I remembered my own bonding, the rush of another being flooding my soul, the initial terror followed by bone-deep recognition. The knowledge that I’d never truly be alone again.
The owl-creature turned, looking back at the man before leading him from the arena. He followed, his expression dazed.
The crowd cheered.
I clenched my jaw and kept my expression neutral.
Staff removed the woman’s body, and I bowed my head, acknowledging the loss with a stab through the heart. I wanted them all to bond, but it wasn’t my decision.
Four survivors from the second group entered the arena next. One man of about twenty-five strode in with confidence, his chestpuffed out beneath his torn tunic. He walked directly toward a dark green dragon, his arms spread wide, grinning as if he’d already claimed victory.
“Fool,” Grayson muttered beside me.
The recruit reached a hand toward the dragon’s front leg.
A burst of flame engulfed the man, so hot that he didn’t have time to flinch. When the fire receded, only ash remained, skittering across the stone floor with the light breeze.
The crowd watched in silence. A few shook their heads, but no one appeared surprised. Arrogance had killed as many recruits as fear over the years.
A woman with dark braids woven with purple ribbon approached a quiet, stone-colored beast that resembled a panther twice the size of a man. The creature studied her for a long moment before dipping its head. She placed her palm between its eyes, and the bond locked into place with a quiver of air. They left together, the woman’s shoulders finally relaxing.
The remaining two recruits stood paralyzed, their faces blank with terror. A thin man of about thirty bolted for the arena wall. He clawed at the smooth stone, trying desperately to escape.
A scaled creature slithered up behind him. It wrapped around his legs and pulled him down, snapping his neck with one twist. People moved forward to remove the body as the beast rejoined the others.
The last recruit, an older woman with steel-gray hair and wearing a torn blue tunic and dark pants, remained in place, studying the beasts with a calculating eye. A creature nearly three times her size, with iridescent white fur and a segmented tail with a spike on each tip, approached her. The woman knelt, her hands trembling, and the bond formed between them. She left the arena with her new companion, her back straight despite the lines of exhaustion on her face.
I watched each bonding and each death with a tight jaw, keeping my face carefully blank. Every loss felt like a personal failure. Thesewere my people, and we needed every one of them to fight the Skathes.
But the ancient laws could not be broken. This went beyond even my role as Syllavar’s king. The beasts chose who lived and died. They decided if there would be a bond.
Not I.
“Too many lost this year,” Grayson said, his voice barely carrying over the murmur of the crowd.
My throat tightened, and I didn’t speak. What was there to say? The wasteland continued to spread, the Skathes multiplied, and our numbers diminished with each passing season. We needed every magic-wielder we could find, yet the beasts remained as selective as ever.
The third group entered and departed, all finding bonds.
By the seventh group, the crowd no longer gasped at each death.
Yet when the eighth and final group entered, whispers rippled through the stands.
“Sixsurvived?” Coralee turned to me, surprise flashing across her usually impassive face. “No other group had that many survivors. This hasn’t happened in a long time.”
Grayson nodded, leaning closer to her. “The tall blonde in the center played a large role in their survival. I watched parts of the trial through my owl’s eyes. She has remarkable instincts. And the older man, the former commander, he’s?—”
I didn’t hear the rest of his assessment. My entire focus narrowed to the woman walking into the arena.
Isi.
My chest tightened, my breath catching as if I’d taken a blow. The sounds of the arena dimmed to nothing, leaving only the heavy thrum of my pulse in my ears. Dirt streaked her face, and scratches marred her cheeks, but she moved with a regal bearing that even days trapped within the Rite of Bonds couldn’t strip away.
Every time I looked at her, I remembered the vow I’dmade not to care.
And every time, I failed.
They entered as a unit, moving together with the synchronicity that came from facing death side by side. Their torn, sweat-streaked clothing hung on their frames, and dirt and weariness coated their faces, but they stood tall. Unified. They wouldn’t have survived if they hadn’t been.
