Page 1 of Wild Bond (Wild Bond #1)
“G et up, maggots! It’s your lucky day!”
My eyes jerked open at the gravelly cry from the guard. I bit my lip to stifle the moan that tried to escape as I moved to sit up, my aching muscles protesting the movement. For some unknown reason, I had fallen asleep on the cold stone floor of my dingy cell rather than the only slightly more comfortable straw mat in the corner. I rubbed my arms to force some warmth back into them as I tried to ignore the familiar smells of urine, blood, and unwashed bodies that assaulted my nostrils.
I leaned forward and peered through the bars, down the line of cells to where I could see the glowing light of several lanterns bobbing toward me. I could just make out the hulking forms of nearly half a dozen guards in the dim light.
“What’s happening?” another prisoner in the cell adjacent to mine whispered. He was a big brute whose name I had never bothered to learn. He had nearly bludgeoned his cell mate to death on the first day he was brought here a few months back. At least, I was assuming it was a few months . . . I had stopped keeping track of the days a long time ago.
Due to that little incident, the brute was now in a cell all by himself. I also had that privilege, but that was because I was female. Holt, the head dungeon master, might be a sadistic bastard and despise me to the depths of the Dark Realms, but at least he had never made me share a cell with any of my male counterparts. Thank the Nine for small mercies.
None of us responded to the guard’s query, but luckily, he kept speaking, “The queen has chosen you lot to be the petitioners at this year’s Bonding Celebrations.”
Murmurs broke out at this announcement, and a pang of disbelief raced through me. The Bonding Celebrations. It was that time of year again? My mind whirled. That meant I had been a prisoner for two years. Could that be right? Two years of my life spent starving and alone in this dark hole. It felt both unbelievable and not nearly long enough at the same time. After the endless days of nothing, surely it had been an eternity, not just two years.
Thinking of the day I had been captured, my mind immediately went to Lessa. She would be close to her ninth year now. Was she still in Dessin? Was she even alive? I still didn’t know if she had even gotten away that night. I prayed to all the Nine Gods that she had.
Or all this would have been for nothing.
“If it were up to me,” an all too familiar voice hissed, and I glanced up to see Holt standing before my cell, scratching at his gut that sagged below a stained shirt, “I’d let ya rot in this miserable hole for the rest of yer days. Lower city filth like you don’t deserve to see the light of day again.”
“Still bitter about that eye, I see,” I rasped, my voice sounding weak and dry from disuse.
The scar on his eyebrow—the one I had given him from my first misguided escape attempt a few weeks after I was arrested—shone in the lanternlight as he leaned forward and gripped the bars. “Keep your mouth shut, slum rat!” he barked, glaring daggers at me as he began to unlock my cell door. I could see several other guards doing the same for other prisoners.
“Of course, there’s still the chance you’ll be put to death at your hearing. You’re just a petitioner after all. Things could go either way for you.” The twist of his lips said the thought made him extremely happy.
He was right. Every year during the three-day-long festivities of the Bonding Celebrations, wild dragons all over Palasia answered The Call—the instinctual pull dragons felt toward their potential rider—and flocked to certain major cities to find and bond with their riders. No one knew why this was, but every year people gathered in hopes that their children might be one of the lucky few to become one of the kingdom’s elite force of dragon riders.
Though bonding new dragon riders was the main purpose of this holiday, another was the tradition of pardoning, punishing, and sentencing prisoners from the castle dungeons or city prisons. It was done as a sign of goodwill, but many went simply for the entertainment of watching a criminal being sentenced and possibly put to death. I personally had always thought it was just a way to make room for new prisoners. But whatever the reason, it seemed I would now get to be a part of that glorious tradition.
I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. Part of me still didn’t dare believe that I was getting out of this place, but anything was better than spending another minute in my cell.
Holt opened my cell door and yanked me roughly to my feet. I staggered, and my muscles screamed in protest as I tried not to fall forward on my face. He quickly secured cuffs on my wrists as if he thought I would try and resist, but I was simply focused on staying upright.
He pushed me into the hallway and another guard chained my hands in a line with the other prisoners. Luckily, the brute was nowhere near me, having been chained farther down the line. I kept an eye on the men directly in front and behind me, but one just stared blankly ahead, and the other was shorter than even my average height and so scrawny that he looked like a breath of wind could knock him over.
“Move!” Holt barked as he made his way to the front of the line, shoving my fellow captives out of his way as he did.
It was slow going as we began to shuffle forward, working our way past the cells and up the cold stone stairs out of the dungeons. My feet were bare, and if I hadn’t been chained to the others, I probably would have fallen any number of times. At least they hadn’t chained our ankles. As we made it to the next level and passed more cells, I didn’t even look at the other inmates or listen to their haunting cries. I was too busy trying to swallow down my fear and apprehension at what was to come.
I noted the guards all carried crossbows with bolts no doubt tipped with basilisk venom. As a deterrent to escape, it was one of the most effective. Growing up as an orphan in the lower city slums of Dessin, I had seen the agony and eventual death that particular venom could cause. Master Safan had threatened me with it on several occasions when I failed to bring back a certain score he wanted. Thoughts of the slumlord had an all too familiar fury rising in me that I fought to squelch. He was to blame for my being in prison in the first place, at least in part.
He was to blame for so much.
A door opened ahead of us, and the sudden blinding light made me cringe. I let out a pained hiss along with several of those around me. My chains prevented me from covering my face, so I was forced to blink rapidly to clear my suddenly streaming eyes.
It was several minutes before my eyes could adjust, and by then we were already moving through an outdoor courtyard. I hadn’t seen sunlight or the sky in so long. My eyes devoured the jade and azure light of a fresh morning sky. I could hear birds chirping happily in the trees lining the courtyard and the tinkling water of a fountain somewhere. My breath caught in my chest at the beauty of it. I suddenly felt overwhelmed by it all and had tears in my eyes for a different reason. Quickly blinking them away, not wanting to show any emotion to the men around me, I took several calming breaths. The fresh air and warmth of the sun on my skin helped, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the sky.
As we made our way into the cobblestone streets of the upper city, I finally paid closer attention to my surroundings. Dessin was the capital of Baldor and was located at the base of one of the largest mountains in Palasia. Dragon Spear stood like a snow-peaked sentinel overlooking the entire city. Graystone Keep sat at the highest point of the city while the rest spread out into the foothills and valley beneath it. I had grown up in this city, but being from the slums, I’d never had much reason to venture into the upper city, much less Graystone Keep.
The Bonding Celebrations were in full swing, and the city was alive with the sounds of merriment and activity, even at this early morning hour. Due to the holiday, I knew it was spring, but the air was already warm. Or maybe I was just so used to my chilly dungeon cell that anything would feel warm to me now.
The streets were covered in decorations of dark green and pale silver, the Baldorian colors. Banners with the Baldorian coat of arms—a silver tree under a sky filled with silver stars on a dark green backdrop—seemed to hang from every building and surface.
A large shadow passed over us, and I looked up and caught sight of a deep blue dragon as it flew far overhead, the morning sun glinting off its massive batlike wings. I knew I would see many more before the day was out. Dragon riders could choose any major city in Baldor in which to spend the Bonding Celebrations, but most chose to spend it in the capital.
Watching the dragon disappear out of sight, I thought momentarily of the days when I had dreamed of becoming a dragon rider. Those days were long gone now. The riders would never let a convict near one of their precious unbonded dragons. I was too old anyway; bonding usually happened before puberty. I had never heard of a rider bonding who was older than their twelfth or thirteenth year. The only notable exception was the great queen of old, Lethara, who had been the first person to bond with a dragon.
As we passed the upper city market, vendors yelled to passersby while some merchants were still setting up their carts for the day. Many who caught sight of us spat on the ground to ward off evil. Others simply turned away, pretending not to see the line of convicted criminals in their midst. One young child stared openly with mouth agape until he was shuffled away by an older woman.
For the first time I glanced down, conscious of my appearance. I was in a simple worn shirt which had once been white. It was now torn and hung low enough to be considered indecent if I had any curves left to speak of. The plain black trousers weren’t much better. Everything was completely covered in a layer of dirt and grime, and my cracked and blood-encrusted feet looked even worse than the rest of me. My skin was so darkened with dirt, I looked like I could be from the desert kingdom of Zehvi, and I shuddered to think what my hair looked like after two years without a brush.
I probably shouldn’t care. If the hearing didn’t go my way, I could be dead before the day was out. Death seemed like a harsh punishment for a simple case of thievery, but if you considered what I stole . . . It could be a possibility. It all depended on who sat in judgment this year. When I’d come to Petitioner’s Square in years past to relieve rich spectators of their jewels and purses, I’d seen a wide range of verdicts. Queen Elaide was older and could be very mercurial in her judgments, her rulings based solely on her mood. Her son, Prince Pierce, was harsh and rarely set a petitioner free. Princess Mercedes never sat in judgment since she wasn’t a dragon rider, which was too bad because she was said to have a kinder, more even temperament than either her mother or brother.
Other members of the Dragon Rider Council could sit in judgment as well, and they were as diverse in their rulings as they were in personality. But the judge I hoped to avoid most of all was Kyan Rakim. He was one of the three leaders of the Dragon Rider Council, as well as Queen Elaide’s spymaster. He also happened to be the man who had captured me and put me in prison that horrible night. There was no mercy in that man. His nightmare of a black dragon, Naasir, was just as ruthless as he. No. I did not want him to sit in judgment today.
I prayed to all nine gods that it would be anyone else but him.
It took us nearly an hour to shuffle our way through the upper city; a walk that a person in normal health probably could have made in ten minutes. The rows of white stone villas and townhomes of the gentry and wealthier merchants gradually gave way to the city center, also known as Petitioner’s Square. It was where the upper and lower cities met, and even on a non-festival day it was a crowded place to be.
The day was getting warmer and sweat dripped down my back and at my temples. I was so exhausted from the long trek that my entire body shook. I wasn’t used to this amount of exercise, having only ever been able to walk a few paces back and forth in my cell, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten. Maybe a few days? It was hard to know. Holt liked to withhold food for any perceived slight, and since I was his favorite person to torment, I went without quite often.
I glanced up and down the line and saw that most of the other prisoners were doing just about as well as me.
I could hear the crowd before we saw them as we turned the corner and Petitioner’s Square came into view.
We entered through the main thoroughfare, all other roads leading to the square having been closed off for the celebrations. Several tall buildings built close together over several blocks lined either side until eventually opening into a long rectangular space as wide as two full city blocks.
As we approached, my nerves started to come alive. Nausea swirled in my gut at the thought of facing judgment.
One young man ran past us screaming, “They’re here! They’re here!” as he raced into the square to no doubt find his seat.
“Don’t make a fool out of me in front of the riders, or I’ll gut you before one of their dragons can. Understand, scum?” Holt snapped at us, and I heard someone whimper behind me. Without another word he turned and led us out of the shadow of the buildings and into the light of the square.
A roar went up from the crowd as we entered the open space.
The ground was made up of decorated mosaic tiles that were smooth and warm under my feet, and a stone statue depicting several dragons in flight stood at the center.
Risers had been erected around all sides of the square and were packed with people. I could see nobles dressed in fine silks all the way down to people in rags not much better than mine. I wondered faintly if anyone I knew was among them.
As we made our way toward the dais set up at the far end of the square, I caught sight of several dragon riders in their dragonscale armor seated to the left and right of the dais. Their bonded dragons, all in their smaller, minor forms, sat on shoulders, or in laps, or next to their riders on the benches. If they’d been in their natural forms, they wouldn’t have all fit in the square.
But those dragons only held my attention for a moment as my eyes were inexorably drawn to the immense dragon before me.
He was the only dragon in the square not in his minor form, so his size alone commanded attention. But my blood didn’t grow cold because of his terrifying size. No, my knees grew weak because he was blacker than a midnight sky.
Apparently, the gods couldn’t care less about my prayers today.
It was Naasir, one of the largest and most powerful dragons in Baldor, maybe even all of Palasia, and he was bonded to the very man I did not want to be here.
Naasir was so large that his entire body curled around the base of the dais. His long neck curved so that his enormous head rested next to his rider, the top nearly reaching his rider’s shoulder. Great black horns sprouted away from his face and down his back, seamlessly merging with the ebony scales. The creature’s large wings, tucked neatly at his back, were edged in dark horns as well. Battle scars marred his wings and body. No surprise, since this dragon and his rider were rumored to have been some of the most lethal fighters during the recently ended war with Zehvi.
I swallowed hard. I hadn’t been this close to a dragon since the night of my capture. Ironically, it had been this very dragon. The scar on my arm itched. Naasir opened the one yellow eye that was facing us and took in our pathetic group as we came to a stop before the platform. Then he closed it again, obviously more interested in his nap than what was happening before him.
With the weight of the creature’s stare no longer on me, some of my wariness dissipated. My eyes were then able to travel to his rider, who stood before an ornate, throne-like chair.
Commander Kyan Rakim was nearly as large and imposing as his dragon. He was tall and broad-shouldered with the lean muscled build of a fighter. His black hair was cut shorter than I remembered, with some pieces falling forward over his wide brow. He was clean shaven, with a shadow to his firm jaw and sharp masculine features. His olive skin was darkly tanned and hinted at his Zehvitian heritage. Not much was known of his origins, but it was rumored one of his parents hailed from the far-off enemy kingdom. His piercing pale blue eyes, however, were definitely Baldorian. I was surprised to see he wore black, lightweight armor, not the full-dress armor many of the other riders were sporting for the celebrations. His powerful arms were bare save for black dragonscale cuffs at his wrists, and an intricate black marking that traced up the corded muscle of his right arm and disappeared into the armor at his chest.
A long dead, feminine part of me wanted to see where the rest of that mark led.
The stray thought was so unexpected that I tamped it down immediately, reminding myself that the commander was as ruthless and cold as he was attractive.
He stood there with a careful, almost casually leashed power. A long sword hung at his waist, and I had no doubt he could wield it as easily as his dragon could take flight.
His stance reminded me of a tiger I had seen once in the market, prowling lazily in a cage. Its powerful limbs moved with a deadly grace while its mesmerizing eyes had taken note of everything around it.
Commander Rakim’s face remained impassive and unreadable as his shrewd gaze studied us all. I thought I saw a flicker of surprise enter his eyes when he noticed me, but I doubted it was from recognition. No, it was probably because not many women ended up in the keep’s dungeon. But whatever the emotion was, it left as quickly as it came, and his gaze moved down the line, eventually shifting to the murmuring crowd that immediately quieted when he started to address them.
“Dessin, we are here today to hear the petitions of these prisoners.” His deep voice rang out across the square thanks to the amplifying stone glowing around his throat. “Their crimes are many and varied, but by the grace of Her Majesty, they have been chosen to stand before us today and be heard.”
Commander Rakim then sat in the ornamental chair that looked too small for his massive frame. He rested his palm on Naasir’s snout and the dragon gave a huff in response but did not open his eyes. Rakim then gestured to a man I hadn’t noticed before, who stood off to the side of the stage.
The man wore a long green tunic trimmed in silver. I guessed him to be a steward of some kind as he stepped up and unrolled a long piece of parchment. His high nasally voice was also amplified by a stone at his throat, so the entire crowd could hear him as he spoke. “Step forward as your name is called. Your crimes against the crown shall be read, and then you may have a moment to plead your case before your sentence is declared.” He didn’t even bother to look at us as he spelled out our fate.
My entire body ached, especially my feet, and despite the dire circumstances I was currently in, all I wanted was to curl up in a ball and sleep. It took all my will to convince my legs to remain standing. I refused to show weakness. Weakness got you killed.
“Herek Leeds,” the steward called, and my attention returned to the proceedings.
A tall man three down from me started in surprise. He still looked relatively healthy, and I got the feeling he hadn’t been imprisoned long. One of the guards unlocked him from the connecting chain and yanked him by his handcuffs until he stumbled forward several paces. The man was sweating profusely and kept eyeing the dragon tail that had begun gliding slowly back and forth on the tiles only a dozen paces away.
Holt and the other guards moved the rest of us off to the side, and I hissed in pain as the manacles cut into my connected wrists, where they hung at my side.
“You stand convicted of petty thievery and resisting arrest,” the steward intoned, staring down his nose at the man. “And you have currently served two months of your five-year sentence, is this correct?”
The man nodded vigorously, “Ye-yes . . . Yes, sir. I believe that’s how long it’s been.”
“And have you—?”
“What did you steal?” Commander Rakim cut in. His voice was low as he spoke, but due to the stone he could still be heard throughout the square. His stare was intent on the man as he waited for an answer.
The prisoner appeared startled at being addressed by the dragon rider. “Some . . . some fruit from a st-stall in the lower city market.”
“And why did you do this?”
“I lost my job at the quarry, and I couldn’t find work. My wife and son were hungry . . . and . . . and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I was desperate. I’m sorry.” The man had tears in his eyes now.
Whispers and sympathetic sounds could be heard from the onlookers as his response echoed around the square. Those amplifying stones were strong to encompass such a large area. The call for “Mercy!” could be heard from many in the audience.
My heart went out to the man, but I could not tell if his plea had been good enough for the commander. His expression was hard to decipher as he looked at the man for a moment longer, then to the steward.
“Put his sentence down to time served.” Rakim then looked back to the man. “You’re free to go.”
The crowd erupted in cheers and the man looked stunned, then broke down crying. He was still professing his gratitude as his cuffs were unlocked and he was motioned away as the steward made a note on his parchment.
A small glimmer of hope began to trickle through me as the next man was called forward, and he was also set free. Maybe this dragon rider actually had a heart, unlike most of the powerful men I’d met.
The next man, whose crime had something to do with piracy and robbery wasn’t set free, but his sentence was reduced. The following two were rapists, and the rider increased both their sentences to life in prison, and the one that was a repeat offender received ten lashes as well. As I watched the whipping being carried out, I knew some would think the punishment harsh, but I felt no sympathy for the man. I agreed wholeheartedly with it. If I hadn’t been so quick and skilled with my daggers in the past, I would have shared the same fate as those poor men’s victims, several times over.
Finally, they called the big brute forward, whose name was apparently Skull. No last name. I rolled my eyes.
As his crimes were read, I couldn’t believe how many there were. Rape, assault, murder, and robbery were just a few on the long list. But it was the reason he was caught and thrown into prison that made my insides turn. Evidently, he had been caught standing over the body of his pregnant wife after beating her to death.
It was horrendous. If my mouth hadn’t been so dry, I would have spat on the ground in disgust. The spectators agreed with me, and boos and jeers echoed around us.
I watched the dragon rider’s face as the list was read, and for the first time, he showed true emotion as fury darkened his eyes. But as the steward read what the man had done to his own wife, the fury was replaced with something cold and merciless. A spike of fear raced through me at that look.
Skull wasn’t given a chance to speak. With no warning and no sign that his rider had even given the command, Naasir jerked his head around, opened his jaws and with a mighty roar, released a narrow stream of flames directly at the prisoner. A few of the guards stumbled back as the man was instantly engulfed in the inferno and disintegrated into ash.
Naasir’s mouth snapped shut with a click. And with a final rumble of displeasure, he settled back down next to his rider.
Utter stillness pervaded the square for a few moments until cheers erupted from the crowd in obvious agreement with the sentence. It was into this melee that I heard the steward call my name, and my stomach dropped to the ground.
“Corrine Darrow. Step forward.”