Page 2 of Wild Bond

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 consideredwhatI 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.”

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