That’s when the flight of Wyverns dive-bombed the creatures with war cries and Kascien couldn’t help it: He dropped to his knees in the sand and prayed that Wylde’s father had had a change of heart.
Chapter Twelve
“Get up, fool child!” snapped a fair-haired Wyvern with a bastard sword drawn. She hacked away at the writhing, screaming form of the wounded wyrm. Kascien’s dagger was still embedded deep in the head, but the girl held the beast’s skull down with her foot and pried the blade from its body.
The dagger was slicked with blue blood, which she quickly wiped on her pants leg and thrust it in Kascien’s direction without a second look. Kascien fumbled with it, rising on shaky legs and backing away from the bloodshed splayed out in the sand before him.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, another young woman pulling him in her direction. Her green eyes were striking, but wary. He tried to smile, but exhaustion turned it into a frown and the woman hustled him along. He tried to pause, but feeling the sharpness of a blade at his back, decided against it.
When both wyrms were slain, the small gathering of Wyverns gathered around him. They were an odd group—short and tall, their skin sun-dark, their faces and arms littered with scars, and their clothes were patchy and worn. One of the youngest, no older than Kascien, wore an eye patch over one eye and scars made his lip naturally turn downwards at one corner. They looked like a pack of straggling feral dogs, all of them guarded and nervous. They were Wyvern, definitely…but not of the Kiir’vanan.
“Thanks,” Kascien managed, his voice trembling despite the deep breath he took to steady himself. “I…didn’t know about those things.”
“What are you, an idiot?” The girl with the bastard sword sneered at him.
“You’re Wyvern—why didn’t you take flight?”
“I hurt my arm, and—”
“He’s not only Wyvern. He reeks of Mage.”
“He didn’t use the magic that I sense?”
“But lookit here.” One of the males reached for Kascien’s hand, which still gripped the slender blade. “That’s Cashien Talovet’s dagger, I swear it upon my momma’s grave.”
“He’s hardly a warrior. He couldn’t even take down a pair of sandwyrms.”
Kascien’s head spun as the group talked amongst themselves like he wasn’t even there. He growled at the name. Cashien. Whoever he was, the dragons had seemed to think that he was him, too. Some sort of warrior. Kascien wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like it.
“What the hell are you talking about? One of my masters gave this to me back in Albany.” He swung the dagger, causing the group to ripple away out of instinct. He stuck it back in his belt and huffed.
“Master?”
“Of course, look at him.” The green-eyed lady reached for him. When he went to pull away, she grabbed a hold of his wounded limb and twisted, sending a wave of agony up his arm. A cry erupted unwillingly from his lips. With her free hand, she traced the spells branded into his shoulder and throat. “He is Magebound. What I want to know is…how did you become Wyvern if you’re from the Cities?”
“Well I guess I did it just like anyone else—I bonded with a dragon,” he said sarcastically, feeling a rush of anger towards the group who had just saved his life. He knew he should be thankful, gracious, but he only felt the simmer of fury in his gut. He tried to pull away again, but the woman held him tight, her eyes as sharp as knives.
“Give me one reason why we don’t just leave you out here to die, twinblood.” Her tongue darted out, slit down the center.
Kascien opened his mouth to reply, but forced it shut again. They had him there. With a growl, he dropped his gaze and frowned. “I’m sorry.” The words were difficult on his tongue, but he managed to spit them out. “But I’m not who you think I am.”
“Of course you aren’t,” Eye-patch said with a laugh. “Cashien died at the hands of the Magi years ago, to create peace in a warring world. The dagger is no doubt Irianthe, but you are no Cashien.”
“The dragons seem to think I am.”
“Cashien would reincarnate among the Wyverns, not some whelp obviously Mageborn. He wouldn’t reincarnate among enemies, if he did at all.” The eldest of the group was a man with white hair and dark skin. He narrowed his eyes. “So what, besides your injury, keeps you on the ground in the middle of the desert. You’re obviously new to the dangers of the Vanla.”
Kascien glanced between the group members, most of which were scowling, but with curiosity in their gazes. The green-eyed woman stood quietly, hand lingering on the hilt of her blade.
“I can’t fly yet,” he said, heat rising to his cheeks. They looked at him in awe, then burst into contained laughter. He shot them a snarl and they quieted. “I just bonded, alright? I only did it to unbind myself from the Sovereign’s hold on me. I was born with little magic, a slave to them. Becoming Wyvern was the only way out. Not my choice. The king of the Kiir’vanan refuses to let me among his people.”
“You don’t have such little magic now,” one of the females said in a hushed voice. “You are strong, dangerously so. Don’t you know anything of your powers?” At his blank look, she shook her head. “You’ll need someone to teach you, else you’ll end up killing yourself of someone close to you. Or worse, one of us.”
“Does that mean you’re gonna let me stay with you?”
“We can’t very well leave a newbie out in the desert. The worst beasts come out after nightfall, boy. You think the sandwyrms were bad? You have no idea.” The green-eyed woman stepped forwards, offering a nod of her head. “I’m Yuri, leader of the Jiria.”
“Jiria?”
“My merry little band of rogues and exiles.” Yuri smirked. “Welcome to the dark side of the desert, kid.” She gave a nod to the group, waving one arm. They gathered up their weaponry and the biggest of the men slung half a wyrm over his shoulder, adeptly avoiding the spikes. At Kascien’s bewildered look, he laughed.
“That’s dinner, kid,” Yuri said, patting him roughly on the shoulder before steering him forwards. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Kascien,” he said softly, meeting her gaze, which flickered with sudden interest.
The group went silent before someone murmured, “What if he is Cashien?” which earned her a glare. The woman shrank back with a shrug and Yuri shook her head.
“Doesn’t matter, now does it. Forwards on fleet feet, people; let’s move!”
***
Wylde knew when they were close to dragonkin—Miriel snorted and gave a half-buck, her nostrils flaring nervously. Some horses took to dragons well, and some, like her beautiful mare, were spooked by the much larger creatures.
She dismounted and quickly took off the mare’s bridle, leaving the leather piece in a heap in the sand, just inside the arch. Miriel threw her head up with a whinny, then bolted for home. Wylde couldn’t help but smile at her mount’s fire, but she knew her arrival at the stable would alert the Wyverns—and her father—that she had left.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered in that moment but Kascien. She couldn’t wait to see him again, couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she showed up. Her heart flip-flopped in her chest and she chastised herself for that, but it didn’t keep the excited smile off her lips.
Turning, she slipped under the sandstone arch and into the dragon’s keep. It opened into a large canyon, the walls gaping wide on either side as they rolled out, creating a massive valley complete with many small caves. The caves held little rivers and springs of water and Wylde stopped in one, dipping in a flask she’d grabbed at the stable, filling it to the brim. She filled a second, then stood.
Wyverns, being partially human, weren’t built to stay in caves of sand and no living creature could go without water for long. Though a Wyvern’s thirst was significantly smaller than a human’s or a Mage’s, they would still dehydrate. It would just take longer.
She was greeted by a snuffling snort and a flap of wings as a large, spirited mal
e made his way up to her. She knew him as Ileen, young enough that he hadn’t yet taken a Wyvern bond, but old enough to have taken a mate and started a family. She reached out a hand to touch his chest plate, then bowed her head in respect. He mimicked her and offered a few words in Vanlan: “You are looking for the twinblood who is our warrior?”
“Kascien.” Wylde nodded. “Can you take me to him?”
Ileen took a deep breath in, then let it out. He lowered a wing, arching it towards the middle of the canyon, where the rest of the nest was resting. “Follow me, princess.” He ambled off at a speed quicker than Wylde would’ve originally given a beast of his size credit for.
She hurried after him on foot, cursing the silver wrapped around her wrists, because it would’ve been much easier to just take to the skies and find them. Finally, they reached a gathering of dragons, Jaovari’s silver form in the middle of them. Wylde heard them bickering, though they fell quiet as she approached.
Wylde bowed. “I’m looking for Kascien.”
The dragons regarded her with silence, several heads turning to Jaovari, who sighed. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, muted. “An argument arose… My bond became angry at us for assuming he was our beloved warrior. He went into the desert shortly after you left.”
“What?” Wylde’s gaze snapped to Jaovari, ire rising in her throat in the form of a shriek, but it was silenced when she saw the regret lingering in the dragon’s eyes. “You let a newborn go into the desert? He doesn’t even know how to fly!” She pressed her hands to her face, taking up a quick pace as she tried to sort through her thoughts.
He wouldn’t know of the garblers, or the sandwyrms, or the night trackers. He would be hot, thirsty, and probably just as grounded as her. Add that to the Mage powers building inside of him and they could have a recipe for disaster.
“How could you just let him go?”
“I couldn’t force him to stay. I may be his bond, but you of all people know I don’t have that power.” Jaovari’s words were colored with guilt. “You’ll have to take to the sky, to find him.” Wylde knew they couldn’t, else they would’ve already tried; dragons weren’t built for lengthy flights or a long amount of hovering. And it wouldn’t do for one of them to be stranded in the desert. They’d be sitting ducks if a Mage happened to spot them.
“I can’t.” She thrust out her arms, pulling back her gauzy sleeves to reveal the shackles of silver.
The dragons flinched back as if stung. Jaovari dropped her head. “He told me to tell you that he’s sorry he did not wait for you here.”
Wylde shook her head. “What an idiot,” she growled out, growing frustrated. Why would he go into the desert at full sun? He had to have been furious…but then again, Kascien did have a temper. She could attest to that. She glanced to the dragons. “Anything else?”
Jaovari puffed air through her nostrils, gazing up at the pallid moon, and shook her head. “He said…that you are better off without him, princess. But I don’t think he meant it.”
Wylde’s chest tightened, but before she could say anything else, Jaovari grunted and hopped to the side. A small, peach-colored dragon butted up beside her, accidentally trampling the older dragon’s paw. Jaovari gave a warning hiss at the younger one, who Wylde knew immediately as Neeve.
Neeve winced and pulled back, shuffling behind Wylde and pushing her muzzle into the girl’s armpit. “I see bad things,” she said softly, her voice like bells across Wylde’s mind. Wylde turned to face her, taking her delicate muzzle in her hands and looking into those eyes. “Darkness. Darkness is coming for our warrior, princess. I can do nothing to stop it.” Neeve’s voice slid to a whine and she pressed her eyes shut.
Wylde reeled: Darkness? Darkness could be any sort of creature in that bloody desert! Neeve was the keep’s resident seer, always spouting prophecies that more often than not came true. If she thought Kascien was in danger, he was.
She balled her hands into fists and let out a hawkish shriek that made all the dragons perk up. Neeve whimpered and shook her head, trying to banish the visions she was seeing and the sounds she was no doubt hearing. Wylde felt a wave of regret as she began to stroke the young nestling’s face.
“Shh, it’s okay. We’ll find him. I’ll find him, Neeve.” But how? She turned. “I need wings.”
A lanky dragon, long in body and leg with a hide covered in deep blue scales, pushed his way to the front of the group. He caught Wylde’s eye with his own and offered a bold smile that bloomed inside her head. Of course. Her bond.
“Aevie.” She stepped free from the clingy Neeve to reach for her dragon. He lowered his head and pressed his muzzle against her cheek, whuffing out hot air. “Will you help me, Aev?” Her head tipped to the side. “We have to find Kascien. He’s in the desert and Neeve seems to think that he’s in danger.”
Her voice was strong, even though she wanted to pull out her hair and scream at him to obey her. But you didn’t just command a dragon to do your bidding, even if he was your bonded.
Aevie seemed to know that this was a dire situation. “Climb on, my princess,” he said as he dropped his neck and lowered his wing. She thanked the Goddess and sprang neatly onto his back, her thighs tight against the muscles in his neck. She grasped the tuft of dark fur that ran down his spine and looked to the frightened Neeve and the wary Jaovari.
“We’ll find him,” she said, forcing a smile. “And we’ll bring him back. Unharmed.”
And then?
Then they would petition the Elders to let them stay in one of their many caves for the rest of their lives, or until her father died and a new king was chosen, should she abdicate the throne for Kascien. And that was only if said king allowed them back into the Nest. Until then…
“Let’s find Kascien,” she said, and with three massive wing flaps, they were in the air.
Chapter Thirteen
Havoc took a deep breath in as he climbed the stairs to Wylde’s room one by one, reciting the words he’d practiced in his head all day. He had lost his temper. He needed to be calm now, to reassure his princess—his future mate—that all would be well, that this wasn’t the end of the world.
For all they knew, the newborn twinblood was far away in the Vanla desert. He would never learn to be Wyvern without another Wyvern to teach him; besides, he was a stubborn male, that much Havoc was sure of. He wouldn’t be willing to take orders. He shook his head. It was better for everyone that Kascien didn’t join the Nest.
Especially if he did have a meltdown.
He reached the hall and paused at Wylde’s door. He rapped on the wood with his knuckles, a brisk knock, but there was no answer. Glancing around, he saw no one in the hallway, so he turned the knob and walked in.
He could see her now in his mind’s eye: Sprawled beautifully, elegantly on the silk sheets, her sun-touched skin bronze against the cream of the bedding. She would see him and smile that impish grin, the smile he’d fallen in love with when she was just a hatchling herself. They would speak a few forgiving words and he would take her in his arms and whisk her back down to the Nest, where they would spend the rest of the night sharing each other’s warmth. He smiled and peered around.
His heart turned to ice. He found the room a wreck—things were strewn across the floor, the bedding upset, and the pillow shedding feathers, as if Wylde’s claws had torn into it. And Wylde? She was nowhere to be found.
He took a deep breath in, scenting; she’d been here recently. He turned and spun on his heel, storming back down the stairs. No need to get riled up. She’s probably having a late dinner. He tried to stay unruffled, but anger nipped at his heels with each step he took.
“Have you seen our princess tonight,” he asked Uruel, one of the head chefs.
The man tweaked the tip of his moustache and nodded, a smile on his face, though it wavered when Havoc’s gaze became pointy. “She joined us for a later dinner. Is there a problem?”
Havoc shook his head slowly, the muscles in his neck tight
ening. “No. No problem.” He kept his tone light. “I just need to speak with her, that’s all. I will continue to look.” He turned and walked away, though as soon as he left the dinner hall behind, he felt the urge to scream.
He knew exactly where she was.
Even grounded, it wouldn’t keep her from running off to find that fool boy. She thought she was in love with him, her savior from the Magi, a mutt-Mage himself. A twinblood. He snarled and stormed out of the nest, headed towards the stable. She would’ve ridden to the dragon’s keep on horseback.
He nodded briskly to the stable boy, a young Wyvern full of loose nerves. “And have you seen our princess tonight?” Shockingly enough, his voice never trembled with the anger in his heart.
The boy seemed to pick up on Havoc’s emotions nonetheless and was slow to nod. “She went out on a ride. She hasn’t returned yet, sir.”
Havoc sneered. And she wouldn’t return. She would find the dragon’s keep and then she would untack that mare and send the horse home. “I will wait for her to return, then.”
He sat down on a low bench outside the stable doors, his eyes locked on the horizon line of the night-hued sand. Though the sun had set, everything still radiated with the summer heat.
The boy nodded and retreated back into the stable. He wasn’t a slave, because Wyverns didn’t believe in keeping slaves like the Magi did. Still, he was a lower rank than Havoc, who was now on the same level as King Reitsch and his Guardians. And Wylde. Damnably beautiful Wylde.
Fifteen minutes later, the dappled mare that Wylde favored galloped up, the whites of her eyes showing. Havoc reached for her, stroking her face to calm the frightened, sweat-slick mare and he knew the truth: Wylde had gone to the dragons to find Kascien. He growled, low enough that it made the mare snort and toss her head. The stable boy led her into a stall. Havoc shook his head.
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