Dragonbound: Birthrights (Book 2)
Escape

There were twelve guards on each side of the carpet that stretched down the long room to where the throne sat. The guards wore gray clothing; the white armor trimmed in dark green shimmered beautifully over top. It was like nothing Kiaran had ever seen, the design so simple but beautiful.

King Grindall sat in his chair, leaning to one side comfortably. His crown stood tall, rubies and sapphires lining it. His dark hair was short, a thick beard covering his broad chin. Heavy silks draped over his massive shoulders, his chest standing out strongly. The man leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee, eyeing them.

He first inspected Cyrin, his black clothing and deep purple eyes. “You have met a dragon,” he said, his voice rumbling like thunder, “I hadn’t noticed that last I was in Avestitia.”

“I have,” Cyrin bowed slightly.

Then, the king’s eyes moved to Kiaran, inspecting her ever so closely. Her cotehardie of black and red was tailored almost like a man's, fitted like a tunic rather than a dress. The collar was opened enough to reveal the mark of the Zeil. Her belt wrapped around her waist, black buckles and thin chains hanging from it. Thick, black gloves covered her arms from her elbows to her knuckles, her fingers bare, nails painted black.

What stood out most, were the scars over her eye and her strange haircut, the left side of her head being rather short compared to the rest which was braided together. Her lips tightened into a thin line under his silent gaze.

The gold band that wrapped across her forehead entangled into her hair, a few gems of red, green, and blue embedded into it. It was a simple crown, but she preferred it over the real one. It was too heavy and uncomfortable.

The man stood, saying, “Well, the queen’s daughter has finally graced Brinn with her presence? What verdict did you conjure up for my miners?”

“Kriettor agreed to convince the dragons to allow anyone with these crests to walk through the mountains safely,” she responded, tapping the rolled up cloth that was slung over her shoulder.

He was silent for a moment as he stood. “Remarkable, really,” he said as he moved down one step, his stride very slow and drawn out. “You know, she looks much like her mother. It is striking,” he added as he looked to Cyrin.

“I am here for the urgent matter that you brought up,” she said a bit sharply. Her brows were flat, her tone just as drone. Cyrin was puzzled by Grindall’s strange behavior. Normally, he was just arrogant, but he had something else in his eye.

“I see,” he nodded. He, then, picked up his speed, walking to them. “Tell me, lady, where are your guards? Surely, we are not trusted so highly.”

“I would not imagine you would pose any threat,” Cyrin answered quickly, keeping Kiaran’s mouth shut. “But, they are outside the gate. We are not fools.”

Cyrin looked to Kiaran as she locked eyes with the king. He was very powerful, she could see it easily. There was something strange in the air, everyone tensing. Her muscles flexed and she could feel Cyrin tensing beside her as well. The king was not as outwardly nasty as Murdock…But something was like him.

Her eyes moved just past Grindall and landed on his throne. It was white and etched exquisitely. She had seen it somewhere before. “Queen Kiaran Krutia,” he hummed, thinking on it. He followed her gaze to his throne and he said, “Yes, a beauty, don’t you agree?” Her eyes shot to him and he stepped forward. “A gift from Queen Sterjia for a promise of good fortune and met desires.” He crossed his arms for a moment, watching her. “Queen Kiaran Krutia of Avestitia,” he tasted her name once more. “You’ll do,” he nodded, raising a hand into the air as he walked away abruptly.

Suddenly, half of the guards darted toward them, their weapons drawn. Kiaran stepped back, her eyes on Grindall, not allowing him from her sights. The massive men surrounded them, blocking the king from view. She locked her jaws as she flexed her fists.

“You bastard,” Kiaran hissed.

She lifted a leg and kicked one of the men in the knee. He stumbled backward, but was nearly unwarned by her. Taking his sword, he swung it at her. She threw her arm into the air and blocked it with the metal bracer over her glove. The black metal burned bright with sparks.

There were small spikes jetting out along her forearm, snagging the blade in place for only a short moment. It was long enough for her to use her other arm. Using the spikes on her other bracer, she struck at his underarm where it was unprotected. Blood sprayed to the ground as she tossed him aside, stealing his sword.

Cyrin ducked as a blade was slung just overhead. He took hold of the man’s arm and darted back up. The man shot a fist through the air and Cyrin grabbed it. Having no free hands, Cyrin slammed his forehead into the man’s nose, sending him to the ground. With amazing agility, he leapt away, winding around another guard and ripped his helm away.

Then, he snapped several punches into that man's face. However, there was more damage done than what seemed possible from just a fist.

Once the other guards noticed their advance, they darted to aid them. Kiaran swung the heavy sword a few times, knocking men back. Cyrin smashed his way through the guards with ease. However, there were far too many against the two. Kiaran sliced a man down, clearing a way to the door. She shouted for Cyrin and he scurried after her.

They raced out the door and flew down the stairs. The guards followed them, much slower with their armor weighing them down. Several other men rounded a corner after them. Cyrin grasped her by the arm, yanking her down the next hallway.

Finally, they escaped into a silent area of the castle. They moved slowly, the light stretching far between the few torches. Their boots clanked lightly on the hard floor as they tried to keep silent.

Kiaran pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, keeping her head low and the sword between her side and the wall, away from anyone’s attention. Cyrin gripped his hand as he flexed it, grunting in pain. She looked to him, blood dripping down his knuckles and his forehead bruised and swollen. She was perplexed by his fighting abilities. There was no hint as to his skills before.

“You are a great fighter,” she said softly.

He nodded, keeping his hand turned away from her, his eyes forward.

“How badly are you wounded?” she questioned.

“I am not,” he shook his head.

One of her brows lowered. He glanced to her, his eyes uneasy. The sounds of footsteps neared them, the clattering of metal perking her ears. She quickly took him by the elbow and backed into a room, closing the door. Facing the room, they found it to be a small dining quarter. She continued pulling him through the room to the next door over, leading to the courtyards outside.

Heavily armed men filled the area, their eyes alert. Kiaran huffed as she closed the door, keeping indoors. Cyrin walked back into the dining room, taking a seat at one of the far end tables. Kiaran sat with him, her skin prickling. She rested the massive sword on the table between them with a heavy clank, her fingers playing with the frays of green wire on the hilt.

“Even with our guards,” she sneered, “we can’t get out of here easily.”

“I know,” he growled lowly.

“Do you think they are alright? What about Tarner?” she asked about the driver.

“I don’t know,” he admitted uneasily.

Her eyes darted to him, landing on his hand. Skin was pealed back from his knuckles, revealing bone. Shock washed over her as she snatched his hand in hers, pulling it to her. He grimaced, keeping his face turned from her. The bone of his knuckles were not bones at all, but were metal studs, taking his knuckles’ place. Her brows lowered as her lips parted, unable to say anything.

With his good hand, he held it to his wounded forehead, wiping the little bit of blood from it. He sighed as if annoyed, his lips in a tight frown.

“Cyrin,” she breathed. “What exactly is this?”

He shook his head, taking a long moment before replying, “That is for another time, Lady.”

“Right,” she nodded. She smoothed her blood covered fingers onto the fabric that hung over her legs. “We should focus on getting out.”

A woman walked into the room, a heavy pot of water in her hands. She gasped sharply, spilling most of it on the floor. The two looked at her quickly, eyes wide. They jumped up, Cyrin holding his hands out to try to calm her. Kiaran, however, marched to the woman, leaving the weapon on the table. Taking the pot from her, she slammed it onto a table. Her voice was stern, her eyes burrowing into the lady.

“We are not enemies, do not scream or we might be,” Kiaran growled lowly. The woman bit her bottom lip, her eyes quivering. “Now, lady, how can we get out of here undetected?”

The woman hesitated, her body shaking. Cyrin took Kiaran by a shoulder, his hand firm but gentle, and pushed Kiaran behind him. “Please,” his voice was much more soothing. “This is not us. When has Avestitia ever gone against your kingdom?”

“I-I don’t know, m’lord,” she cried softly.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he calmed her. “We will not kill anyone.”

Her eyes darted to Kiaran and he moved his head into her view. “Alright,” she nodded.

The woman led them through the kitchen into a passageway that stretched beneath the building, leading to the far end of the castle walls. The walk was long and silent, tension heavy between them. Kiaran carried the sword in her hand the dim light glinting off of it. Coming to the door, the woman opened the it and sunlight poured over them. Kiaran stepped outside and Cyrin paused. He turned to the woman, and thanked her.

A few feet away was a wall with a small door in it. Quickly, they darted out the door and escaped into the city. It was crowded with merchants and noblemen, knights and guards. Everyone wore decorated clothing, some merchants more so than even the nobles.

Cyrin took hold of her sword arm, saying, "You need to lose the sword." She shot him a glare and he added, "Someone will notice." Very reluctantly, she agreed and dumped it in the brush against the nearby building.

Sticking to the fringes of the bustling city, Kiaran and Cyrin remained unnoticed. They made their way around the buildings, hoping to replace one of their own guards or even Tarner. But it seemed like they'd replace no one.

The farther they moved, the more chaotic it became. There was shouting and one voice above the others demanded to see the princess. Her guards were surrounded by Grindall's, on the verge of a fight.

"Kiaran," Cyrin spoke lowly, leaning toward her. "We need to leave."

"We can't leave our men," she retorted.

"We're in their city," he reminded her. "We need to go."

She opened her mouth to retort, but knew he was right. No matter their skill, they'd be surrounded. Shaking her head angrily, she paced away, looking for a solution.

Cyrin's jaws clinched as he watched their men confront the Brinnian soldiers. Swords were drawn, shields prepared. Captain Chase exchanged some insults with the Brinnians. He was young, barely an adult. At home, he had a baby and wife. Here, though, he had a duty and a sword. Here, he'd die. And here, he'd never see his child again.

He growled, turning toward Kiaran. They both paused, watching each other in equal devastation.

They finally broke into battle, and they used that as a chance to slip away. Into the depths of the city, they disappeared. They stalked in alleyways and in shadows, keeping out of sight.

The sun had finally set, leaving the sky dark. Clouds smothered the stars away, and a few raindrops fell, dampening the streetlamps.

Kiaran wrapped her arms around herself as the cold set in. She looked out from the alley to the wide streets. It was quiet now. But a soldier or two would pace by. It was a wonder they weren't found yet.

"Kiaran," Cyrin gripped her shoulder. "Hey."

"We need to get back home," she said, keeping her eyes forward. How were they going to do that? She was at a loss.

"We'll be alright," he finally said lowly. She shook her head, pulling away from him. "Come on. We should go."

Eventually, they had slipped from the walls of the city and into the wilderness. They ran quickly, hoping to cover as much ground as possible. It was difficult, seeing as how the forest was populated by searching soldiers.

However, they were out of danger, exhausted, and possibly safe. Kiaran crashed to her knees, her hands resting on her thighs. She breathed heavily, her eyes stuck on her blood-stained body.

Cyrin sat near her, resting against a large tree, his head kicked back, looking at the sky just past her. It was still clouded and threatened to storm.

“What was that all about?” she asked, hardly able to breathe.

“I am not sure,” he replied between pants.

“Were we to be killed? Imprisoned?”

“I don’t know.”

“I am sick of all of this,” Kiaran breathed, her voice brittle.

“As am I,” he replied. “Grindall has never crossed us. This is unusual.”

She tore her gaze from her hands, looking Cyrin over. “He reminded me of Murdock.”

“What makes you think that?” he asked as he forced his breathing to slow. “He was always hard-headed and difficult to deal with, but…like Murdock?”

“I don’t know. I can see it in his eyes,” she replied. After a moment, she stared at him, her eyes narrowing. His fighting skills were far past impressive, and yet he never fought or trained. “Why have I never seen you fight?” she asked blankly.

He rolled his eyes as he looked aside with a soft chuckle. “I do not fight unless it is needed.”

“I feel it is nearly always needed.”

“Is it?” he replied. “Violence does not end violence,” he retorted.

Her jaws tightened. “Peace can’t come without war,” she grunted. “Cyrin,” she said lowly. His eyes moved to her. “Why are your knuckles made of metal? How can you fight so incredibly well?”

Sighing heavily, he adjusted himself, sitting more comfortably. “Once upon a time, I belonged to an underground group of fighters. We fought for royalty, like their personal assassins. There was a battle that broke out in the castle a few years ago. Only two others survived, one of them the eldest, Myrin. He controlled our operations. Anyhow, after the attack, my knuckles were crushed and he replaced them with metal.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Well,” he grinned, “Magic.”

Her face twisted into pure curiosity. “Magic?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “He used it to numb me and to seal me up once everything was in place.

She moved beside him, inspecting his wounds further. Blood dripped down his fingers, his thumb convulsing slightly. Her eyes moved to his face as he grimaced. Taking his hand by the wrist and fingers, she gently pulled it to her. She rested his hand in her lap, his eyes on her sternly. Ripping off one of the fabrics that hung with her legs, she used it to bandage his hand tightly.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “Did you choose to be one of these…assassins?”

It took him a few seconds before he nodded. “I did.” He knew she would disapprove. It was a disturbing job, but one that he wanted to do.

“Did you kill often?”

His answer took even longer, Kiaran’s heart slowing. “Yes.”

“I see,” she breathed.

He took his hand back, leaning his head on the tree once more, facing forward. Kiaran kept her eyes low, unsure of what to say.

She lied on her back, watching darkness above them. Her muscles were tired, but her lungs were feeling much better. "...What happened to them...?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily. “I do not like this.”

“We need to get home,” she sat back up. She frowned, looking back toward where the city was. "I hope they get out."

Again, they stood and traveled aimlessly through the trees. Rain began to fall, chilling them. “We can’t keep moving, Kiaran, we are lost,” Cyrin huffed.

“I know,” she mumbled as they came to a stop. “We should have brought Nurra with us.” He could have helped navigate their way back.

“Well, he isn’t here, so we need to focus on what we do have,” he replied. “We can keep moving west and we’ll be out of Brinn. Eventually, we’ll reach one of our own towns.”

It was nearly morning, the rain falling hard on them. Cyrin leaned on a tree, wiping his hair from his face. He adjusted the cloth around his fist, his brows low and his lips in a straight line. Kiaran watched him, her expression just as grim.

The blood on Kiaran’s dress was crusted over, smelling awful After scraping at the stains, she fixed her attention onto her companion. He seemed so distant, lost, and unhappy. He sat against the roots of the tree and breathed heavily. She sat beside him, resting her chin in her hand as her elbow dug into her thigh. “We will make it, Cyrin,” she said, her voice near a whisper.

“I know,” he said. His voice was surprisingly truthful.

“Then what is bothering you?” she pressed.

“Grindall,” he turned to her. “He has never behaved in this way. He’s always been loyal, although rude. He seemed to not be himself.”

“...Did you notice his throne?” she asked finally.

“What...?” he looked at her oddly.

“I...don't know,” she shook her head in exasperation “Something seemed familiar about it.”

“In Avestitia, a brand new throne is rebuilt for their new ruler, one to represent their specific power and personality. It was thought of as a bad omen if they reused someone else’s throne...Yours is still being built.”

She shrugged, saying, “I feel like I’ve seen his throne before.” She spoke slowly, her eyes staring at nothing in particular as she tried to figure it out.

“But of all the things for you to notice,” he shook his head with a grin, “You noticed his throne?”

“It was like Murdock’s...” she said. She lifted her eyes to him in realization. “I replace it an odd coincidence.”

“True,” he hummed. “Perhaps they were gifted by someone,” he suggested.

“Gifted from whom? Who would gift a throne?” she grunted.

“It does seem unusual, and coincidences are even more suspicious,” he said lowly. “But it may be nothing.” She stood, her mind still swirling from the events leading to where they sat. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’d start a fire, but it's raining too hard,” she answered dryly as she walked off. He slowly shook his head. She didn't answer his question.

Kiaran stalked away, deep in thought. What if there was someone who gave both Rishana and Brinn those thrones? Did they have pull between their rulers? Maybe that was why Grindall had turned against Avestitia. And perhaps the same could be said for Murdock.

But it seemed a bit of a stretch.

And maybes were not good enough. But...the similarities in the thrones were too much for her to think it a coincidence. She shook her head. It was very unlikely.

Returning, she sat down quietly. Cyrin could feel what seemed like anger radiating off of her as she stared at her hands. It was silent, not a word spoken for several, grueling minutes. “Kiaran,” he finally grunted. Her eyes darted to him and he continued, “Are you well?”

"I think Murdock and Grindall might have had a mutual ally," she thought aloud.

"Seems unlikely with a sea and half a country between them," he replied.

She shrugged with a short sigh. The branches blocked most of the rain off them. “I did not realize that magic was real,” she changed the subject.

“Did you think the war with Trindal was made up?" he asked.

"I wasn't sure how much of it was...exaggerated."

He laughed a little, though wryly. "Magic is powerful. It's dangerous."

Her look stabbed him as her lips frowned. “Is it difficult to fight?”

“Very,” he muttered. She mumbled to herself as she lowered her eyes back to her hands. "If Rishana had an ally, can you trust Davin? What if he is against us as well?"

“What, you think he will attack us as well?” she snarled. “He wouldn’t do it.”

“And if he did, would you be able to put a stop to him like you did Murdock?”

“What?” she growled, “I do not plan on killing anyone. But I will not let anyone attack my kingdom. If he does anything like Grindall or Murdock, I am not afraid to stop him.”

“I did not mean to offend you,” he said sharply.

“I know,” she barked. “Have you confronted a mage before?” she asked in a somewhat lighter tone.

“Not personally, but Avestitia has,” he answered. “Almost two decades ago. Do you know the history?"

"Very vaguely," she answered.

“Well, years ago Trindal was a large country before it broke into two,” he replied. He tightened the fabric over his knuckles. “But there was a war between Trindal and our country, and Trindal has many magic-users there. Many mages. It was mage against man, mage against dragon, against Drakeling. The Mage War lasted thirty years before Kriettor finally broke in. It was the only human war he had intervened in to protect the thin line between magic and mortal. He broke the war with Rigain, my grandfather.”

“Thirty years,” she hummed glumly. “That is quite a while for a war.”

“I know,” he mumbled. “Let us hope that we do not confront another war such as that.”