Page 19 of Wild Flame (Wild Bond #2)

Chapter Nineteen

T he day of the Coronation Games arrived, and the entire palace—including the nobles and servants—were abuzz with excitement and anticipation. This was an event that happened once or maybe twice in a lifetime. Leif and I, along with the rest of the court, made the trek down through the city, along with scores of other people, to the Nest. I couldn’t believe the coronation was tomorrow.

As we walked through one of the many tunnel entrances, a servant led Leif and me to a large platform that jutted out from the seats facing the center of the massive arena. A red canopy covered the seating area and blocked out the early morning rays. I counted at least twenty people sitting under it. Nilfren was there, along with the Baldorian delegates and several of the Rajid leaders. Harun and Tajan were also present, but I didn’t see Malik. I spotted Priya and Salim, as well as Queen Vashti. Priya—clad in a lilac gown that was shocking in how much of her it revealed—sat behind Zara and was mid-conversation with her when the other princess saw me. Her eyes lit up.

“Leida!” Zara called and waved me over to a seat by her. Leif took up a stance nearby, apparently preferring not to sit. His dragon stood at his feet. Several other riders had their dragons with them as well.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Zara asked as I took the seat beside her. Mesmera was perched primly on her shoulder, those large yellow eyes taking in all the activity around her. The queen sat on her other side, while the other seat beside me was empty. It was strange to see everyone dressed in vibrant colors again, particularly the queen, who had been wearing all-white since the day I arrived.

I smiled at both of them. “I’ll be honest. I’m not sure about everything the games entail,” I admitted.

Zara grinned wider. “Obviously, this is my first games, but the main purpose is the warrior presentation.”

“Warrior presentation?” I asked.

Zara nodded and turned to the row of seats behind us where two members of Malik’s Fangdar sat. “Harun, you could probably explain it better.”

I turned partially to look back at him.

The rider stroked his pointed beard between his thumb and forefinger while answering in a no nonsense manner, which I guessed was typical of him. “When a new monarch is preparing to be crowned, he selects the finest warriors in the kingdom to be his personal guard, known as his Talonar. They will also guard his queen and any children that The Maiden may bless them with,” he explained. “The Coronation Games are where the warriors demonstrate their skill and cunning.”

“It is a great honor to be chosen,” Tajan added, speaking for the first time. “Much like when Malik chose us to be his Fangdar. The crown prince chooses his Fangdar after he passes the dragon rider trials, and he picks his Talonar when he becomes king.”

Truly fascinated by the concept, I asked, “What if the leader is too young or hasn’t yet passed the trials when they become king or queen?”

“Then the previous monarch’s Fangdar and Talonar protect and advise them until they come of age,” Tajan answered.

“And what if the firstborn isn’t a dragon rider?” I asked.

To my surprise, it was Rajar Salim who answered from where he sat a few seats down from the men. He looked at me with a hard stare. “That does not happen.”

I frowned. “But surely, in your history, there has been an heir who—”

“That does not happen,” he said again with firm disdain. “Heirs of the Kathar line are always riders. Always.”

A stone settled in my gut at his words. My personal insecurities reared their ugly heads inside me. I couldn’t help but wonder what Malik would do if his firstborn was not a dragon rider.

I did not have long to dwell on it though, because just then, an announcer with an amplifying stone around his neck came to stand in the center of the arena floor. The black obsidian had been temporarily covered with sand. He raised his arms high before his voice boomed out, “People of Zehvi, on behalf of Prince Malik, it is my great honor to welcome you to the Coronation Games!”

An answering cheer went up from the crowd. I watched in fascination as dozens of Zehvitian warriors emerged from several tunnel entrances around the arena, and the preliminary events unfolded. Over an hour passed as feats of strength, archery, races, and sword fights played out all over the arena floor.

“They’re all so young,” I commented, noting that the warriors all appeared to be between their first and second decade.

“These are the warriors in training,” Harun explained. “The presentation with the experienced warriors takes place later.”

Just then, a loud curse rang out and those around us turned towards the source.

Prince Amir had arrived and was stumbling his way forward to where we were all seated. His dark clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, and his eyes were red and bloodshot.

“Where have you been?” the queen asked her son. Her expression remained a polite mask, but her exasperation was obvious in her tone.

“Don’t worry, Mother,” Amir assured sardonically, as he dropped down in the empty seat beside me. A servant offered him a goblet of wine from a tray. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Virath followed behind him and sat beside his chair, the dusky blue dragon’s eyes cunning and alert.

I could tell the queen was still upset, but she refrained from saying anything more, likely because she didn’t see the point. Or she didn’t want to reprimand her son in public.

Zara had no such reservations. “Is it really so hard to show up on time?” she hissed.

I tried to sink unnoticed into my chair as the prince reached across me to chuck her under the chin. “Oh, don’t be cross with me, Zar. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She shot him a very sisterly glare in response, and he grinned.

It was only then that Amir seemed to notice I was sitting between them.

“Well, hello there, Princess.” His grinned widened. “If I had known you would be attending, I might have made an effort to arrive sooner.”

I smiled politely at him, noting how similar and yet different his much sharper, more narrow features were to Malik’s. “You have been missing out. I have been most impressed.”

Distracted by the prince’s arrival, I hadn’t noticed that the young trainee warriors had vacated the space and it was now filling with adult warriors. All the warriors were pairing off and were spread out around the Nest. Each man or woman held a spear, and a determined, viciously focused expression. The men wore nothing but loincloths, and the women wore the same, but with tight bands of cloth around their breasts. I had never seen so much skin on display in my life and fought the ingrained urge to look away. Each warrior’s skin was covered with stripes of different colored paint, some with swirling designs down their arms or chests, while others had swiped it on their foreheads and cheeks. No two warriors were identical.

“Time for the Blood Rite,” Zara commented excitedly.

“Blood Rite?” I asked.

“By making it to the games, each of these warriors has already earned the right to be Malik’s Talonar,” Zara said. “But now they fight for the title of First Warrior. It is called the Blood Rite.”

“There are four rounds,” Amir explained, cutting in. “Each pairing will fight until first blood and the victor will move on to the next round. Each round requires the use of different weapons until there are only five warriors left.”

“What happens when it gets to five?”

“You’ll see,” Zara said with a wink from my other side.

All the warriors had paired off now, and each stood a few paces apart, with several yards of space between themselves and the next set of combatants. My eyes surveyed the impressive sight, and unexpected anticipation filtered through me.

All was silent for a single, tense moment as the warriors faced off. My breath held.

Then, somewhere, a gong rang out.

The fighters burst into action, and I didn’t know where to look as they all attacked each other with a swift ferocity that stunned me. Several warriors were taken out immediately with a slice to an arm or thigh, while others spun and ducked and feinted.

“Wow!” Zara breathed beside me, her eyes glued to the battles taking place before us.

I had to agree. “They’re magnificent,” I whispered, truly impressed.

“They’re no dragon riders,” Salim said derisively from where he sat, but his voice still carried to us over the bellowed battle cries and strikes of metal and wood.

“Harun, isn’t your brother competing today?” the Queen asked pointedly, shooting Salim a stern glare. I liked her.

“Yes, he is, Your Highness,” Harun replied, obviously unaffected by Salim’s statement.

I turned to Harun. “Which one is he?” I was genuinely curious to learn this about Malik’s second. I knew so little about the rider.

Harun pointed to a warrior wearing gold paint, fighting in the center of the arena, who looked a few years his junior. “His name is Yesh. And he’s a wickedly good fighter, if he can keep his head about him.” He tried to mask it, but I heard the pride of an older brother in every word.

I smiled at him. “Well, now I know who I’m rooting for.”

His brows lifted in surprise, and then he, too, smiled. I was stunned at how it lit up his entire face. He didn’t reply, but simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Faster than I thought possible, the first round was over and the twenty combatants who lost their fights moved to stand and watch from the edge of the floor. The winners moved to face their new opponents. This time, they were all given a pair of daggers.

Harun’s brother had made it through and now faced off against a massive warrior in blue-streaked paint. The gong rang again, and I glanced back to see Harun watching his brother with quiet focus. I had the feeling he wanted to call out advice and encouragement, like so many of the crowd were doing.

Yesh won that round by the skin of his teeth, and my heart was pounding with anxiety. There were only ten warriors left now. For the third round, they were given short swords. These battles took longer than the previous two rounds. These fighters were more evenly matched.

After a vicious fight with several close calls, Yesh made it through by feigning a strike to the left, then ducking right and sliding on his knees in the sand to slash at the other fighter’s calf.

Zara and I stood and cheered when he won. Harun and Tajan did as well. Zara let out a whoop, and Yesh glanced over to where his brother was and grinned.

“Where is His Majesty?” I finally dared ask as we took our seats again. I had been wondering since I got here, but no one else seemed concerned. I suspected they knew something I didn’t.

Zara opened her mouth, but Amir answered first. “He’s been watching this whole time with the warriors. Waiting to make his grand entrance.”

“Oh hush,” his little sister scolded him.

Amir shot her a lazy grin.

As if to emphasize his statement, a strong drumbeat started up, and my eyes were drawn back to the arena floor. The five remaining warriors stood at attention in a line at the center. Four men and one woman. Each now held a curved sai blade. To my surprise, I realized I recognized one of them. Selasi—the warrior who had helped me save the child during the attack—was standing tall beside Yesh, looking large and imposing. I hadn’t realized he had been competing until now, but I also wasn’t surprised.

“They fight each other like before?” I asked to clarify. There were five of them—an uneven number—so I wasn’t sure how that would work.

“No.” Zara grinned, a twinkle in her eye. She gestured to the warrior who had just emerged from the tunnel under our feet, as a deafening cheer went up. “They fight him.”

The warrior who strode confidently out into the center of the floor was tall and broad. He was bare-chested like the other men, and his upper body boasted several markings down his arms. Stripes of war paint swept across his shoulders, chest, and back, and though the others were covered in every color imaginable, he was the only warrior marked solely in red.

He carried a sai blade as well, and even before he turned to face us, I knew who it was. I would recognize that powerful frame and commanding stride anywhere.

Malik.

As he turned to face us, standing there with a stoic, intimidating expression, he reminded me of the Zehvitian warriors of old I had seen depicted on some of the wall art in the palace. Powerful and deadly.

“He’s going to fight them all?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice from revealing my anxiety at the idea. I knew he was a dragon rider with the added speed and agility that gave him, but still. Five against one?

“It is tradition. The future king himself must face them in combat,” Tajan explained. “If he spills their blood, the warriors are out and can no longer take part in the fighting. The warrior who draws his blood first wins.”

I swallowed hard and stared down at where Malik stood. I could have sworn that as he stared up into the crowd, Malik’s gaze found our section and stared right back at me. My heart leapt into my throat. I would have bet my talisman that there was the hint of a smirk on his lips.

The gong rang out a final time, and Malik spun as the warriors quickly spread out, surrounding him on all sides.

I had grown up around dragon riders. I knew what they were capable of, but it was still shocking to see Malik in action. Several warriors charged him as one and he met them blow for blow. He moved with brutal efficiency and lethal grace. His blade was a shining blur of silver in the sunlight as he disarmed one and blocked another. He was constantly in motion, never pausing, spinning and lunging and parrying. Once his strike clashed with another’s blade so hard it drove the warrior to take a knee.

All the while, Malik was smiling. Actually, several of the warriors were. It was utterly brutal fighting, but they were all enjoying this.

Eventually, one warrior was disqualified, then another, until only three warriors remained—Yesh, Selasi, and a female warrior named Brunara. By this time, they were all sweaty and breathing hard, but somehow all still managed to look exhilarated.

They attacked Malik individually and in a group but couldn’t seem to find their way past his guard. Until Yesh made a crucial error and Malik lunged, just grazing his side with his sword. Blood welled and Yesh was disqualified, but not before Selasi took advantage of Malik’s distraction and nicked him on the arm.

The entire Nest erupted with cheers. Selasi had won.

The crowd went wild throughout the arena, cheering Selasi on as he did a victory lap and then came to a halt when he stood before his king once more. Selasi took a knee. I was sad Yesh didn’t win, but knew he would still be a member of the Talonar, even if he did not claim the honor of First Warrior.

Malik was grinning widely as he reached across his body and rubbed his thumb along the bloody scratch on his arm. Then he reached down and touched Selasi on the forehead.

I was surprised at the gesture, but then I really shouldn’t have been. I was constantly being reminded I was not in my homeland. My people would have no doubt found the gesture repulsive. Barbaric , my mother would have said. Then again, they wouldn’t have allowed common soldiers to fight their future king either, let alone wound him on purpose.

“I honor you with my blood.” Malik’s loud voice carried over the crowd, which had quieted down. “Rise, Selasi Ashed, as First Warrior and Captain of my Talonar.”

Selasi rose, his expression one of pride as he and Malik clasped forearms.

The other new members of the Talonar moved forward to congratulate their new leader, slapping him on the back, making The Sign of The Warrior, or touching their foreheads to his.

When I turned to look at Harun, he didn’t seem disappointed at all, only happy for his brother.

Then something odd happened. As I watched, several warriors started climbing and leaping over the ten-foot-high wall that surrounded the arena floor to separate and protect the onlookers from what was happening below.

“What are they doing?” I asked Zara.

She grinned as she replied, “Each of the warriors now picks a partner for the dance this evening in order to celebrate their victory.”

Sure enough, once among the crowd, each warrior marked the man or woman of their choice with some of their own war paint. The crowd was loving it. People were cheering and laughing, and I watched as one warrior even looped a woman around the waist and kissed her thoroughly before rubbing his face against hers while she shrieked and laughed.

“It is considered a great honor to be chosen.” If I wasn’t mistaken, there was something almost wistful in Zara’s tone as she said the last.

“You’re still too young,” the queen suddenly interjected.

Zara sighed. “I know. Not to mention they are all too intimidated by Malik to ask me, even if I wasn’t.”

I couldn’t help but smile at their antics and was thoroughly engrossed in watching it all unfold. That was when I heard a faint gasp beside me, just as a shadow fell over me. I glanced up to find Malik grinning down at me.

He was breathing hard, that massive chest rising and falling with each breath. And those dark eyes were still alive with the thrill of the fight. The effect was dazzling.

He was dazzling.

I blinked. Had he really climbed up here?

His sudden nearness, paired with all that bronze skin on display, had my heart racing and my skin flushing. In my flustered state, I forgot to formally address him. “Malik, what are you—"

He reached up and swiped his fingers through the paint on his chest, right over his heart. Then he leaned forward, lifted up my hand, and touched those same fingers to the back of it.

The crowd around us cheered, and Zara giggled beside me. His laughing eyes met mine before he leaned further down and whispered against my ear, “Until tonight, siren.”

Then he straightened to his full height, flashed me that wicked grin, and without another word, turned and leapt back down to the sand and out of sight.

I sat there in stunned shock for several seconds.

It wasn’t until I looked around and saw Zara clapping her hands together, Priya looking murderous behind her, and Harun and Tajan smiling broadly, that it finally hit me.

Malik . . . Malik had just marked me as his. And I would be his partner for the dance this evening.