Chapter 13

  William slipped in just as dawn started leaking through the curtains veiling the tall windows. “Meet me downstairs in fifteen.”

  River didn’t even get a word out before the door clicked shut again. Classic William.

  He groaned, rolled out of bed, and slid into a bath. After last night’s unsanctioned escape, he had more dirt and sweat on him than he could reasonably explain. The heat helped a little. Once clean and dressed, he headed for the training room beneath the manor.

  At first glance, everything looked ordinary: sand swept in neat concentric rings, weapons racked, torches guttering with a steady breath. Then he saw them. Laid out in the room’s center were three full suits of armor sized not for people, but for bonded creatures. Polished plates with a faint inner glow, the runes etched along their surfaces pulsing a soft gold. The air itself seemed to fizz against his skin. Whoever crafted these knew exactly what they were doing.

  One for each: Nymeira, Tessa, and Calira.

  River drifted closer, tugged by the workmanship. The builds were clearly meant for combat—streamlined, light, yet stubbornly strong. Calira’s set was different, though; softer lines, lighter weight, almost supple in the hand.

  He was first to arrive, so he sat cross-legged on the sand, gaze flicking between the armor and the practice dummies along the wall.

  Minutes slid by. Then stone parted above with a familiar hiss. William had keyed the entrance to recognize them, now the hall opened for their signatures as easily as for his.

  Albert came first, rubbing sleep from his face and muttering about sadists who scheduled training at sunrise. Amalia followed, already sharp, hair tied back, eyes cataloging the room. Albert let out a low whistle at the sight of the armor. “Well… that’s not ominous at all.”

  Amalia’s eyes narrowed. “Looks like today’s about the bond.”

  River nodded. “That’s what I figured.”

  Something in the room’s pressure shifted, like the air knew what was coming.

  William and Virella’s steps sounded in the corridor, but before they entered, Amalia leaned close and murmured, “What happened last night?” River’s heart lurched—had she clocked his midnight trip? Then he caught the curiosity, not accusation, in her look. She meant the King, not the tavern.

  “I’ll fill you and Albert in later,” he whispered, just as two silhouettes darkened the doorway.

  They straightened into a loose line of attention.

  William stepped in first, hands clasped behind his back. “As you’ve probably guessed,” he said, voice carrying easily in the big room, “today is about turning your bonded from companions into battlefield advantages.” Virella followed, lifting the largest set—the rounded plates obviously sized for Tessa. Polished steel flashed; runes stitched across the surface like veins of light.

  “These were forged from the finest alloys in the capital,” she said, hefting the cuirass with insulting ease. “The King supplied part of the stock himself.” She traced a row of wards along the chestplate with a gloved finger. “These runes allow the metal to expand as your bonded grow. Calira, for instance, can reshape at will without tearing the plates apart.”

  Her finger shifted to another mark. “These convert kinetic force into small reserves of essence. A blow lands, energy banks.” She set Tessa’s armor down with a clean, heavy clang and gestured to Calira’s sleeker suit—narrower, feather-shaped scales overlapping like a second plumage. “Calira’s is different. Because she can transform, her armor is malleable. Able to change with her. It won’t convert impact into essence the same way, and that’s the trade.”

  William picked up the thread. “Amalia, Albert. Remember to refit when they outgrow the current frames.” His gaze moved over them, unblinking. “For now, suiting them up is your first test. Then you’ll spar—bonded and mage together. Learn each other’s rhythms. Out there”—he tipped his chin toward the world beyond the walls—“hesitation gets you killed.”

  Albert swallowed, then squared his shoulders. Amalia’s eyes brightened, half challenge, half hunger. River exhaled slowly; at the edges of his awareness, Calira stirred.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  New territory. After last night, he welcomed it.

  The instant the thought formed, Calira blew from his right shoulder in a bloom of gold, wings beating a hush of sparks into the air. She hovered for a heartbeat, then settled beside him.

  He crossed to her armor in an instant. Up close, the differences were obvious: Albert’s and Amalia’s sets read as solid plate; Calira’s gleamed as a flexible mesh, feather-scaled to vent heat so she wouldn’t roast herself inside it.

  “Hold still,” he murmured.

  The phoenix obeyed without commentary. River slipped the harness over her head, seated the breastpiece, latched the chest clasps in a sequence that felt strangely natural. For good measure he gave her crest a light pat. “There you go.”

  “Thank you, but for the love of the gods, never pat me like that again,” she snapped, mortified “and imperial at once.”

  River smothered a laugh.

  Across the room the contrast was almost comic. Albert wrestled with Tessa, the great creature shaking her trunk every time the ox-sized helm approached, while Nymeira had coiled into a shimmering S, hissing as Amalia tried to fasten a stubborn pauldron strap.

  Clear advantage, River thought. Having a bondmate who can speak in full sentences definitely speeds things up.

  It felt like hours—trulym it was barely thirty minutes—before all three bonded stood armored beneath the torches, runes pulsing like steady heartbeats along the steel.

  William and Virella faced them again, presence coiling the room tight.

  “Today,” William said, cutting the quiet, “you won’t train together. Each of you will pair with your bonded and face one of us. The third pair observes.”

  Amalia stepped forward before anyone else could. “How are we supposed to win? They haven’t even practiced in this.”

  William shrugged, casual as weather. “Not our problem.”

  Color rose in Amalia’s cheeks; River could see the protest forming behind her teeth. She swallowed it. Hands clenched. Silence drew itself like a blade.

  Virella lifted a hand, pointing in two quick cuts. “Albert and Tessa with me. Amalia and Nymeira—William.”

  River drifted back toward the wall, feeling the room coil for impact.

  Let the real work begin.

  He fixed on Amalia and Nymeira. William stood loose-shouldered, hands laced behind his back—almost bored. Amalia answered with a flare of turquoise—jets of pressurized water erupted from her boots and hurled her forward like a quarrel from a ballista. William pivoted, backhanding her strike aside with a lazy ribbon of wind that spun her across the sand.

  Nymeira dove, wings snapping, jaws crackling with static. William sidestepped, let her momentum slide by, then flicked two fingers; a microburst flipped the little dragon end-over-end before she righted herself. No contact.

  Again and again they struck: Amalia on roaring thrusters; Nymeira from oblique angles. William turned each attempt aside with the ease of a man closing windows. River felt his own frustration prickle on Amalia’s behalf.

  They weren’t syncing—they were taking turns. Which meant William only had to defeat one opponent at a time.

  Come on. Together.

  As if she heard him, Amalia slid to a halt and touched two fingers to her temple. Nymeira hovered a pace away, eyes latching onto hers. A heartbeat. The pattern shifted.

  The next charge wasn’t two attacks but one. Amalia leapt first, water-jets spiraling her skyward; mid-air she clapped her palms and carved a spinning crescent of water, hurling it like a discus. In the same breath, Nymeira folded her wings and tucked behind the blade, silver scales disappearing inside its spray.

  William tracked its arc, lifting a hand to shear the crescent apart, just as Nymeira burst free, frost sleeving her narrow body. She corkscrewed through the spray, a living spear. William’s eyes widened a fraction late. The drake’s horn grazed his right shoulder before he fully sidestepped the attack. A whipcrack of lightning hit the sand; William staggered half a pace, cloak smoking.

  Contact.

  A shocked hush rippled the room. Calira thrummed approval inside River’s chest, a pleased hum under his ribs. William straightened, amusement cooling into open regard. “Better,” he said, rolling his shoulder.

  Even riding their success, River saw the seam. Against multiple foes, that gambit would be expensive—too much essence for too little spread. For practice? Beautiful.

  Amalia landed hard, knees taking the jolt. The turquoise jets hissed out, steam wreathing her boots, and River’s breath caught. She stumbled, essence-burn, he guessed. Then bands ignited around her fingers: three… no, four tier markers burning into place.

  Tier Four.

  Amalia stared, breathless, then looked down at her hands. A grin broke like sunrise while Nymeira chirped triumphantly and flared her wings. River couldn’t help grinning back. First clean touch on William, and a breakthrough in the same instant.

  For a heartbeat, everything aligned. Amalia and Nymeira swapped out, the two of them drooping onto the bench, essence clearly spent. River rolled his shoulders, ready to step in with Calira.

  The room shifted.

  A hooded figure stood in the threshold, the royal wards stitched bright on his chest. He carried a rolled parchment sealed in white wax. A summons. William and Virella ended the session on sight, striding to meet him. No pleasantries. The messenger extended the scroll, turned on his heel, and left his echo behind.

  Virella broke the seal. She and William read together, their expressions darkening line by line.

  “The King needs you, all of you,” William said, voice low, iron-flat.

  Albert’s color drained. His fingers twitched, almost a tremor. “When?”

  “Tonight,” Albert and Amalia said in unison.

  The word fell like a stormcloud. No one moved. No one had to.

  Why summon them again so soon?

  Unless something had gone very, very wrong.