Page 17 of Wild Bond

I shrugged. “My mother was a believer. And it’s hard to witness a sight like tonight or see a dragon up close and not believe in something more.” The air between us grew weighted and heavy as he continued to watch me. Unnerved, I tried to lighten the mood. “Though I do save my prayers for the Gray Gods. One is a thief, after all.”

His lips twitched. “Why does that not surprise me?”

There were nine gods and goddesses that the people of Palasia worshiped. Three dark, three light, and three gray. The Gray Gods—The Trickster, The Crone, and The Thief—were those I favored. I liked to think I was a gray area type of person. I wasn’t evil, but I had done some bad things. I was a thief, and I wasn’t virtuous or perfect, though I tried to be kind and help others where I could. That was a hard thing to do sometimes in the slums, when I had to take care of myself first. So gray was where I lived and who I worshiped, and it had worked out all right for me so far. At least, until I had been thrown in prison.

After that happened, there had been some nights when I was particularly low where I prayed to each of the Nine, one at a time, over and over, not caring which of them heard me just so long as one of them did.

Trying to keep my mind off my grim thoughts, I asked, “What about you, Commander? What do you believe?”

He stared at me as I asked the question, any touch of humor now gone from his face. I wasn’t sure he would answer, but then he said, “I believe in myself and my dragon and what I can see with my own eyes.” He paused. “I believe I make my own choices and no god has anything to do with it.”

I nodded, feeling like that fell in line with what little I knew of him. There were a few more moments where neither of us said anything as we watched most of the partygoers begin to make their way back inside the ballroom. The musicians started to play again. The piece was slower though, an achingly beautiful waltz.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice breeching the silence that, surprisingly, had not grown stilted or awkward between us.

His eyes met mine again. “For?”

“For pardoning me.”

His expression again took on that unreadable mask. “I was planning to pardon you that day regardless, before . . .”

“Before a certain dragon dropped from the sky?” I finished with a wry laugh.

That faint grin I had seen a glimpse of before made an appearance. “Yes, before that.”

“Still,” I said, my tone slightly more serious, “thank you.”

Those devastating eyes regarded me as a faint breeze tickled my hair. His voice was deep and a little husky as he replied, “You’re welcome.”

Clearing my throat, I turned to face the castle gardens again, oddly thrilled and unnerved by that weighty stare. “That doesn’t mean I forgive you for throwing me in prison in the first place,” I stipulated, trying to lighten the strange tension between us. “Since you’re going to be my instructor, you should know that.”

He didn’t say anything for several moments, then replied, “I’m not seeking your forgiveness. I won’t apologize for doing my duty.”

I did turn to look at him then. “Fair enough.”

Thenextday,Itook the morning meal down in the dining hall with the other dragon riders. It was in a separate building located between the trainee barracks and Rider Tower itself. Tables and chairs were spread out over the wide space, and upon entering, the smell of cooked meat and fresh bread made my mouth water.

Skye had decided to go hunting this morning for her breakfast, so she wasn’t with me, though I could feel her flying over the woods just north of the city. Up until now she had been content to simply eat the raw hunks of meat Millie brought her, but I guess every few days a dragon her size would need a more substantial meal to sustain her. She had been reluctant to leave me at first, after only returning a few hours before from escorting the other dragons, but I assured her I would be fine, and she had eventually flown out our chamber window.

None of the other trainees seemed to know what to make of me, so after getting my food, I sat alone at a far table. No one came to join me, which suited me just fine. I was enjoying the food too much to care, and probably ate more than I should. I was contemplating getting another helping, even though my stomach felt as if it would burst, when someone stopped at my table.

I looked up and met the warm brown eyes of one of the last people I would have expected to see. Dembe Matara—Rakim’s second—stood there, towering over the table with his large, imposing frame. The dark skin of his bald head gleamed in the morning light pouring in from the window behind me. He wore black fighting leathers and a friendly expression.

“Good morning, Rin,” he greeted, his white teeth flashing in a wide smile.

I didn’t reply, too taken aback that this famous dragon rider was here and that he knew to call me Rin. Had Commander Rakim told him the name I preferred? Or had he been at the ball last night and heard me tell the queen?

“Dembe Matara, at your service. But please just call me Dembe. I’m here to escort you to training.”

“Oh,” I mumbled, rising to my feet. “Um . . . you don’t have to take me. If you just tell me where it is, I’m sure I could find—”

“Nonsense,” he waved me off. “You’re training with me this morning.”

I nearly stumbled in surprise as I followed the big man out of the dining hall and into the morning sunlight. “You’retraining me?”

He glanced back, that wide smile stretching his face again. He seemed oblivious to the awed stares and a few respectful nods he was receiving from trainees and other dragon riders as we walked briskly toward the training grounds I had noticed the night before.

“The council decided I would be the best one to assess your abilities and your skill level when it came to weapons training and hand-to-hand combat.”

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