The Bound Read online

  Creator!

  It was as if she would suffocate from the intensity of it all. She couldn’t survive this—not the creatures and not the magical torrent taking over her body. Her ears were ringing, and she ground her teeth against the inexorable pain lashing out at her bones, scraping and tearing her from the inside out.

  “Don’t,” cried out the ethereal woman lying at Cyrene’s feet.

  Cyrene didn’t know what the woman meant. All she was aware of was the pain and that she had failed.

  Her head tilted to the sky, and with a breath, the dam broke. Her power lashed out of her in a deafening boom, rushing over the monsters like a tidal wave. She heard a crash and saw a beast had dropped to the ground. Another one dropped. And another. Then, they all dropped.

  Cyrene clawed tooth and nail across the ground toward the girl. She had no energy left, and darkness beckoned her, but this couldn’t all be for naught.

  “Are you okay?” Cyrene croaked.

  She reached out to touch the girl to try to offer some comfort.

  “What are you?” the girl breathed.

  Cyrene blacked out before she could answer.

  Cyrene had the distinct impression that she’d been here before. But where here was, was not a where but a when.

  The pain was gone, replaced by nothingness. She was present but distant.

  What’s going on? What happened in the woods? And why am I now here? Where am I exactly?

  The last thing she remembered was magic burning her body from the inside out. Is this death? Have I crossed some unnatural barrier?

  She began running through the dark. Her feet pounded on the dirt road. She was in sturdy boots that should be making far too much noise, but there was a tickle at the back of her mind that held the silence.

  Before Cyrene could attempt to figure out what was happening, she abruptly stopped running. She pressed her back against a shadowed stone wall and tried to calm her breathing. Two men walked by, holding mugs of ale, and they were all but carrying a young woman between them as she regaled them with some lascivious tale.

  Cyrene tried to move forward, but nothing happened. She couldn’t even move an inch. She willed her pinkie to bend, and still, nothing happened.

  Then, Cyrene realized why this all felt familiar. She’d had this feeling once before. Dread filled her from head to toe, but she wasn’t sure if it was her own emotions…or the person she was trapped in.

  Last time, it had been Serafina, the Domina whom Cyrene had heard about since she was a child.

  Two thousand years ago, Serafina had been a tyrant, and Viktor Dremylon, the great ancestor of King Edric, had destroyed her tyrannical rule to raise a righteous society. Thus, the Class system had been created to differentiate the people into leadership, military, and mercantile workers.

  But, when Cyrene had first encountered Serafina in a dream, Serafina had been only seventeen—like Cyrene herself—and she had been in love with Viktor. But she had discovered that she had magic and was to become a Doma.

  For much of Cyrene’s life, she had thought that Doma was just a name for the ancient High Court with the Domina as their queen. After going through the Doma Ascension ritual in Serafina’s own dream, Cyrene now knew that Doma wielded magic. In fact, Cyrene herself was Doma.

  But that did not explain why she was hiding in a shady alcove or what she was about to encounter.

  The woman waited another minute before turning the corner and reaching a high hedge. Cyrene felt the prickle of the bush as she stuck her arm through it, pressed against a hard wall that opened at her touch, and then pushed her way through both. Cyrene found herself in a stuffy small pantry and wondered what she was doing here.

  “Sera,” a man said gruffly, grabbing her around the middle and crushing her against him.

  Tears sprang to the woman’s eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

  Cyrene felt as if she were intruding, but at least she now knew that she was in the same body. Serafina had allowed her access once more.

  The man drew her face into his hands, and Cyrene recognized him as Viktor Dremylon. He had the same blue-gray eyes as the Dremylon royalty she knew at home—King Edric and Prince Kael.

  “You came,” Viktor whispered.

  “I said I would.” She sounded a bit defensive.

  “Of course you did. I thought you had forgotten.”

  “I’ve never forgotten before.”

  Viktor brushed her hair back out of her face, and she closed her eyes at his gentle touch.

  “Run away with me,” he said.

  She sighed, and Cyrene could feel Serafina’s inner turmoil. She wanted it as much as she could feel the impossibility of it all.

  “Just think,” he continued, “we could have our own home tucked away in the south. I’d show you the ocean and the beautiful sandy beaches of Albion. We’d have children, the most beautiful children, Sera. As beautiful as their mother. Can you see it?”

  “Yes.” And she could. And it hurt worse than anything else in the imaginable world.

  “Have that life with me.”

  Serafina turned her head and sighed again. “You know I cannot.”

  “You went to the Doma for control of your magic, and you have it. Come back to me, my love. Come back to me.”

  “I’ve always been here. I never left.” Her hands were shaking. “Can’t you see that I am no better than I was?”

  He took her hands in his, and they stilled. “I can help. I ground you. It’ll go away. You don’t need it.”

  The thought of being without her powers made bile rise in her throat. Her magic was as ingrained in her as breathing. She couldn’t go without it any more than she could go without air.

  “You don’t understand,” she cried, wrenching her hands out of his grasp. “I do need it. I do, Viktor.”

  His eyes turned stony. “Why do you have to give in to this when you have everything you could ever want here? You would never want for anything with me!”

  “I would want this,” she said.

  A shiver of magic surged up through her. Cyrene immediately recognized it, but it didn’t rip through her. It felt more like a trickle of water rising up out of the river. More of a life force than an all-consuming inferno. It was bliss.

  Nothing happened for a second.

  Viktor gave her a disapproving look. Then, suddenly, they were both in the air, only a couple of inches but enough to startle Viktor and have him reach out for her. When he touched her, they unceremoniously dropped back onto the floor.

  “Sera! You said you wouldn’t!” he cried.

  “You have to understand. There is no other way for you to know, Viktor. If only you could feel the energy that flows through me. It is life.”

  “It is poison,” he spat.

  Serafina took a halting step back. Cyrene felt the words, as if it were a punch in the gut.

  “It has poisoned our relationship. I want my love back.”

  “I’m right here.”

  He shook his head. “The girl I knew would never have believed so much in this. Magic taints you, Sera. Please, think about our cottage on the beach.” He took her wrist in his hand. “That is what your life is supposed to be.”

  “This is my life, Viktor.” She tried to pull her hand back from his, but he wouldn’t let her go.

  “So then, we’re done?”

  “No!” she cried.

  “Because they’ll never let your kind marry such a lowly citizen. It doesn’t matter that I come from an aristocratic family. I’ll never compare to your magic. Is that it?”

  “Viktor, no. Please! You’re distorting it.”

  She yanked on her arm, and hysteria rose in her chest.

  Cyrene wanted to knock him upside the head a couple of times until he realized what she was telling him.

  “Will you marry me, Sera?” he asked, jerking her forward.

  Serafina gasped. He was proposing?

  Tears streamed down her face, and she couldn’t decide if
happiness or despair had brought them on. She knew, as she knew nothing else, that she wanted to be with Viktor, and as certainly, she would never give her magic up for him.

  “Viktor,” she croaked.

  “Well, yes or no?”

  “Give me time to think.”

  “Think? You need time to think?” he cried. He released her wrist like he had been burned. “We’ve been together our entire lives, and you have to think about whether or not you want to marry me.”

  “I do! I do, Viktor! I want to marry you, but…”

  “But?” he roared. “The damn magic?”

  “I can’t give it up for you!” she screamed, collapsing to the ground at his feet. “I can’t marry you. I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

  In disgust, he took a step back, and Serafina let sobs rack her body. Her trembling hands sank into the cellar floor. She tried to control her breathing, but too much was warring within her all at once.

  Cyrene felt the buildup before she thought even Serafina was aware of it. Where before it had felt like a river, now, it felt like a dam had broken, and a tidal wave was about to flood the entire city.

  “I thought you loved me,” he cried.

  “I do love you!”

  “Maybe you never did.”

  “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

  Viktor was silent for a second, listening to her sobs. He didn’t even offer her a hand.

  But Serafina was starting to realize what was happening. Whatever she had been trying to do to tamp the well did no more good than adding a pebble to the barrier. She quickly grew frantic.

  A few minutes later, Viktor knelt down in front of her. He placed his fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him. “You won’t marry me?”

  She shook her head, unable to repeat the words.

  “Very well.”

  “Viktor—”

  “No, it’s too late.”

  “I love you,” she breathed.

  “My father means to have me married by the end of the year,” he admitted.

  Serafina’s mouth fell open. “Wh-what?”

  “I wanted it to be you, but it must happen regardless. You’re forcing me to marry someone else, Sera. This is your doing.”

  “No. Please don’t.”

  He shrugged. “I have no other choice. Who would you have me choose? Tremlyn? Sauriel? Or should it be Margana?”

  “How dare you ask me that! I will die if you marry someone else.”

  “And I am already dead without you!”

  The words crashed over her, and everything she had been holding back released in an uncontrollable wave. It knocked both of them back in opposite directions against the walls. Viktor slammed his head into the stone. Serafina fell in a heap against the shelving in the pantry. The walls shook, and all the food and supplies crashed down to the ground, destroying their safe haven.

  “Viktor!” she cried, crawling out of the rubble and rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

  He groaned and tried to sit up. She helped him, but when her hand came back sticky, she realized it was blood. If she’d had any ability in healing, she would have helped him. But she wasn’t certain enough of her abilities as it was, and she had expelled so much power. She felt drained. She hadn’t had an explosion like that since she had been presented to the Doma court.

  “What did you do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  She could hear footsteps coming toward them.

  Cyrene knew that this was wrong. This was all a secret, and Serafina couldn’t possibly get caught.

  “You need to get out of here, Sera,” he commanded. He pushed her away and tried to lie back down.

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  “What would they do if they found you?”

  “Nothing. I’m Doma,” she reminded him.

  By the steely glint in his eyes, that was the last thing he’d wanted to hear. “You might get no punishment for using your powers here, but up in the castle, you might.”

  Serafina tried to put on a brave face, but Cyrene could tell there would be a serious penalty. She was to be better than the law to be able to uphold it. The sneaking out to see a man would be enough to get her in trouble, but the outburst would cost her even more.

  “It’s okay,” she told him.

  She needed to be here for him. He was losing blood. He needed a healer.

  “Sera, go! I don’t want to see you again.”

  “Viktor, please.”

  He turned his head away. “I’ll be married in a matter of months, and then what will we do?”

  She didn’t have an answer for that, and Cyrene didn’t like the way that made her feel. She had done enough with a married man—a married king—that she didn’t want to think about repercussions.

  “No answer,” he said with a sigh. “You’ve chosen your life. Now, I’m choosing mine. Good-bye, Sera.”

  She swallowed hard. Tears were streaming down her face once more. “No matter what I am, I am always yours.”

  “What are you?” he asked desperately.

  “What are you?”

  Cyrene groaned incoherently.

  “She’s waking up!”

  “Wha—”

  “Child who walks in the Light,” a voice whispered in her ear, “tell us, what are you?”

  “I am yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Whatever I am, I am always yours.”

  “But what are you that can shine so bright?”

  “Doma. I am Doma.”

  “Wake up, child. Wake up.”

  Cyrene’s eyes fluttered open. The face of an angel—heart-shaped with large almond-shaped golden eyes and pouty pink lips—hovered over her. Her dark hair was long, to her waist. She was dressed in a floor-length white gown that shimmered and flowed effortlessly. She looked wise beyond her years.

  “Farewell, child,” she whispered as she stood. “Avoca!”

  Another woman walked into the room, and Cyrene gasped. It was the woman from the woods. She was as beautiful as Cyrene had last seen with gold-spun hair and liquid blue eyes. She had an unmistakable innocence about her, despite the fact that Cyrene knew she was a fierce warrior.

  “Yes, Healer,” Avoca said. She touched her hand to her lips in a show of deference. She was dressed in leggings with a loose shirt and a jacket contoured to her shape in a camouflage of greens that matched the forest along with soft brown boots. Her clothes looked the worse for wear.

  The healer nodded and then exited. She looked like she was floating more than walking.

  Cyrene glanced around at her surroundings. Her room was a nondescript wooden structure with smooth, rounded walls and a green cloth covering the entrance. She was lying on a small bed with delicate white sheets. The room held little else for decoration besides a string of colorful glowing jars hanging from the ceiling. Everything smelled earthy and fresh.

  “What’s going on?” Cyrene asked. “Where am I?”

  She tried to sit up but hissed as pain washed over her.

  Avoca rushed to her side. “Take it slow. You’ve gone through quite an ordeal. You were lucky we got you here in time.”

  “Where am I? Where are my friends? Were you there with those…those things?”

  “Your questions will be answered in time. You have an audience with the Queen.”

  “Queen?” Cyrene gasped.

  “Yes. Now, up.”

  Avoca put an arm behind her back and slowly assisted Cyrene into a sitting position. The pain was there, but it did seem that her body was remembering how to function, lessening the impact. As a unit, she turned her body to the side, slid her feet to the floor, and stood. She was barefoot, and the floor was cool to the touch.

  For the first time, Cyrene realized that she was no longer in her blue Byern gown but a loose-fitting white dress, similar to the healer’s. It was more like a shift, and she blushed at the shape her figure took under the thin materia
l.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Destroyed,” Avoca said without emotion. “Now, let’s go.”

  She disappeared through the door without further preamble, and Cyrene hurried after her. As soon as she stepped out of the room, her mouth fell open. This was unlike anything she had ever seen. She was currently in a forest village. Homes were carved into the giant trees surrounding her, bridges were strung among the branches, and vines dropped down to the ground where music drifted up toward her. From her vantage point, she could see people dancing and eating around a bonfire. She had walked right into some strange woodland festival.

  “Come on,” Avoca cried, exasperated. She grasped Cyrene’s wrist and pulled her toward a bridge.

  “Where am I?”

  “The Queen will decide if you receive answers.”

  “You brought me all the way out here, and you’re not willing to tell me where I am?”

  “No.”

  “My companions—”

  “Don’t bother.”

  When they reached the other side of the bridge, Cyrene pulled up short. “Answer one question! I have to know where I am, how my friends are, what is going on.”

  Avoca barely batted an eye. “You are the mystery wrapped in light. When the Queen deems you worthy of answers, you shall receive them.”

  Cyrene huffed. “You were there…with the creatures. Were you the one who saved me?”

  Her downcast eyes told the truth.

  “How many died?” Cyrene asked.

  Avoca took a deep breath and then met her eyes. “All of them.”

  Cyrene brought her hand to her mouth. But before she could get more of an explanation, Avoca was on the move again.

  Cyrene wasn’t sure she was prepared for more answers. She swallowed hard and kept her head held high as they meandered the twists and turns.

  They went through a lush overhang of vines and into the outer chamber of an enormous tree. The room was full of beautifully colored objects with purposes that she had no clue of. In a kaleidoscope of colors, the same glowing jars hung from the ceiling, producing beautiful soft light.

  With his back to them, a man stood in front of a large gold door intricately wrought with climbing vines, like the vines in Queen Kaliana’s chambers back in the Nit Decus castle in Byern.