Deep magic second coll.., p.41
Deep Magic - Second Collection, page 41
part #2 of Deep Magic Collection Series
She didn’t want to look, but she had to. Her eyes had a will of their own, and she could not keep them from seeing what her heart suddenly understood. Her mind took a few moments to catch up. From somewhere nearby she heard someone gasp.
“There! Look! You can see it!”
His eyes were gold. Around them, rivers of liquid fire rolled between scales that looked as smooth as glass yet as soft as skin. The smoke still in the air reflected on them, making it look as if color slid across the surface of each scale, shifting from one shade to another.
The rest of him was lost in the smoke, but it mattered not. Aria knew him by his eyes. Something in their depths matched something that lived in his voice, and she recognized it.
“Kilauea,” she whispered.
Aria, he answered from within.
3
For a moment, Aria thought the dragon had spoken aloud, and she twisted to look back, but Arsen and Thistle stared over her with half grins on their faces, and she knew the words had been only for her. It was as if time had slowed to this one narrow point, holding its breath.
Kilauea was the dragon Father had obtained for Arsen.
Why had she not realized it sooner? Somehow, hearing the dragon’s voice in her head, she had thought it came from a beast far away. Besides, Shep had said the dragon that Arsen would fight was but a hatchling. Kilauea was no hatchling.
Men have forgotten the old ways, Kilauea said now, his voice a familiar rumble in her head. Once they knew much about my kind, but the knowledge faded. His golden eyes shimmered. They did not want to know. They did not want to see the truth.
Yes, and now her newfound friend would be sent to battle her brother—her twin—in the arena.
Nothing good can come of this, the dragon acknowledged.
Surely there would be no question of the outcome. This was a dragon, after all, not some pet that Arsen would face. Aria was his match in every way, and she knew full well that she could never best such a beast. Arsen would die. Her twin would die.
Kilauea only stared, his liquid gold eyes filled with a sadness she could feel but not quite fathom. How had Father even found him? How did one acquire a dragon? Perhaps there was a way for her to free him. Let him loose before Arsen’s trial. No one would blame Arsen for such a thing. He would be allowed to choose another beast. True, his battle may not hold all the glory he had desired, but—
The sound of footsteps broke into her thoughts. Kilauea disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
“Aria.”
She turned to see the man striding toward her, and icy fingers of dread sprang up inside her like snakes. They wrapped around her heart in a cold, hard grip.
“Father?”
“Come. I have need of you.”
No! “I cannot. I need to . . .” she trailed off, unable to finish her words.
Father glanced at Arsen over her shoulder. “Thistle can prepare him,” he said, misunderstanding what she had been about to say. “You must come with me.”
When she did not move quickly enough, he took her arm, dragging her along with him as he walked away.
“Make haste,” he called to Arsen and Thistle over his shoulder. “There is but one trial before yours.”
One trial.
How long would that give her? She must make it back somehow. She must find a way to free Kilauea, but how? What if she failed? The hand around her heart squeezed painfully. She had to find a way.
Her father led them through an archway and around a stone balustrade, where a path of stone sloped upward, an entrance to the seats above. She had been there before. Each year since she was ten they had brought her to the festival. Three of her brothers she had watched from the stone benches, tense but excited and filled with happy anticipation for her siblings.
Even Joren facing a griffon had filled her with eagerness in spite of her worry. She had trusted that he would win.
Today was different than ever before.
As her head rose above the stone wall, the rows and rows of stone benches that formed a ring around the arena breaking into view, dread washed over her in waves. Her heart pounded frantically against the iron-cold grip that held it.
Father turned them to the steps, heading upward, but instead of going in the direction of their usual seats, he stopped at the first level and moved toward the benches. Ahead of them, a master’s box filled several seats, white poles holding up a roof made of multicolored clothes that flapped in the breeze. Under the shade sat Master Wells, attended by two of his servants.
As they approached, he turned his head and saw them, his mouth curving into a smile. Aria heard the crowds around them erupt into cheers, and glanced down to the dirt floor in time to see a boy, tall and thin like a sapling, enter the arena. Before she could register what his beast was, Father yanked on her arm.
Why had he brought her here? Did Master Wells need something? Perhaps they would send her to the plaza to retrieve it. If they did, she would be able to get back to the stalls, to find a way to free—
“Master Wells,” Father stopped quickly, forcing Aria to adjust to keep from falling.
“Ah, here you are.” His pebble eyes raked over Aria, and the cold fist around her heart squeezed tighter, turning her chest into a frozen rock.
The crowd erupted in cheers again as something happened in the arena below. Aria sensed the sands of time slipping away.
“Aria,” Father said, “I have good news.” His eyes were bright with excitement. “I have made you a marriage contract.”
The words washed over her without meaning.
Marriage? To whom? Master Wells did not have any sons, only a daughter who was already married and had children of her own. Was there someone in his household who was of age? A servant, or . . . ?
“Thistle?” The name fell from her lips.
He seemed nice enough, although she didn’t truly know him.
“No, you fool girl,” Father growled.
But then who?
The grasping fingers around her heart loosened just enough for understanding to fill it, and then they closed with a final crush that left her unable to breathe at all.
He could not mean this.
Surely her heart would break into pieces in her chest, leaving her hollow. How could her father contract her to Master Wells? The man was old enough to be her father. He was olderthan her father!
“No,” she whispered.
She had to find Lady Prudence. This was a mistake.
Her father’s hand on her arm tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. “You dishonor us,” he whispered fiercely. “This is a fortunate match for you, girl.”
Master Wells seemed immune to it all, his eyes shining with a hungry look.
The crowd roared, people jumping to their feet all around. Aria turned, startled, and saw the tall boy standing in the center of the arena. At his side a great black bear lay still in the dirt, a lance sticking up from his dark fur. The boy, covered in blood that was surely both the bear’s and his own judging by the long tears that marked his chest and legs, stood on trembling legs before clapping his hands against his sides and bowing to the audience who roared in approval.
A swarm of servants rushed onto the arena floor. Several grabbed the body of the bear while others gently ushered the boy away. Others raked the dirt to cover the splashes of blood and gore. The crowd began to settle down.
“Come,” Master Wells said, patting the bench beside him. “Sit.”
No. No No NO! She would not do this thing! She could not!
The crowd cheered again, and Father’s grip loosened as his head swiveled to look down to the arena floor. Master Wells frowned, but then he, too, was turning to look. Aria’s head twisted as if a giant hand were forcing it, the muscles and tendons in her neck and shoulder straining and creaking as if they would snap.
Below her, Arsen strode from a darkened doorway onto the dirt. He was dressed in armor like a knight, and on his helmeted head was a crest of royal blue. His walk was confident, his face a mask of determination and blood lust. When he reached the center of the floor, he stopped, his head moving back and forth as he took in the spectators. When he thrust his sword upward, jabbing at the sky, the crowd went wild. They remembered Joren’s magnificent battle, and their anticipation swelled.
Another door began to open—the largest in the arena—made for the teams of horses to enter through, and a great golden head appeared.
The crowd fell deathly silent.
Aria saw Arsen go still, the blood leaving his face as the full stature of the beast he was to face came into view. It was one thing to behold it from behind the barred door of a stall, and another to see him in the open, golden scales shimmering in the sunlight. Surely this great beast could not be bested by any man, let alone a boy. How they even managed to keep him from flying away was beyond her.
Then the rest of Kilauea’s body came through the large entryway, and Aria’s eyes found the chains that bound his legs. Fat, heavy links ran between the cuffs that circled just above each foot, from beneath which blood already seeped.
Aria’s sob ripped loose.
They had never intended for this to be a fair fight! Kilauea had been unable to escape because he was in chains, and they would have him fight that way. It was beyond dishonorable. It was shameful. Deplorable.
Evil.
Do not cry, Aria.
She had not realized that she was. Hearing his voice only made it worse. She was too late, too late to save Kilauea and too late to find Lady Prudence. She had nothing. She was like the dust on the floor of the arena, covered in blood and gore, trampled beneath the feet of others.
A burst of anger raged through her, burning away the sadness.
You must kill him, she sent her thought out.
His head lifted, his golden eyes finding hers even from this distance, and in them she saw the full truth. The chains bound his body, but they had found other ways to bind him as well; to keep him from his magic.
There was no way for him to win.
In the center of the arena, Arsen found his courage again and thrust up his sword in defiance. The crowd cheered. The anger inside Aria burned like the sun, charring her from the inside out, burning away everything but her rage at what was being done.
She could not let this happen.
Aria broke free of her father’s grip as though he were no more than a fly biting at her skin. She saw his eyes go wide with surprise, and then she was leaping over the bench in front of her, people crying out and scattering to get out of her way as she charged to the wall. Before she could stop to consider her actions, she was atop it, looking down at the arena floor.
Her whole life was this moment.
Aria did not hesitate. She jumped, landing on the balls of her feet. Arsen was turned away, stalking toward the dragon. He never saw her coming. Every ounce of training she had done in the woods, every turn of the sword, every pull of the bow, every swipe of the staff had been in preparation for this moment.
She hit Arsen full in the back, toppling them both to the dirt in a tangle of limbs. Her body smacked against the hardness of his armor, but she shrugged it off, twisting quickly as Arsen struck out at his assailant. She was light as a feather, quick as a fox. She danced away from him, grabbing his arm as he tried to get up and twisting it until he cried out and dropped the sword. She grabbed it from the dirt, the heft of it solid in her hand, and moved to stand between Arsen and Kilauea. His golden eyes regarded her. She nodded to him once, and then turned back, sword raised.
Arsen finally managed to regain his feet, and registered her standing there. His face was slack with shock.
“Aria? What are you doing!”
He glanced behind him, up at the crowd, but they were still and silent in their shock at the turn of events.
“You will not kill this dragon,” she growled. Then she lifted her head to the sky. “This dragon cannot die! This act has no honor!”
Arsen’s shock slowly curdled into something darker.
“Get out of the way, Aria.”
She slowly moved her head back and forth. She would not be moved. This was the first truly right thing she had ever done. The justice of it burned inside her.
“I will kill you,” her twin snarled.
She stared back at him flatly. “You will try.”
Arsen feinted to the right and tried to come at her from the left. Her body responded without needing thought, spinning clear and bringing up the sword to hold against his throat. Aria heard the crowd gasp. The blood washed from Arsen’s face in shock and fury.
“I do not want to have to kill you, Brother.”
“Someone give me a sword!” He screamed to the stunned faces above him.
There was a moment of silence, and then a commotion. Aria kept her eyes trained on Arsen. Kilauea stood behind her, his breath warm on her neck.
Someone is coming.
She tensed, but held her stance. If Arsen so much as twitched, she would be a twin no longer. She heard a dull thud, and knew that someone had come over the wall into the arena the same way she had. She heard the slow footsteps behind her. Her whole body thrummed with energy, ready to spin and fight.
Be still. This is no foe.
She frowned, but held herself still. The footsteps came closer. The soft crunch of sand stopped just behind her right shoulder. A hand reached out, touching her arm. She looked down to see that the arm was covered in silver markings from fingertip to where it disappeared from view. She began to tremble. The arm pushed slowly downward, easing her sword away from Arsen’s throat.
“Not this day,” a soft voice said into her ear.
Then the figure was striding past her to stand between Aria and her brother. The same silver markings that covered her skin decorated her cloak. Markings Aria knew represented the vines of truth. Markings that represented ancient laws upheld under an oath of fealty, sworn for life.
The markings of the FIST.
Aria could only see the woman’s back as she stood facing Arsen. Down the center of it, a long dark braid hung thick and soft over golden armor, peeking from beneath the cloak. The crowd began to rumble. Lady Prudence held up her hand, and silence fell. She lifted her head to face the rows of seats above.
“This child speaks truly,” her voice rang out through the air like steel against steel. “This act has no honor. It defiles the old laws.”
There was silence in the wake of her pronouncement, but only for a moment.
“The rights of New Day trial take precedent!” a voice shouted from above.
Aria knew the voice well.
“I claim the right of trial for my son! What right have you or anyone to deny it?”
The woman turned to face Aria.
Aria took a deep breath. The wheels of fate clicked into place as she met soft gray eyes. She had never seen more of this woman than her back, but it was as though she had known her always.
“What say you?” Lady Prudence said softly.
You must tell her that I have chosen you, Kilauea’s voice rumbled into her mind. We are bonded.
Aria spun to face him. He had chosen her? How could that be? She had heard of this of course, but she had never understood what the words had meant. How could a dragon bond to a human?
Such things were done in times gone.
She swallowed past a lump in her throat.
You must tell her.
Aria nodded and turned back to face Lady Prudence, who was looking at her strangely, one eyebrow quirked up.
“The dragon speaks to you?”
“Yes,” Aria answered, her voice little more than a hoarse rasp. “We are . . . bonded.”
There were more gasps from those in the benches close enough to hear. Lady Prudence gave the barest of nods and then turned in the direction of where Father stood.
“The dragon and the girl have bonded.” Her voice carried easily, and more gasps filled the arena. “No right of trial can stand against a bond of lifeblood.”
“It is my lifeblood to spill!” came the furious response. “She is my daughter! I own her!”
Again the woman turned back slowly to face Aria. Her eyes sparked like twin flames, filled with weight and meaning.
“What say you, girl?”
Aria did not need Kilauea to understand. This was the moment she had dreamed of. Her destiny had arrived. She had only to reach out and claim it.
Slowly, carefully she laid the sword on the ground before her. Then she knelt down, putting her palms in the dirt, and bowed her head until the cool metal of the sword pressed against the skin of her forehead. She let herself stay there a moment before lifting her face to look at Lady Prudence, whose face was radiant. Her eyes burned, and a hint of a smile curved her lips.
“I volunteer my life,” Aria heard the words, although they seemed to come from somewhere she had never truly known existed, a place so deep inside her that it was like the center of the world. “I swear my lifelong fealty to the FIST.”
Lady Prudence’s head dipped as she turned.
Hope blossomed inside Aria like a flower.
“She belongs to you no longer,” Lady Prudence called out to Aria’s father. “She has sworn her life to the FIST. Henceforth she will dedicate herself to the pursuit of truth in all forms and in all things.”
The crowd broke into cheers. Aria saw her father’s rigid body spin and disappear into the throng of people and wondered whether she would ever see him again.
Lady Prudence turned to Arsen, and inclined her head to him.
“You may go,” she said, “and find another beast to slay this New Day.”
His lips were a thin purple slash against his bloodless face. When his eyes flicked up to meet Aria’s, she had no doubt he would have killed her if he could. He spun on his heel and stormed out of the arena.
Lady Prudence turned back to Aria.
“Come, it is time for us to go.”
“What about Kilauea?”
Gray eyes looked beyond her, surveying the golden dragon.
“He is your bond. Your lifeblood is twined with his. Where you go, he will go.” Lady Prudence’s eyes softened, but still glimmered as she looked back at Aria. “The two of you have much to learn together.”
