The creature lifted her head, met Wylde’s gaze with serpent eyes, and dropped it lifelessly to the ground once again. Wylde knelt beside her, her hands cupping the wounds, willing energy through her palms, the same magic that helped her shift. Her skill was little, nothing like a Healer’s, and she knew by the flinch in her mind that she could never do enough to save the hound.
“I’m sorry…”
“Cage…” whispered the dragon-dog in her mind, eyes lolling back in her head, forked tongue peeking out from massive jaws. Wylde didn’t need to touch the hound to know she was quickly fading.
“Silver dungeon. Chains. Fight, bloody.”Her words were soft as Wylde stroked down the fur on her face with careful fingers. “Many lost. Souls burned…”
The hound’s eyes fluttered shut. Her breathing hitched. Wylde picked up the spiked head in her hands, looking deep into those slitted eyes—dragon eyes. The dog was some sort of freak mutation. She reeked with the scent of another hound, spicy and hateful. And then beneath that, faint, was the smell of the Barren. A human born without power. Wylde growled low. The dragon-dog took a shuddering breath.
“Slave boy. Traitor feeds us, then fights us.” Then her eyes glassed over and her ghost split from her body. It looked at Wylde, standing proud, as if it knew Wylde could see it. Then it disappeared into the mist.
Anger gripped Wylde’s suddenly tired heart, willing her to be strong. Stroking the dragon-hound’s ear once, she stood and lifted both hands to her nose, breathing in the scents on her fingertips.
One of the Barren had done this. He had enslaved her kin, pitted them against one another. For what? Spectator sport? She snarled and followed the hound’s scent on foot, running until she reached the edge of a brightly lit city of steel, decorated with hovering signs, advertising the next best thing. The speakers beneath them chattered on about their product and what ‘they might do for you.’
Wylde paused, knowing the dangers of the Shining Cities, then pressed on.
It wasn’t as if she’d never been this far from the Vanla before; she and Bluff used to make a game out of coming to the Districts. They’d played pretend, watching the humans mingle with one another, taking in their odd accents and slang words. But for every four humans, void of any magical talent, there was a Mage.
And after years of war, it was the Magi that made Wylde cautious.
She walked through the city on pins and needles, her body tense and her ears keen. Unlike in the desert, the night was far from silent. Music thrummed loudly from open windows, the rattle of exhaust coming from the metal beasts whizzing past on the road. The humans called them cars. People laughed, voracious and cackling, and someone shouted angry words. Wylde kept her head high, striding through the city like she owned it, though her heart was clubbing loudly in her ears.
She lost the boy’s scent twice before picking it up again two blocks over, where it was stronger than ever before. Padding behind a building, her bare feet sore from the asphalt, she found herself looking at a large ring with tall walls wired with silver mesh. The stench of blood was strong here and the vivid touch of memory-pain in her mind was enough to tell her that this was where the fights, if not the deaths, had happened.
She tested the air, but the Barren boy wasn’t around. In fact, his scent ended at the face of a brick wall. Wylde pressed her palms against the yellow graffiti painted across the surface and pushed, but she was only greeted by a crackle of magic. It hummed against her palms and her own powers rose up to battle it.
Wait a minute. Barren humans didn’t have power of any sort.
The hair on the back of her neck spiked up and she breathed in. He didn’t smell like a Mage, of raw power and sugar cane. He stunk of sweat and frustration and leather. Wylde frowned and backed away, right into the fencing which rattled from the nudge of her weight. She saw streaks of blood and paw prints through the mesh and quickly looked away before her mind could conjure up images of war. It scratched her nerves until they were raw.
Could the Barren become Gifted? Was that even a possibility? Her mind swirled with questions, but the only one she needed was: Will the boy come back through this wall the same way he went in? She looked it up and down, then quickly changed forms and flew to the top of the building with the best view. Perching there, she let the shift recede until only her claws were left, letting her nerves simmer on the backburner.
She wouldn’t close her eyes until the Barren boy came from the other side of the wall. Then? Then she would serve the appropriate punishment for killing the dragonkin among the Kiir’vanan: She would kill him.
***
Kascien couldn’t get the image of that drakehound out of his head, even as he tossed and turned, his long legs tangling with the sheet mopping up the sweat beading on his skin. He couldn’t get that final look she’d shot him—the ‘you’ll get what’s coming to you’ look—out from behind his mind’s eye. He pressed the butts of his palms into his eyes, pushing hard enough to see stars.
“Damnit.”
His bed was merely a cot pushed up against the farthest wall of the Kennel. Even though the outside air held a bit of chill to it, the only windows in the place were at the very top and the heat of the sun had baked on the roof all day. The Magi really needed to pool their magic together to cool this damned place. He sat up and fisted the sheets.
What if everything he was doing for them, choice or no choice, was in vain? What if the drakehounds, in all of their stubborn, mutated glory, couldn’t find a single dragon? The Sovereign would be furious.
No. More than furious. He’d probably kill all the beasts and Kascien too, for failure to succeed. Kascien scowled in the darkness, his back pressed up against the wall. Even the wall was hot.
All around him, the hounds paced in their cages, back and forth, pushing their noses through the silver bars for as long as they could stand it. Then they retreated to the back of their cages to lick the welts raised on their muzzles. Most of them were still healing from past fights. The Sovereign had said that the strongest dogs in battle would have the strongest senses, the strongest magic and ability to hunt when it came time.
Although it was common knowledge that the dragons had mostly retreated to the desert land of Vanla, to seek the safety of particular clan of people willing to protect them, Kascien knew some dragons still braved the Districts. Maybe not the cities themselves, but the forests around the edges where wildlife was plentiful. But dragons were wily and wise—they shielded themselves with their magic, making them invisible to human eyes. Even Mage eyes.
But perhaps not drakehound eyes. The Magi’s hounds would see them, Kascien was sure, if only because of the dragon’s blood coursing through their veins. The big question was: If the drakehounds successfully hunted down a dragon, would they stand and fight the creature, bring it down until the Sovereign could do whatever he wanted to the beasts? Or would they turn on their masters to protect kin?
Kascien stood and tugged on his pants, his bare feet padding across smooth cement as he flicked on the lights. All the drakehounds’ eyes snapped to him, narrowing at the blast of fluorescents. Some uttered reproachful growls as they came to the front of their cages.
His eyes fell to the cage in the back, which housed two growing pups with nubby spikes jutting from their backs. Their paws were too large for their short legs. They were spawned from the strongest male and female in the Kennel; a few of the Magi considered them to be stronger than their parents, future greatness.
Kascien didn’t think they would make it. The previous litter of pups had been much bigger than these two runts, even the females. These pups, save the claws and spikes, resembled more hound than dragon and they were calm, watching him with docile cow-eyes. Hardly the eyes of a killer mutant.
He knelt down beside the bars. The smaller of the two males pushed past his brother and pressed his muzzle into Kascien’s outstretched hand. His face was thin enough that he didn’t get burned by the silver and the boy watched as his tail began
to wiggle.
The other pup was wary, but upon seeing his brother’s ear being scratched, quickly let go of his fear long enough to have a turn. Kascien’s lips twitched into a forbidden smile as he stood. The pups barked at the gate for a moment before curling up with each other in the back.
No, these two definitely weren’t winners. He hated to admit that, as cute as they were. It made him want to take them out and set them free…but what did puppies know about life in the wild? They’d get eaten by who-knew-what. But at least they wouldn’t grow up to learn kill or be killed. Kascien rued the day that they were strong enough to fight each other. Then he’d have to burn them…
He turned away, his smile fading as he reached for his Portal chalk. He drew his way back into the alley without a moment’s hesitation; it wasn’t like the Magi could keep him locked up like one of their hounds. He was free to go anywhere, as long as he returned. If he didn’t, they’d hunt him down. He knew that for a fact. He’d been a foolish child.
Sketching the pentagram, he barked out his orders and slipped through the Portal to the other side. The air was crisp against his sweat-damp skin and he wished he’d had the mind to come out here earlier. It was a shame he couldn’t set up his cot out here, but who knew when it would storm with Fabiana’s fickle weather. He took a breath in, smelling for rain, but only registering the scent of blood.
His first reaction was to glance at the ring—empty, the blood there dried. Something flickered at the corner of his eye and he stiffened, jerking his head up just in time to see a black shadow lunge at him. Cool hands pinned his arms to his sides, a weight slamming him backwards. He felt himself fall, felt his head snap back against the brick with a sharp crack. His vision dimmed around the edges as he struggled to free himself. His attacker drug him to the ground and a low, animal growl sounded in the air.
He froze. For a moment.
“What the hell?” He found himself looking into the shadowed face of a girl, her features sharp instead of soft, with high cheekbones and raised lips, complete with a set of jagged fangs. Her hair was long and dark, a snarled mess around her face. She couldn’t have been more than a few months older than his sixteen, though her aura—which was one of the things he could feel thanks to his little spark of power—radiated a strength wiser than her years.
He kicked at her. She sat on him. Her eyes narrowed.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” He spat at her and missed. “You can’t just maul anyone whenever you feel like it. What if I’d been a Mage? You’d be dead right now, thank you very much!”
The girl snorted. “If you’d have been a Mage, I would’ve smelled your reek and never came close enough to let you touch me.” Her voice was edged with ice sharper than the claws digging into his wrists, which were now pinned about his head. “Instead I find vermin among a filthy city, killing my kin for sport. Do you know the penalty for that, Barren One?”
Kascien’s head throbbed from where it had hit the brick. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “And frankly, you’ll find I don’t give a damn!”
Her hands let his wrists go, only to slip around his neck, fingers trailing claws caressingly gentle across his cheek. Then they dug into his flesh. He felt a stab of pain and then the heat of his own blood rising to the surface.
“It’s you who fights the hounds,” she murmured, leaning close enough to press her nose into the bare skin of his shoulder. She breathed in deep, then growled. “I smelled you on her and tracked you here. You killed her.”
The drakehounds. How had she found out? His head ached as he tried to sort through his thoughts, but it was like sifting through molasses. Had she found the loser?
“Look, I’m just doing my job. I can’t get out of it; it’s an order I can’t refuse.”
The Sovereign had made that point clear to him, anyway. He alone was in charge of the Kennel and its incarcerated inhabitants. It was his task and if he bailed, it didn’t matter how far he ran. They would find him, track him down by the spells wrought into his skin, and flay him within an inch of his life. Then they would feed him to the hounds—alive—piece by piece, and that just wasn’t the sort of death he was excited about.
“The hound said you burn them,” the girl said, her voice deadly quiet. “Is this true? Why do you hurt them? Don’t you have respect for the dragons?”
He grimaced, thinking about the pups fated to die. By his hands.
“It’s not about respect,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “It’s about duty. Yes, I burn the losers. I have to. It’s an order. Haven’t you been a slave before?” He paused, then sneered at her. “Probably not, you look like a rich little bitch.”
Her eyes narrowed and he noticed they were liquid silver, her pupils thin slits.
“I know of duty, Barren filth. My duty is to finish you off. Yet…” She huffed, easing backwards, letting up off the pressure on his throat. She looked down at her claws, studying them. Kascien saw a shimmer of iridescent scales across her hand, quickly absorbed into the tanned flesh of her skin, and he frowned.
Was she some sort of…dragon child? An untamed Magi experiment gone wrong?
Bile rose in his throat. In her mind, he’d been murdering her kin without reason.
She traced her fingers across the inscriptions hewn into his throat and shoulder. “You bear Magi markings.”
He remembered that day vividly. He’d been five, recently orphaned with nowhere to go. The Magi had tested him, to see how powerful he was, only to be disgusted with what they found. He didn’t have even an eighth of their magic, though he was of their guards’ blood.
He was tossed to the Sovereign’s pity—to which there was none—and branded a slave. It had been a long, painful process involving fiery irons burning spells into his skin. He’d screamed for mercy, but there’d been none given.
Kascien scowled. “Not by choice. I’d rather have the shittiest job in the world than work for them. At least then, maybe I’d get paid.”
The girl leapt to her feet with the grace of a striking cobra, straightening out the white silk shift she wore. Its hem was soaked in darkness. Blood? She stared down at Kascien when he didn’t move, waving her arm in an impatient ‘get up’ motion.
He groaned and ambled to his feet, standing warily across from her. She crossed her arms in front of her chest—which, he found, was ample enough—and looked at the brick wall he’d emerged from.
“If you’re human, slave, how did you come through this wall?”
“Magic,” he said drily. She stared at him, unimpressed. No sense of humor. He pulled out the chalk and offered it to her. She stared at it and met his eyes and he shoved it into her hands. “It’s magic chalk. You can go anywhere with this baby.”
She peered at it for a moment, holding it between two fingers, then thrust it back at his chest. “Then work it. Take me to the dragonkin.” She meant the drakehounds. He scowled and shook his head. She nodded fervently and held up a row of claws, gleaming sharp in the darkness. “Do it, vermin boy.”
“I take orders from no one,” he snapped back, his ire rising. If anything, the dragon girl looked shocked that he, a worthless slave, would deny her request. But he held his ground.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he stood still as a statue, setting his jaw. She glared at him, at his hand that now held the chalk, then at the brick wall. She uttered a string of words that he didn’t recognize. Another language? Dragonese?
“Excuse me?”
She shot him a glare, looking him in the eye. “Dragons are wise creatures and hounds are loyal. Their kind doesn’t belong behind bars. With or without you, I’m going to set them free.” Her words were spoken bluntly, simply; she was obviously used to throwing her weight around.
Kascien merely snorted. “Over my dead body.”
Chapter Three
The boy just stood there, as defiant as a child. She frowned, confused. Clearly her word meant nothing to him, her order falling u
pon deaf ears. He didn’t get it. Dragonkin needed to be in the wild; they were the Wise Ones. Why didn’t he get it?
She snarled and slammed her fists against the wall, then raked both hands through her hair, pulling at snags hard enough to rip them out. How could she get a simple human to understand?
She hissed air between her teeth and began to pace, her eyes darting up every few moments to sneak a peek at the slave boy. He was motionless, unresponsive to her behavior, as if her show of temper was normal. When he caught her eye, she sneered at him, a low growl trickling up her throat.
She strode back and forth in front of the wall, from the ring to the edge of the bricks, trying to come up with a plan. If she could just convince him that her kin needed saving…maybe he’d help her. But he didn’t have to and he knew it. She needed to figure out a way to make him choose to help her.
Or she could kill him. She wasn’t hungry, but it’d been a morbid curiosity of hers to know what human tasted like. This brought a wicked curve to her lips and she flicked her tongue across them.
“So what the hell are you, anyways?” He spoke calmly, as if it was natural for one of the Kiir’vanan to pace inside the walls of enemy territory.
Wylde narrowed her eyes. “What, they keep you so sheltered that you’ve never heard of a Wyvern before?”
“They wouldn’t shelter me even if I were a child of prophecy, thanks,” he sneered back, icing over once more.
Wylde hissed. She was never going to get on his good side if they couldn’t quit bickering like hatchlings. But she was so angry and he was so…strange. Strange didn’t even cut it. He was some sort of human, not Magi but Gifted enough to use that chalk. And he claimed he was a slave? Was he that weak? Or perhaps they feared him, so they enslaved him.
That thought made her chuckle—the Magi didn’t fear anyone. They should. A healthy dose of fear was good for you.
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