Page 13 of Wild Bond (Wild Bond #1)

A fter the fiasco on the training grounds that morning, I made a point of avoiding—not running from—Rake all day. Not that our paths generally crossed much, but I still made the effort to not be anywhere I thought he might be. Thank the Nine he hadn’t summoned me for a flying lesson. I had no idea how I would have gotten out of that.

You obviously haven’t the faintest clue whose company I would prefer. His words from earlier still made me shiver whenever I thought of them.

Pushing that thought aside, I tried to focus on what I was doing. So far, trying to find Lessa had been an exhausting task.

Sneaking out of the rider compound while everyone was preoccupied with the evening meal had been surprisingly easy. Though I guess I technically wasn’t a prisoner any longer, I still thought one of Rake’s goons—namely Zade—would have stopped me the moment I tried to leave the safety of The Tower, but no one had.

I had spent several hours visiting some of our old haunts trying to find my young friend, but so far, no luck. I had purposely been avoiding Master Safan’s part of the city in hopes that I could find Lessa without crossing that scumbag’s path. I would go if I had to, but I would like to avoid it if at all possible.

Skye had wanted to come along with me, but knowing I would have a hard time blending in as it was, let alone with a dragon on my shoulder, she had decided to shadow me in the sky and was even now flying far overhead in case I needed her.

Walking the streets of Dessin again as a free woman was intoxicating and strangely nerve-wracking at the same time. Not in the sense that I was afraid to be out in the city at night—I could take care of myself, and I was a dragon rider now—but because I felt like a different person. The training leathers and dark green cloak I wore, even though they were simple, were still of finer quality than anything I had owned before. I felt different too, changed from the girl I had been before being imprisoned. Like I didn’t quite fit here anymore, and I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. Grasping the set of daggers for reassurance that I had “borrowed” from The Tower armory, I turned the next corner and finally saw my destination.

Sal’s Tavern was as rundown and dingy as I remembered, the sign for the establishment hanging precariously to one side above the entrance. Several patrons loitered outside as I approached, one man snoring loudly and leaning against a wooden post. I paid them no mind as I entered, and they appeared to do the same to me. Sal’s wasn’t the kind of place where people expected to be noticed.

I didn’t slow my stride as I made my way to the back of the establishment, barely taking note of the dozen or so tables spread around the space, along with the many lively patrons. My stomach did grumble at the scent of the stew on offer, reminding me that I hadn’t taken the time to eat before leaving the compound.

Once on the far side of the room, I halted at a curtain-covered doorway with a guard posted before it. He looked me up and down, but I had made sure my hair was covered by the hood of my cloak and didn’t think he would recognize me. Though many people had heard about the silver-haired thief who had bonded with a dragon, and many people had been in Petitioner’s Square that day, not many knew my face, and I looked very different than I had then.

I paid the man a silver lady, and without a word he moved aside, letting me pass. Pushing the curtain aside, I took the stairs down to the underground level.

The noise hit me before I opened the door at the bottom and found myself in The Pit, one of the lower city’s most horribly kept secrets.

The space consisted of a long bar off to one side with two levels of tables and chairs scattered around a large sunken fighting pit in the center. There was currently a fight in progress, and the noise from the boisterous crowd was deafening.

I ignored it all as I glanced around, searching hopefully for the familiar head of dark curls attached to the scrawny body I had seen so often weaving in and out of patrons here.

After nearly fifteen minutes of making my way slowly through the crowd around the pit with no success, I thought briefly of giving up for the night. This had to be at least the seventh place I had looked for Lessa since beginning my search. It had been several hours, and I was done wracking my brain for places she used to frequent, places that were usually busy, where people were distracted or drunk and easy to steal from.

Sighing, I mentally alerted Skye that I was finished for the night and would be leaving the tavern, when I suddenly felt a presence at my back. A voice spoke next to my ear.

“What are you doing here, Rin?”

Acting on reflex, I whirled with my stolen dagger raised before the familiarity of the voice registered.

A large hand caught my upraised arm, and a small thrill went through me as I looked up and met a pair of icy blue eyes.

Rake scowled down at me, looking dark and imposing in a long cloak of his own, though his hood was down.

He glanced at the dagger in my hand, then back to me. “Would you like to answer my question, or try and slice my throat open first?”

“I’m looking for someone,” I hedged. He let go of my arm, and his eyes narrowed. I knew he was just going to probe further, so I quickly deflected, “Why are you here?”

“Who are you looking for?” he demanded.

I ignored his question. “Why are you here?” I repeated.

He looked around, making sure no one was paying us any mind, before saying in a low tone, “I’m the queen’s spymaster. Do I need a reason?” He was right, and it wasn’t like he had to answer me, but I just glared at him. He contemplated me, as if deciding whether to tell me, then he finally sighed. “The chains,” he said.

My eyebrows raised in confusion and surprise that he actually answered me. Not that his answer revealed much. “The chains?” I parroted.

“The chains we found at the clearing that were used to restrain the dragon.”

I still stared at him, not seeing the connection. “The chains led you here?” I gestured to our surroundings, where currently a brawl over some slight was happening not three feet from us, and a man was even now being pummeled to death down in the pit.

“I knew there would only be a few blacksmiths in Dessin capable of producing chains of that size and quality. So, I made some inquiries and discovered that a man matching the description of one of the fighters who frequents this establishment filled the order a few months ago.”

“Oh,” I said, impressed that he had even thought to look into who created the chains. I sure hadn’t. I guess that was why he was the queen’s spymaster. He was cunning, smart and had definitely earned his reputation. I had witnessed more than enough evidence of that in our relatively short acquaintance.

“And is this fighter here tonight?” I inquired, already guessing the answer.

Rake smiled, and I tried not to notice how his eyes shone when he did. “His fight is up next.” He gestured to the stool beside where I guessed he had been sitting. “Have a seat.”

The seats were stationed along a narrow bar top that overlooked the fighting ring below. Several other patrons took up the seats along either side. One man down the line was passed out next to his cup of half-drunk ale while another was talking to a figure in a dark cloak. Silver changed hands before the figure slipped away.

Nodding once, I took the seat, and Rake ordered me a drink from the passing bar maid.

The rows of spectators below us were rowdy and loud as a tall, dark-skinned man was declared the victor of the current fight, and the loser was dragged off to Realms only knew where. He was bloody and wasn’t moving, either unconscious or dead.

Killing your opponent wasn’t a requirement to win these fights, but that didn’t stop most of the competitors from doing just that. There were no rules, after all.

My disgust for the whole thing must have shown on my face, because Rake observed, “I take it you’re not a fan of the fights?”

I looked at him as the maid dropped off my drink and scurried away. I shook my head. “I don’t have anything against fighting for sport, but fights like this . . . risking your life for something so trivial as the entertainment of others . . .” I took a drink and grimaced at the awful taste. “It seems like such a waste.”

His brow raised. “But risking your life to steal from the queen isn’t?”

I laughed harshly and raised my tankard in salute. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

His lip twitched and he shook his head, some of his dark hair falling into his eyes. “Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”

“What can I say?” I shrugged. “I’m a wealth of contradictions.”

Rake leaned forward then. “Why did you try and steal it?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, simply curious. “Of all the things to steal, why Lethara’s sword? You had to know you would be caught.”

“By you ,” I reminded him pointedly. When I thought back on that night now, with a more objective lens, I realized that the man before me had not been unnecessarily cruel, and like he had pointed out, had just been doing his job. Could I really fault him for that?

“If not by me then someone else,” he reasoned. “Who were you even planning to sell it to? Or did you just want to see if you could do it?”

I took a small sip of the drink, feeling uncomfortable with this line of questioning. I didn’t like talking about that night. Especially not with him.

Rake’s unnerving eyes were still watching me closely, so I finally said, “It was nothing like that . . . and there was no buyer. Not that I know of, anyway. Let’s just say stealing the sword wasn’t my idea. I’m not suicidal . . . I was helping a friend.”

“And who is this friend?”

I shifted uneasily. “I’d rather not say.”

A roar went up from the crowd and we both looked down to see new fighters had entered the ring from opposite sides. Relief washed through me at the reprieve from Rake’s questioning.

The expression on his face when I glanced over at him, though, said that this discussion wasn’t over, just delayed.

Pushing that thought from my mind, I turned my attention to the fighting pit below.

The fighter on the left was shirtless and smaller than his opponent, but he was fit and looked quick as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. Tattoos covered most of his upper body and he had a hard look in his eyes that only came from a life spent surviving from one day to the next. Most of the people I had known in the lower city had that look. A large cheer went up when the announcer introduced him as The Hammer.

The other fighter was a large man with a mop of sandy hair and a sallow complexion. The stained tunic and pants he wore hung somewhat loose on his frame as if he had lost weight recently, and quite rapidly, and hadn’t had time to buy new clothes. Or maybe he just couldn’t afford them. He was already breathing hard, even though the fight had yet to start, and his eyes were glazed over with a strange, feverish light. He was introduced as Bear.

“Please tell me you’re here for that guy.” I gestured to the tattooed fighter.

Rake shook his head and motioned to the bigger fighter. “I’m here for him.”

“He looks unwell,” I observed.

Rake didn’t comment as a bell rang for the fight to begin.

Just looking at them, I would assume that The Hammer would have the advantage, since he appeared experienced and was all muscle, while the other man, though larger, looked softer and unfocused. For the first few minutes, it appeared that my assumption was correct. The Hammer got in several combinations of jabs and punches and the other man barely even fought back.

There were murmurs of surprise and confusion from the spectators as several more minutes passed and Bear seemed unaffected. Blows that should have had him crumbling to his knees hardly even seemed to faze him.

After a particularly brutal strike to his gut that had no effect, I murmured, “How is he still upright?”

Again, Rake didn’t answer, but his bright eyes remained trained on the man.

Finally, and without warning, Bear side-stepped a punch from his opponent, and while the man was off balance, reached out his massive arms and enclosed the other man from behind in a ruthless bearhug. He pinned the man securely to his barrel chest and held him several inches off the ground. The Hammer tried to kick and elbow the other man, but the giant man’s hold on him was unbreakable. He tried to headbutt him next, but that, too, proved unsuccessful.

Something like real panic filled The Hammer’s eyes as he writhed and pulled desperately to get free. But it was no use.

In the next second, Bear‘s arms bulged as he squeezed, and even over the noise of the crowd, I thought I heard the sharp snap as the man’s spine broke.

The Hammer went limp in the man’s arms, and his head dropped forward.

Just like that.

Dead.

The throng erupted in raucous cheers.

I didn’t move, my mouth hanging open in shock. He—he had crushed that man to death. That shouldn’t be possible. No one was that strong.

Bear dropped the man to the ground, and as two people ran out to retrieve the body, I turned to Rake. “Is he a dragon rider?” Surely only a rider with their enhanced strength and abilities could do something like that. Even then, I questioned whether it would be possible.

Rake shook his head. “He’s not one of ours. And before you ask, no, he’s not from Zehvi or Halmar. I checked. His name is Borden Miller, and he grew up in Dessin. Used to be a drunk, but now he works with his brother, in a blacksmith’s shop on Tanner Row.” And even though no one could hear him over the noise surrounding our little place at the bar, Rake leaned forward, his voice lowering slightly. “That is, until a few months ago, when he went missing after being commissioned to create those chains.”

My eyes widened. “Then how did you know he was here?”

A sly look entered his eyes and his lips tipped up in a crooked grin that made my heart constrict. “Let’s just say that a . . . friend . . . of mine who knew I was searching for a man of his description saw him fight here last night. Apparently, he broke a man’s jaw and knocked him out with a single punch.”

I wanted to roll my eyes when he referred to what could only have been one of his spies as a “friend”. But I didn’t comment on that, my mind too engrossed with the other things he had said. He waited patiently as I thought it over. Finally, I asked, “So why would a blacksmith suddenly disappear for a few months, only to reappear in one of the seediest parts of the city and risk his life to fight random strangers, rather than return home?”

Rake grinned. “Exactly.”

Then I added, “Where was he for all that time? And what does this all have to do with the dragon we found?”

Rake’s gaze drifted to where Borden was being led out of the pit. The man seemed almost docile as he plodded through a back door. When his gaze returned to me, that sly gleam had returned as well.

“Why don’t we go find out?”