He took a deep breath, bracing himself for pain once more. It never came, although the Sovereign’s fingers twitched. He shook his head. “No, of course you don’t, sir. I’m just…curious about the Wyvern. I’ve never seen a dragon, not past the drakehounds.”
“You know what they say about curiosity.”
Curiosity killed the cat. Yeah, that was just about right. “Yes, sir,” Kascien said, dropping his shoulders and turning away.
Vik cleared his throat. “He wouldn’t be in the way, sir. I don’t see the harm in letting a boy without magic into the wings of Esperidion. It’s not like he could do much. Besides, I would watch him.”
Kascien shot the twin a glance. To his surprise, the Sovereign nodded. “Fine, but only after his duties in the Kennel are fulfilled. Keep an eye on the rat—one move and he’s in a cell of his own and maybe we’ll cut him open and see what makes him tick.”
The Sovereign shot Kascien a warning glance, then waved them off. “Dismissed. I won’t say it again.”
“Sir,” both Kascien and Vik echoed, then they were off, striding down the hall at a brisk pace, leaving the Hall of Hell behind. As Kascien reached for his chalk to return to the Kennel, Vik pulled him back. His brows were furrowed, knitted together in a frown.
“I’m not sure why you’ve brought her to us, but whatever you’re planning on doing, I would warn against it. One wrong move and he’ll kill you, Kascien. Listen to your voice of reason—I know you have one somewhere in there. Heed my warning.”
Then he took his own chalk and Portaled out of there, leaving Kascien alone, the Mage’s words ringing in his head.
Heed his warning. Voice of reason.
Too bad he didn’t have one.
Chapter Four
Wylde came around to voices buzzing around her—harsh voices, all in a different accent—and her stomach dropped like a rock as danger sparked across her instincts. Darkness clouded her vision, shrouding her in a veil of shadows. Her heartbeat sped up, throbbing a dull ache in her head and she moved, trying to draw her hands up to her chest.
Something tugged them back down. She turned her head, straining to pick out words from the voices, but they were muffled, as if she were under water.
“Who’s there?” she barked in Vanlan and a chorus of laughter rose up. Dark laughter. Pleased laughter. Anger burned her cheeks and she began to struggle, thrashing her body back and forth. Her hands were clamped down somehow, her legs as well, but still she fought.
Something icy hot touched her side and she squealed. Gulping back fear, she willed her magic forth. It bubbled to her aid immediately, shielding her skin with a layer of scales, hard as diamonds. A mechanical grinding noise filled the air, putting pressure on her ribcage as something drilled through her armor, flaking it away. Pain rocketed through her as the heat seeped into her side. She screamed and bucked, begging in Vanlan for someone to hear her.
She couldn’t get their cruel laughter out of her mind.
Then darkness swallowed her whole.
When she opened her eyes next, the world swam before her, a glaringly bright canvas of fluorescents. It made her press her eyes shut as pain thrummed in her skull. She took a breath in, trying to ease the fear constricting her heart like a vice, and let it out.
She opened her eyes once more and took in the world. Everything was pristine: Bright white walls, ceilings, and floors; tiles that went on and on. It was similar to the Kiir’vanan sick wing, but cold and sterile. There were no Healers here. She felt tears burn behind her eyes and she shook her head.
No.
She would not let them see her cry. Gathering herself, she struggled to sit up, her body weak and weary. Heavy, despite her usual strength. She found her wrists wrapped in a silk sleeve, bound to the table by sterling cuffs that gleamed under the light. Every breath she took caused a flicker of pain, and for good reason—as she caught sight of her reflection in the glass wall, it took everything in her not to scream.
There were needles and tubes driven into her skin, feeding her body a vile blue liquid and taking from her precious dragonkin blood. Her hair had been sheared off; the tiny amount of dark stubble that remained made her look like a war victim. Her head had a long, stapled gash running from ear to forehead. It was swollen and red around the edges.
Her mind was sluggish, but she forced thoughts through, slow as molasses. Where was she? She knew that she had to know, but she couldn’t quite grasp the thread of reality dangling before her. So she backtracked; there was that slave boy with the warrior’s name. Kascien. Stubborn as a drake in mud.
But he’d agreed to take her to the dragon-dogs. Their voices rang in her memories, beautiful baying hounds trapped behind bars of silver. Yes. She was going to set them free…and then? Pain. Agony. Something had grabbed her, forced her into submission, a power so strong she couldn’t rebel against it, try as she might.
Magi. Strong ones.
Her breath hitched as all hope sank out of her. She wouldn’t return home now. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t choose her own prince. She would never have the chance. They would keep her, their wicked little dragon slave. Perhaps they would fight her, like they fought those poor hounds.
She grimaced, resting her head back against the cool metal of the table. Why should she fight? Again tears threatened to spill, but she reined her emotions in, pulling on her resolve, iron strong and thick, just like her scales. They would not break her. Oh, they would definitely try. But she wouldn’t let them. She would die first.
She stared up at the ceiling, focusing on just breathing and counting her heartbeats until the murmuring voices behind the glass wall were gone and the room was cast in darkness. Wylde calmed herself by uttering silent prayers to the Goddess, prayers that her clan wouldn’t come looking for her. She hoped they wouldn’t attempt to trade with the vicious beings who held her hostage. She was their princess, but she prayed they would not be foolish enough to cross the desert to find her.
The Magi would never let her go, not even as a bartering tool. The last trade her father had attempted with the Magi had resulted in one of their dragons lost and one of their warriors slain by a Mage’s blade. He had fallen before he could take two steps into safety, into their waiting arms. Dropped like a rock, pierced through the heart. It had taken both Elders’ will to not let her father dive headlong into war like he’d wanted to.
Would his daughter’s kidnapping start another?
Her mind was reactive now, spinning from topic to topic like a spider threading a web.
Kascien. Kascien, the slave boy who she’d been willing to help. She thought him weak, although he’d made up for that in willpower. She’d seen the look in his eyes when she’d offered to help him, filled with hope, but not daring to believe it.
An eye for an eye—the dragon-dogs’ release for his own. He had used his chalk, drew the Portal and led her in. Before she could escape, she was attacked by a pair of Magi laying in wait. She could still feel remnants of their power ripping through her very soul, contesting with her own magic before knocking her out. She didn’t want to believe it, but she had to.
Kascien was a traitor. The whole thing had been a trap. He’d lured her into the Shining City, he’d drug her through that Portal, and now look where she was. Her father had told her the Barren were no good. Wylde’s lip rose just thinking about the boy, but it hurt worse knowing he’d acted so…innocent.
Panic rising, she began to chant prayers once more, finding them safer than the deep recesses of her own mind.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Wylde lifted her head, straining against the bonds as her ears perked to attention. The room was mostly dark, but a rim of green light ran around the base of the room, glowing upwards onto the tile and glass walls. Still, a Wyvern didn’t need light to see.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Wylde’s eyes scanned the room before landing on the glass plate wall that separated her from the rest of the world.
And standing there, p
ressed against the glass as he cupped hands around his eyes, peering in at her with a solemn expression on his face, was the traitor.
“Kascien,” she growled out, her own voice ragged in her ears. He couldn’t have heard her, but he must’ve because his lips began to move. Silently. There was no echo of muffled sound.
It took her a moment to read his lips and when she did, she felt both excitement and dread well up all at once. Was he a traitor or wasn’t he? He needed to make up his damned mind. She narrowed her eyes at him and he offered a hesitant smile.
“I will get you out of there,” said his lips. Then his head jerked up, his eyes focusing on something down the hall, and he was gone.
Wylde settled back against the metal table, keeping her naturally cool body chilled. She would’ve much preferred her nest back home, curled into the arms of Havoc and her back pressed against Midna’s own, with the comfort of their touch only seconds away. Her mind lingered on thoughts of the Nest—her home. The place where she’d been born and raised, the place she loved and she found herself aching with homesickness as the minutes ticked on.
How was Kascien going to get her out of here? He was nothing to the Magi—he said so himself. He was their slave. He had no power and he probably didn’t have their trust.
She shook her head, wishing she could scratch the itch starting on her head wound, her fingers curling into claws that bit into her palms. If only she wasn’t so weak. Her entire body felt wobbly, as if her flesh was falling away from her muscles in clumps. And she was skittish, her body twitching at nothing in particular, eyes darting around the silent room.
She watched a few lines rise and blip on a monitor anchored to the wall, wondering why humans had to rely on their technology so much. Resting her head back against the metal, she forced her eyes to close, forced thoughts out of her mind. As much as she hated to admit it, she had to cling to Kascien’s words.
He was her only hope.
***
Vik stood at the end of the hall in Wylde’s wing, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Kascien ducked his head and left the Wyvern’s room behind, praying that somehow he could actually fulfill his mouthed words to the girl. Praying that he could get them both out of this hell hole. He fell into step beside Vik, keeping his eyes locked on the tiles that they crossed, making sure never to step on a crack, even if his mother was long dead.
“Why does she interest you, boy?” Vik finally asked, clamping a hand down around Kascien’s shoulder. It made the boy pause, swinging his head up so that his eyes met Vik’s dark ones.
“I dunno. She’s…different. She seemed strong, at least when I spoke with her.” Not that she could do a damned thing with her arms pinned down by metal claws. He’d have to figure out a way to unlatch them without anyone seeing. He gave a shrug. “She tried to kill me, but I guess she couldn’t do it, in the end.”
“So the dragon child has compassion for a slave?” Vik snorted softly. They continued down the hall, neither of them in a big hurry. “Just make sure you don’t offer compassion back to the creature, Kascien. She spared you once, but you might not be so lucky come next time. Wyverns are strong and you are, well...” He frowned and Kascien heard his unspoken opinion.
“If she attacks you…” He reached into his coat, pulling out a thin dagger with a sleekly curved steel blade. The handle was wrapped in worn, tanned leather and the butt of the hilt housed a large ruby. “Kill her. No remorse.”
Kascien blinked, staring at the outstretched dagger for a moment. Slaves weren’t allowed to wield weapons—it was a rule made by the Sovereign. Cautiously, he reached out and took the blade. He found it warm against his hand as he slid it into his belt, covering it with the hem of his shirt.
“The Sovereign won’t be pleased if he find out you gave me a weapon. I could kill him.”
Vik’s eyes widened a fraction before he let out a rumbling chuckle. “You wouldn’t get two steps into the room and he’d have you smashed against the floor hard enough to snap your spine, boy. Don’t even speak of ideas like that. You’ll get yourself in trouble.”
He paused. “Come tomorrow around noon and you’ll see what your dragon girl is capable of.” With that, he Portaled out of the corridor, leaving Kascien to his own devices. What did it matter if he was alone, in the end? The red eye of cameras tracked his every move.
It took all of his will to stay there and pull out his own chalk when all he wanted to do was run back to Wylde’s room and spring her now while no one was looking. But the halls were patrolled. Impulsively, he stuck his tongue out at the camera looking at him, then Portaled back to the Kennel.
The hounds paced the cement floors, baying at his arrival. Kascien fed them, then scooped up the massive piles they’d managed to crap out during a single day. He grumbled as he worked and for once, the hounds seemed wary of his existence, their beady eyes trained on the dagger at his belt. He laughed.
“What kind of dragon fears a simple blade? It’s not even silver, guys! Come on. Grow some balls.” Then he went back to scrubbing the floor.
With hands reeking of cleaner and drakehound dung under his fingernails, he found the washroom and stripped out of his sweaty clothes. They landed in a pile on the floor as he cranked the shower to scalding and got in. The water burned his back, but he didn’t turn it down—he just bathed quickly and got out, the steam filtering through the room into the Kennel like a fog.
He pulled on a clean pair of boxers and flopped down on his cot, kicking the sheet to the bottom, but fluffing his pillow. Lacing both hands behind his head, he began to think.
How to get her out of there? Hell. Step one: How to even get in to her? He slammed his head back against the pillow and groaned. It seemed damn near impossible. They wouldn’t let a slave in with no magic to protect himself should the wild dragon girl go off on him. But then again, he was just a slave; perhaps they might think it was better he get killed than one of them.
He fell asleep dreaming of their escape, of running far, far away from the city and Wylde flying them through the sky to the desert land of Vanla.
When he got to Esperidion the following day, people were streaking down the halls, shouting to one another. Panic sounded in his head and he walked as fast as he could to Wylde’s room. His heart jolted to a dead halt when he saw the metal exam table empty, tubes and wires dangling inches above the steel surface. The monitor read out a flat line.
Shit. Where could they’ve taken her? He bit back his panic and fisted his hands at his sides. He headed down different halls in the wing, finally following a nervous-looking doctor to a large window room.
There, crouched in the corner, was Wylde. Her fangs were bared at a Mage Kascien had never seen before in his life. She looked feral, untamed, and the Mage was grinning recklessly. He raised a finger and she shrieked, rising up and falling back, as if he were hurting her.
Kascien’s hands slammed against the glass, but no one seemed to see him. Even through the glass, he could hear Wylde’s frustrated cries as she paced the floor. She caught his gaze and froze, her eyes locked onto his. Everyone in the room turned to look at him and he frowned.
Then Wylde’s face transformed into a snarl once again. She lunged at the Mage, who had stopped to look at Kascien, and he was knocked off balance. They tumbled to the floor, flailing and screaming, and Kascien gaped as a pool of blood began to slick the white tile. Whose blood it was, he wasn’t sure. He pounded on the glass as people scrambled to pry them apart.
Shit! He gave a growl, grabbing his Portal chalk and praying he could get inside. Title. He needed the damn room’s name. There! Posted in tiny block letters was ‘Visitation Room 3’. He drew a sloppy pentagram and announced to the magic that he wanted through and he was surprised, but not shocked, as he fell headlong into the middle of the riot.
The Mage’s head bobbed back against the floor, his eyes wide and shocked. Kascien almost felt bad for him. And then he did something he probably shouldn’t have—he lunged straight
for the thrashing Wylde. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her to the ground, off the wounded man who was bleeding furiously now. He heard his name shrieked by a woman, but he held on tightly. Wylde struggled, raw power and coiled muscle in his arms, fighting to get free.
“Shh. Shh. Calm down, I’ve got you,” Kascien whispered into her ear.
She froze, as still as a block of ice. The screams petered out from her open mouth, edging into a low growl. Her quicksilver eyes narrowed at him in a ‘what the hell are you doing?’ look, but he didn’t say anything. He just held her tighter. She struggled as a man edged forwards and Kascien shot him a look.
“Get back, you idiot,” he snapped with more vehemence than he meant to come out. The man flinched, as if the words of a slave actually hurt him. Probably just bruised his stupid ego.
“Everyone out!” a dark-haired man commanded and people couldn’t get away fast enough. The wounded Mage was strapped to a stretcher and wheeled out, but the blood he’d left behind was soaking into the knees of Kascien’s jeans. The man’s gaze met Kascien’s bold stare.
“I know of you. You’re Haru’s boy.”
Kascien took a breath in and nodded. His grip on Wylde eased. In return, he felt her relax the tiniest bit.
“What the hell were you thinking? She’s wild! You didn’t see how she ripped Illumari apart with her claws? How immune she was to his magic?” The man sounded exasperated, but also excited.
Kascien looked down at Wylde, puzzled. She hadn’t looked immune. That Mage had been spelling her. The crackle of magic thick in the air proved it. He squared his shoulders at the man’s words. “She isn’t just some creature.” His voice was cold. “She’s part human, just like you. You stick her in a place she’s never been before and sic one of your dickhead Magi on her, how can you expect a different freaking result?”
“Are you protecting the Wyvern, boy?” His eyes narrowed. Kascien’s did as well. He met the man’s gaze evenly, ire rising within him like a wave, making him strong. Reckless, perhaps, but strong.
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