd. As a dragon, you would have been an easy target, for Lothar and for us.”

  I pause, but there’s no response.

  “Did you hear me? I said you’re a coward. At least Lothar tried to fight—all you did was run.”

  Still nothing. I stand in front of Amelrik’s cell, not getting too close, but unable to see much inside except shadows. Is there even anyone in there?

  And then I’m thinking about the scenario Celeste was concocting last night. About Amelrik getting free and roaming the halls, coming after me . . .

  Maybe coming down here was stupider than I thought. I glance at his cell door, making sure it’s closed and locked. Every little sound has me on edge, even just my shoe scuffing against the stone floor, and for a moment I convince myself that he’s somehow gotten free and is right behind me, all claws and teeth, ready to grab me from the shadows and rip me apart.

  I clench my fists and get ahold of myself. Even if he did somehow escape, he’d still have the dragon ring on. And if he wanted me dead, he could have let Lothar kill me the other night. I refuse to let my imagination get the better of me, and I move closer to the cell door.

  A hand snatches at the bars from the other side, scaring me half to death. I scream and jump back, ready to run. And then I notice the hand is covered in blood.

  Amelrik groans as he slowly pulls himself to his feet. He has a black eye and a bloody lip, but it looks like those are the least of his injuries.

  “Virgin,” he whispers, and there’s a catch in his throat, like he’s so relieved to see someone, even me, that he might cry.

  “It’s Virginia,” I mutter, glancing away.

  “You’re here to torture me with words now, is that it?”

  “I-I shouldn’t have—I have to go.”

  “No, stay.” The word comes out desperate, urgent.

  The skin around the dragon ring has turned an even deeper red, almost purple, while the ring itself glows like an ember. Every breath has him wincing, though he tries to hide it, and I wonder what other injuries he must have, hidden from my view. His pain makes me uncomfortable, and part of me wants to run and not have to be here, and part of me wishes there was something I could do to help him.

  Guilt snakes through my chest. Both for feeling any sympathy for him—he’s a dragon, after all, and a wanted criminal—and for coming down here to antagonize him.

  “It’s okay,” he says, his voice strained. “You don’t have to look at me.”

  My guilt flares up another notch, and I force myself to meet his gaze. “I know what you did, to get in here. To deserve this.”

  A short burst of laughter escapes him, then quickly turns into a cough that leaves blood flecked across his lips. “And don’t all dragons ‘deserve’ this in your eyes?”

  “You’re responsible for the deaths of hundreds of paladins.” And even if the dragon ring blocks him from using his magic, he’ll still heal faster than a normal person would. His suffering won’t make up for what he’s done—not that it ever could.

  “Am I up to the hundreds now? I’ve lost count.”

  “That’s it. I’m leaving.” I turn to go.

  “Wait!” He pauses, racked by coughing. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “Your family’s killed just as many of my kind. Why does that make me the criminal? I’ve never so much as had blood on my hands.” He looks down at them, dried blood filling the lines in his palms, and laughs. “Unless this counts.”

  He’s losing it. I feel a twinge of pity, a little warm spot in my chest I know shouldn’t be there. But I can’t help it.

  When he looks up at me, his expression withers, his mouth a thin line. “Don’t,” he says, his voice suddenly cold, his green eyes flashing in anger. His lip curls in a sneer. “Don’t you dare look at me like that. I don’t need your pity. If that’s how you’re going to be, then you can just go.”

  I arch my eyebrows at him. “I don’t need your permission to stay or to leave. I’m not the prisoner here. And I don’t pity dragons. A dragon killed my mother. He ripped her to shreds right in front of me. So don’t think I could ever pity you, even for a moment.” Even if maybe I was, just a little.

  His mouth hangs partway open, as if he’s about to say something, but then he keeps quiet. I can see his teeth. Maybe it’s my imagination, but they look slightly sharper than human teeth should. He starts to speak, then has another coughing fit instead. He moves his hand up to cover his mouth, and when he draws it back, I can see blood. His eyes water, and he holds very still, as if the slightest movement will cause him excruciating pain. When he can finally speak again he says, “Have they killed him yet?” His voice is little more than a rasp.

  I just stare at him, conflicting thoughts fighting in my head. “That doesn’t sound good,” I whisper.

  “It’s nothing. And it’s nothing compared to what Lothar’s going to get. Just tell me if they’ve killed him.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then you’re useless to me.”

  “Why do you want him dead?”

  He flinches, as if my question hurt more than his injuries. “You smell worse today,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “You stink like magic. It’s making me sick.”

  “I’m going to take that as a compliment. I’m a paladin, after all, and you’re a—”

  He scoffs. “You’re no paladin. Not really. If you were, they wouldn’t have been marrying you off.”

  I glare at him. “Oh, yeah? And what about you? Getting my sister to fight your enemies for you? Funny that you wouldn’t transform the other night, not even to get away, to save your life. Maybe you’re not really even a dragon.”

  Something snaps in him—I can see it in his eyes—and then he lunges at the door. I jump back just as he slams against it, his hands grabbing the bars. Then his injuries catch up with him, and he cries out in agony.

  My blood freezes in my veins at the sound. It feels like my heart stops, and I wonder why I’m still here, why I haven’t left yet.

  He wraps his arms around himself and bites his bloody lip.

  “Amelrik?” I whisper, after my nerves have calmed down and I feel brave enough to speak.

  “If I were in my true form, this would be nothing. Nothing. I’d heal up like that.”

  “But you’re not,” I remind him, even though it’s obvious.

&
nbsp; “You shouldn’t be talking to me,” he says, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near me.”

  “Yeah, well, the last thing I need is yet another person telling me what to do.”

  “If this door wasn’t here, if this ring wasn’t around my neck . . .”

  “But they are.”

  “And when they’re not . . . you stay away from me, Virginia St. George.” He swallows and looks me in the eyes, dead serious. “You stay as far away from me as possible.”

  7

  FLUENT IN BEING HUMAN

  I run back to the Ceremonial Room where the iron dragon ring still lies on the dais, Amelrik’s words fresh in my head.

  You stay away from me.

  I grip the ring with both hands and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to conjure up my feelings from last night, the ones that made me angry enough to find my spark. He said I stink, that I’m useless, that I’m not even a paladin. All these things should piss me off. And they do, but . . .

  My thoughts flick back to the other thing he said. About when he’s free of that cell and of that ring around his neck. A dark shiver prickles up my spine and settles heavy in my chest. What did he mean? There’s no way he could escape, and even if he did . . .

  He was coughing up blood. He could barely stand. Maybe what he said was the pain talking, just the ramblings of a mad dragon with nothing to lose.

  I force myself to take a deep breath and focus my thoughts. The dragon ring feels solid and reassuring in my hands. He was just trying to intimidate me, that’s all. He’s not going to get free. I saw him attack that door—and I heard his screams afterward. Maybe he’s a liar, but his screams were real. There’s no way he could get out, or get that ring off. Only a St. George can remove it, and that’s not going to happen.

  Celeste’s warning creeps into my thoughts. He’s also a liar. A con artist. The kind of criminal whose weapons are words and trickery. But I push it away, making a mental note not to tell her where I was tonight. Not that I was going to anyway.

  He said I should stay away from him.