The Bond - 1. Chapter 1

The girl ran through the muck and slime, mosquitos buzzing around her while blood and sludge ran down her body in streaky lines. Where is he? She wanted to scream in agony with every step she took, every muscle in her body aching and the hundreds of tiny holes in her body searing with all the fire of Nabius. He put the needles in and out. In and out. In and out. The soles of her feet hurt the worst, where she had been punctured at least thirty or forty times per foot. She now pressed those wounds into the dung and muck of the swamp, pushing with every last bit of strength she had.

“Oof!” She tripped over a gnarled root and fell face first into the muddy ground, which made a slight popping sound from the suction when she dislodged herself. She sobbed aloud, and crawled around the trunk of a tree, hiding. She wanted to cry, but she had ran out of tears long ago. Somebody help me. Someone. A branch cracked, and she slapped a mangled hand over her mouth. All was quiet except the buzzing of bugs and her own muffled, ragged breathing. Is he here? There was no sound, and she slumped her shoulders against the tree. Just this one second of relaxation was heavenly.

Then it came. She heard the whizzing, and a small needle sped into her shoulder. It had gone deep into the flesh, and she groaned when she pulled it out. “No, please,” she wailed almost incoherently, the dryness in her throat making it difficult to speak.

“Keep running,” said a voice from somewhere in the trees. The girl let out another unearthly noise and tried to pick herself up, more crawling than running through the underbrush that poked and tore at her skin.

“Don’t bore me,” said Yago Clarion. “The chase isn’t over yet.”

***

The day was rather pleasant for the Illjard, grey skies and only light flurries of snow coming down every so often. This would change once winter began again and the days grew shorter. Usually the summer lasted only a few weeks, and this was when a lot of work needed to be done. Most buildings and structures on the island incorporated ice at some level, and when it started to soften and melt was the perfect opportunity to reassess infrastructure and complete construction as needed. Naturally, the Illjardi Palace was undergoing a number of operations, and everyone in the country contributed at least in some way. The Fray family was beloved throughout the Illjard, and thus no one truly ever minded paying tribute or helping to keep it well built. Indeed, investing into the family that lead the country was also self-serving for many Illjardi citizens, given that the Frays took them into the palace during the worst of winter. Living in small countryside houses and along the fishing coast was too dangerous during the worst of the cold, where winter could literally freeze a man solid within a matter of minutes. Thus, most of the population was in or near the palace for summer maintenance when the Prince was told.

Prince Adrian Fray was a fantastic leader and warrior, and his people could not love him more. But custom was custom, and the people of the northern island were strict when it came to keeping their traditions. A Nabian. I have to marry a Nabian.

Each time a new monarch was set to rule, they were given a year to pick a partner from a strategic location. In the past generations leading up to Adrian’s rule, husbands and wives had been selected from Marland, Tomacia, and Ironia. For this next cycle, Nabius was the select country from which Adrian must pick. When the Illjard was first settled, leaders of the small ice-fishing community had put this cycle into motion so that diplomatic relations would never be too strained. If there were members of the royal family from every nearby and relevant country, then there was a much lower likelihood of conflict.

Not that any country could ever penetrate the Illjard anyway. Our greatest defense is the snow and ice. The Prince of the Illjard walked down a hall towards his office, his white seal-skin boots making soft noises on the cold white tiles that were arranged in ornate patterns on the floor. Sunlight streamed in through carved glass and ice windows that caused it to break into rainbows and individual streams that glimmered on equally white walls. He turned towards a mirror, and appraised himself momentarily. I mean, at least I’m not bad looking. I hope that my Nabian won’t be too disappointed. Well… if they say yes. Adrian frowned at the possibility of not getting a yes out of any Nabian when he went to visit. He hoped that his position, demeanor, and looks could help him win over a bride or groom in Nabius. I feel well suited to do so.

Adrian was tall, and had a good balance between muscle and leanness on his body. He was not built to threaten people with sheer size like some Nabians valued, but he still felt he was at a good level of fitness. Looking himself up and down once more, he paused at his face. Most mainlanders aren’t used to Illjardi traits though. Like the majority of the Illjardi citizens, Prince Fray was pale, and did not have much in the way of facial hair. His eyes were a bright blue, and they were adapted to seeing well against the glare of the sun off of snow. The most striking feature of the prince was his white hair, which was quite literally able to blend in with the snow. The Illjardi were proud of their bloodlines, and the white-haired trait seemed to dominate the population no matter how many foreign husbands and wives were introduced into the genealogical tree. Adrian didn’t think it was abnormal or detracted from his looks, but knew that some people on the main land felt otherwise. Illjardi whores are more of a fetish thing there I think. I wonder if people are attracted to that now… oh well I guess. I don’t really care. But I do. Ugh.

Adrian knew that if he did not successfully find a husband or wife in Nabius, he would lose his right to the Illjardi throne. He was not power hungry and he did not think the people would even really mind if he failed and forfeited his royal authority, but he knew that there wasn’t really any other suitable leader. The people of the Illjard were excellent, but frankly getting old. There were so few reproducing families, and the number of eligible men and women to take over was low. Of the potential candidates if he failed, Adrian knew that there was little hope. None were seasoned fighters or intellects, or had any kind of leadership experience at all. Unfortunately, it was Adrian’s responsibility to find a partner so that he remained in power. Without him, the last of the Frays, the Illjard would fail.

But why Nabius. Adrian had been to the country several years ago with his parents, on a diplomatic mission to visit General Darion Di Coteau. They met in the capitol city, where Adrian looked on to “War Games” that were grisly and barbaric. He knew that the people of that country almost worshipped bloodshed and glory in battle, and had never taken a liking to any Nabian he had met thereafter. All arrogance and cruelty, them. And to make matters complicated, the one eligible bachelor I could have taken is all over the place!

Adrian had looked through all records of the country and knew all the counts and generals and people of importance. Of them, there were only a few names that caught his eye, mostly because they were similar in age to him. Elsa Torne was practically a legend to the sailors of the Illjard, famed for her beauty and cunning. But she was a girl, and became a general. Generals were off limits because they would not be able to leave Nabius to come to the Illjard. Jezebel and Talia Di Coteau were prodigal young adults of the Nabian elite, and were thus eligible. Again, girls. I know I shouldn’t put myself first, but I truly do prefer men. If all else fails, I’ll look back into them again. But Alexandre Di Coteau. That’s a noble that would have worked perfectly for me. But of course, his story was moving too quickly to even learn about.

In searching for a partner, Adrian had prepared himself to most definitely ask for marriage with Alexandre. Just as he was about to write him, he received an invitation from Darion Di Coteau to the wedding of Alexandre and Marion Monciet, a Tomacian noble. Wasn’t that just great. Later on, he found out that the marriage had never taken place, and he was elated to have another chance at an ideal potential partner. He had prepared once again to take a trip to Nabius in the summer to ask for Alexandre’s hand in marriage. Just as he was about to write the informative letter, he received a message detailing that Darion Di Coteau had been killed, and Alexandre had taken his place. Great. Another general, which makes him off-limits. And now, Alexandre had disappeared and the Illjardi intelligence knew nothing of his whereabouts. Adrian had been saddened by the prospect of marrying a female just out of duty, but still would have done it all the same.

And then came Luca. Adrian did not know who Luca was, and was puzzled to find out that the man who wrote him for trade purposes and settling contracts in place of Alexandre was young. His informants in Nabius confirmed that Luca was indeed of an appropriate age, unmarried, and somehow a member of the Nabian upper class. Well he has to be, if he holds stewardship for a general of the thirteen. I wonder what family he’s from… I don’t know his last name. Adrian felt that the uprising of some new young aristocrat out of nowhere was a bit suspicious, but he didn’t care. An eligible young man with the right position and from the right country meant possible happiness in the future. I hope he’s willing to marry me. We even get along already.

Adrian didn’t know Luca except through correspondence, but already liked him. Luca had changed imports and exports drastically between his region and the Illjard, much to Adrian’s approval. Luca seemed to emphasis a need for things like foods, medicines, and supplies for the common people in his trading, and offered more than just guards and soldiers as compensation. Personally, Adrian had always felt like Nabians were very greedy and sought only luxury out of the Illjard. Stained glass, ice, and pelts were the most valuable things that the Illjard produced, but Adrian was glad to get into the business of sending some of the crops that the Illjardi worked so hard to produce. He and Luca also quipped and joked in their letters back and forth, and Adrian dreamed that the boy was just as clever as he was responsible. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Alex, who he had talked to briefly when he was instated as General. But Luca… he’s the kind of guy that deserves a position of power. He wants what’s best for people, like me. I can already tell.

***

Marion Monciet sat in her parlor, gazing into the small fire that filled her fireplace. It was night, and though the summer months were upon Ironia the nights were still cold. She sat still, unemotionally, and staring into the depths of the flames while she went over fond memories of the family that she still held onto. Though the hearth blazed heat into an already warm evening, Marion was cold. She took a sip of wine, which sent liquid flames down into the depths of her belly.

I’m not bitter… and I know vengeance can’t be the right thing to do. She thought of the greedy, vile men and women that now resided in her home castle and lands, sent by the generals of Nabius to establish control. Order, they say. But all they do is fight and conquer and suffer, and then do it some more. No. Vengeance cannot consume me. I won’t let it. Otherwise I’m no better than the lot of them. She could hear the drunken wails of a Nabian soldier in the courtyard below her room, and rolled her eyes. Marion was not particularly keen on drunken soldiers. They are even more idiotic that way, if that’s even possible. And they’re just like him. Marion rubbed a bruise on through her dress on her ribs. She twitched at the contact of her own hand and her eyebrows furrowed. Nervously, she pulled at the maroon lace around her neck that made up the top half of her elaborate dress. Single pearl earrings swung back and forth rapidly while she did so, and she knew that even though vengeance was not her calling, doing what’s best for everyone was.

She got up off of her chaise, and walked briskly over three rooms. Monciet Castle was quite large, but housed a multitude of small rooms rather than a few overtly large ones. That there were so many nooks and crannies and unopened rooms scattered throughout the monstrosity of a palace was one of the things she loved about her home. She always had, playing as a little girl through all sorts of places and finding treasures and new spots to habit galore. It had always been a source of joy and comfort to her. Until Alexandre.

Just down the hall, a parlor with the thickest walls, the most vantage points and several exits remained locked. It had once housed a great man, the late Charles Irving Monciet. He had ruled the Monciet region of Ironia for over 50 years – an impressive accomplishment. Even more impressive was that most Ironians really didn’t mind him. Though more civilized ways had come to Ironia centuries before, most of the country remained in the hands of tribal organizations. The Monciet and Coyne regions were by far the most like Nabius and Tomacia, and not all Ironian citizens liked that. Constant allusion to the “grandeur” of old Ironia was rampant among those from tribal areas, and anti-monarchy sentiment still was strong among many people. Marion didn’t quite see how living in such unrefined communities could really be grand, but she supposed she didn’t know. After all, some of the most important people come from places worse than Ironia. The southern provinces below the three countries… now that is something I can’t even bear to think of. She shook her head and placed her hand on the doorknob.

She paused. She noticed it was quiet where she was, and she could have some privacy aside from the silent guard that always followed her. Luckily, she had come to get good at ignoring his presence. She took her hand off the knob, and walked a few more doors down. She entered the parlor for the first time since she had watched Alexandre Di Coteau execute her father and brothers there.

Marion went tentatively at first, but then held her head up high and walked on. She noticed that there were bloodstains that never really got scrubbed out of the floor. She thought about doing it herself, but then felt faint. She settled herself down in what used to be her father’s throne, and stared at the floor.

The funny thing is I once thought I had power. That this throne meant something. I had all of my brothers and my father’s royalty to do whatever it was that I wanted… But when it came down to it, the sword was what mattered. Maybe Nabius is right.

Marion had once thought that her brothers were among the finest swordsmen in the world. But Alexandre came in fast, almost dancing instead of fighting. Instead of taking sweeping, powerful blows, he just darted around, sliding and slashing and lashing out only to deliver the most fatal wounds, pinpointing the weak spots in the body. She remembered her father’s eyes, seeing her sobbing and seeming to smile at her just before the sword fell, and his head was removed from his body. She and Alexandre were both 17 at the time, but her wounds were as fresh as though they had been inflicted yesterday. She looked down at the seat that she was sitting in, and at the ugly stain that marred the floor of a once-great room that held a once-great man. She knew that it was time.

Vengeance, no. I must be better than them. But if my revenge also happens to be what is best for this world… so be it. My new husband shall not harm me or any other young woman again. She wrung her hands together, now annoyed more than saddened by the pain of bruises and welts that dotted her body. And Alexandre Di Coteau can not live.

***

“Sir Jared Coyne, Hallowed Knight and Protector of our Region!” pronounced the monk, to the cheers of a crowd. Jared put on a dazzling smile, waving enthusiastically to the crowd. Atop his brilliantly white horse, he stood out amongst the soldiers that walked alongside him and around him in a parade through the streets of the Coyne Capital.

“Thank you, thank you. Thanks. It’s all for you, really,” he said to varying citizens that gave him cries of praise and adoration. Jared smiled, but ached to rest and wash the grime off of his skin. He ached to sleep, and he ached to dismount his horse. And he ached to cry.

“Sir Jared has returned victorious from another battle with the scum of Nabius! He has defeated godless men and women in battle alike, and kept our city and homelands safe once more!” The crier continued to laud Jared, and the crowd continued to show their love.

A woman told him that he was the most handsome man alive, and Jared thought of the twelve or thirteen-year-old Nabian soldier that he had killed that day.

A man told him that he was welcome to anything in his store for free, and Jared thought of how blood felt like warm rain when he took a man’s head off and was sprayed with droplets on the battlefield.

A child told him he loved him, and Jared thought of how he had watched a man get ripped into quarters on the battlefield by four burly soldiers, each pulling in opposite directions. He looked politely back, patted the kid on the head, and said “I love you too little man. One day maybe you can help me protect our home.”

He was numb through the entire crowd, only giving dashing looks and humble words as he made his way back to his own private living spaces. Upon reaching his own set of rooms, he sent for the mail that he had received while gone to be brought up. A servant left to do his bidding, but not before complimenting him on another success against Nabius.

They have no idea what it’s like. None of them. All I want to do is help people… but I don’t know if this is the way. It can’t be. All this bloodshed… just for who says they own what pieces of land? It’s ridiculous really… he sighed and strode towards the bathing room.

Jared knew it was more complex than that, but was too exhausted from his day's work to hash out the finer details. He had a squire remove his blood-soaked and filthy armor, and stripped down to head towards a steaming bath. The basin looked inviting, and he groaned as he got into the hot water. His clothes and mail had chafed his skin, and the sting of the water’s cleaning hurt in a good way. He relaxed, and closed his eyes. Peace.

But his peace was short-lived. The servant he had sent forth to gather his mail had returned back surprisingly fast. Almost annoyingly fast. Jared frowned but sat up a little bit in the tub and took the scrolls presented to him. He noticed that one bore the Monciet seal, so he opened that one first. He skimmed it quickly, and looked down to confirm what he expected.

“It’s from my cousin Marion,” he said aloud. His servant nodded, and the squire that was cleaning his armor across the room perked up. The boy had started with the helmet, which badly needed work. Jared thought a hundred different men must have swung at his head that day. He began to read more thoroughly, and frowned as he rolled the letter back up. “Oh my,” he said.

Welcome to Book Two! I thought I'd use this first chapter to introduce some of the new voices you'll be hearing in addition to our old ones. Enjoy and thank you for reading