4. Chapter 4
Three months later
I turned to the side, pressing the pillow to my face before inhaling its verbena scent deeply. The familiar smell and shape of my small bed calmed my racing heart. I laid there, listening to the wind and morning birdsong, and let the day seep into my body.
It was barely past dawn, the air in my small cottage slowly warming after last night’s chill, but my dreams had awakened me early. My sleep had been filled with images of the dragon from the lake since our chance encounter months ago, his piercing blue eyes looking at me with such understanding and compassion that I woke up crying every morning.
I knew that the beast in my dreams wanted me to find him. In truth, he seemed to share my loneliness and growing need to belong, to have my spirit joined with another in a bond so profound it would leave me broken if it ever shattered.
I hadn’t considered such a connection in years. The mere thought of caring enough to go through that again filled me with fear and repulsion, but now … now, I wanted to live again, to be who I once was. A conduit mage with an Anchor that sheltered my soul.
I didn’t know why my subconscious was so obsessed with the blue-eyed beast. Maybe because it had been a dragon who’d saved me before, digging out my broken body from under an avalanche … I remembered that much, even if I didn’t remember my saviour.
What if the Council of Mages found out I’m alive and sent the riders after me? Every time I thought about it, a new theory came to my mind, but it had been a baffling encounter. I’d been curious and returned to the mountain lake several times since.
Still, neither the dragon nor the dark fae ever appeared, so I had been forced to accept that my questions concerning their identities and motives would likely never be answered.
Could a woman from an ordinary family become a dragon rider?
The thought amused me, but the question had its merits. I felt connected to him, and even without an Anchor bond, his presence had helped stabilise my magic. That itself had surprised me, as I was sure that only men of certain bloodlines could have an affinity with dragons, yet simply touching him had connected me to a strength I only felt when in the presence of my Anchor.
Was it because a dragon had rescued me while I was still connected to the primal source of the aether? Had he corrupted my conduit power, giving it the potential to bind the beast? Was that the reason my body recovered after channelling so much aether it should have killed me twice, and that I’ve survived without an Anchor for so long?
I knew that, sooner or later, I would have to form a new bond. Each day I postponed it, my magic became more challenging to handle. It was unnatural and dangerous for a conduit mage to live without at least one Anchor. Yet here I was, living unbound and defying the laws of magic.
Am I ready for a new bond?
I touched my chest where the shield and healing ivy marked my skin. The sigils of my Anchor bonds. They hadn’t faded when my men died, their magic disappearing with them.
I reached to the nearby table, grasped the small hand mirror I kept there, and pulled my shirt to the side in my personal ritual. Still there. You haven’t abandoned me. I traced my finger over the lines, feeling the tightness in my chest threatening to choke me.
‘I know you’d both want me to bond with someone, to be happy, but how can I? How can I take another man when you are still with me?’ I whispered before putting the mirror down.
Even if I was willing to try, it wasn’t just my life at stake. If a conduit mage rejected the Anchor bond in their soul, both the mage and their Anchor would die.
So, for the last ten years, the first thing I did after opening my eyes every morning was to look in the mirror, dreading the day I’d see unblemished skin. Every single day, it was the same. The shield and ivy wrapped over my heart lingered, protecting it.
I placed my hand over the marks again, pressing down until the ache faded and I could breathe again. I might dream about enticing dragons, but I knew that deep inside I was broken and afraid that if I allowed myself to touch someone’s heart, mine would fracture again.
Dragons are immortal and almost impossible to kill, whispered the voice in my mind, awakening hope that would never come true.
It didn’t bother me that he was a beast. I could always find a lover. I already took care of that basic need when required, the occasional tumble with a stable hand or local hunk to ease the tension just a bandage for a broken soul that didn’t want to mend. A safe outlet that calmed my body but didn’t touch my heart.
I bit my lip, the familiar sting of pain startling me from such dark reminiscence and impossible thoughts. I sat up. If I couldn’t find the dragon, I couldn’t Anchor him, so there was no sense in thinking about it.
And who said the dragon would even let me do it? Forcing the bond never ended well, and my life might have been different if the council hadn’t tried to do just that so soon after I’d recovered and they’d ceased questioning me.
My annoyed huff echoed in the cottage as I recalled their words.
‘You did the impossible, Lady Annika. Now it’s time for you to take another Anchor. The royal mage’s apprentice is the best prospect.’
Take another Anchor. I snorted at the thought. It had been the darkest time of my life. I couldn’t sleep, and I couldn’t eat. I woke up every single night calling for my lovers unless I drank myself into black oblivion.
To the council members, however, taking a new Anchor was like buying a new dress when your old one had torn. To make matters worse, they had pushed me towards Ihrain—an arrogant mage with an unhealthy obsession with conduits. I’d been at my breaking point when he tried to force himself on me, and I almost burned the bastard. I should have .
A day later, I found the missive—just a scrap of paper shoved under my door—warning me that the council might consider using my geas to tether me to him. I knew I had to escape.
It took me a week to stage my death, to burn everything I owned along with a body that a well-bribed undertaker had provided me from the city morgue. I let everyone believe my magic had gotten out of control and killed me.
That’s how I ended up in Zalesie, forging my credentials and installing myself as their local mage, much to the displeasure of the resident hedge witch. The town couldn’t afford a university-trained professional, but I didn’t want their money, willing to work for food and board, preferably served late with plenty of alcohol.
I’d been pleasantly surprised at the quality of the food, and the work had been diverse and interesting. The local population had soon warmed up to me, and with that rapport came respect—as well as demands for love potions, then even more demands to cure their scabies and less noble ailments.
I fulfilled my duties, indulging in the occasional monster hunt when the ache for my past life became too much and, little by little, life became more than just surviving until the next day.
I needed very little magic to cull the Vel creatures, and even less to cure the diseases of the local humans and their animals. None of those spells required my conduit abilities. As I settled into this ordinary existence, I had slowly forgotten that I could rain fire from the heavens and shatter the earth beneath my enemies. This was what I had chosen. My Anchors died so that I may live, and I lived this life to honour their sacrifice.
Annika Diavellar, the rare and precious conduit mage, had died from unrestrained magic and a broken heart. In her place, there was now only Ani Jaksa, town mage and the woman who sorted shit out when and how she saw fit. As long as Tal’s family lived safely in this region and Arno’s surname was spoken in the same breath as my name, I could live on.
‘I wish I’d never met you, my beautiful dream. I was content here. Now I ache for more than I could ever have,’ I whispered, getting ready for my daily duties.
I had to focus on my work. Tal’s family thought that the pension that came from the magistrate was a crown pension for their dead son. However, the government had long forgotten the fallen hero, so it was my duty to provide for them. They had moved two years ago to seek a better life in the city, and I was happy to see them begin to enjoy their lives again.
Nevertheless, even in their absence, there was certainly plenty to do—far too much for a single battle mage, but I knew I’d do it, whatever happened. As long as the town council was content, they wouldn’t send a request for support, and I wouldn’t have to worry that the Council of Mages would send a mage who might recognise me.
My reminiscence was interrupted by someone hammering their fist against my front door, using so much force that my entire cottage rattled. I frowned, ignoring it as I laced my kirtle, only to blink in surprise when the pounding resumed, shaking the door of my humble abode so much that the dust was knocked from the ceiling beams.
‘I’m coming! I’m coming! Just stop the incessant banging or your guts will end up the strings of a minstrel’s lute. What’s so bloody urgent that you’d risk pissing off the local mage?’ I shouted, adding nastier curses under my breath.
Although the surrounding mountains could be dangerous, the town itself was peaceful. I made sure of it, so what could have happened that they needed to drag me out of bed so early in the morning? Especially after I’d enjoyed several well-deserved drinks in the local tavern the night before.
I hope it’s not that stupid woman and her prized chicken .
The mayor’s wife owned a cockerel that she treated better than the fruit of her own loins, but the damn feathered hooligan spent its life trying to escape her loving embrace. Invariably, I was the one cajoled, bribed, and threatened with being shunned to return it to captivity.
I swore, promising that if that was the reason for the disturbance, I’d roast it and serve its carcass at the village tavern. The joys of small-town life , I guess. Sometimes you fight monsters, sometimes you hex a chicken … Smile and nod, smile and nod, Ani . I thought before opening the door.
A flowery wreath woven from willow and the bedraggled remnants of the local wildflowers landed on my head as I opened the door. Startled, I instinctively swung my fist, punching the nose of my smiling assailant. ‘Fuck!’ he grunted, taking a step back and wiping his bloodied nose before he looked at me.
‘Are you tired of living, you damned fool?’ I snapped, fighting with the twigs and leaves that tangled in my hair. ‘What in Veles’ pit is this?’
The stubborn thing didn’t want to come off. I pulled so hard that it ripped out a strand of my hair, but the monstrosity they’d put on my head didn’t budge. I strongly considered hexing the lot of them just to show the visiting committee how much I appreciated such gifts.
‘Ani, you’ve been chosen to stand with the maidens of our town to welcome the dragon riders. Please follow us,’ the magistrate announced. The insufferable man stood there, blood trickling from his nose, smiling like he’d just offered me the greatest gift ever, and I wondered whether I was still sleeping or if he’d lost his mind completely.
Then I remembered.
Today was Maiden’s Day, but what it had to do with me remained a mystery. Mages were exempt from bondage contracts.
Maiden’s Day was a kingdom holiday that existed thanks to the dragon riders’ annual selection of maidens. Owing to the fact that the wild magic needed to bond with dragons was passed on only to male offspring, the warriors were exclusively men, leading to a need to recruit women to live at the outpost.
Each year, they descended on a different town to celebrate Maiden's Day and, as per the king’s orders, chose women who had to follow them to the fortress or risk a year in prison. So they followed without complaint, especially since those who returned after a year of service were significantly richer and always spoke highly of their treatment during their time away.
No one mentioned the fact that most of them returned with bellies swollen with child, especially since those children inevitably went to live with their fathers’ families, leaving the women free to choose husbands with dowries hefty enough to make everyone forget the past year.
The riders selected those of the unmated women they were attracted to during a ceremony to get to know better at the subsequent party, giving both sides the opportunity to weigh the other and determine their respective willingness to enter the contract. However, if there were no volunteers—which had happened only once since the tradition had begun—the dragon riders were allowed to simply pick whomever they wanted, as long as she was unmated.
Regardless, no sane man would ever take an unwilling mage, especially not one over thirty years old who spent the long winter nights sampling the local male population. For all the gods’ sake, some of those samples were standing in front of me right now .
There was a reason why the riders’ welcoming committee had always been young, unwed maidens—often blushing virgins. They were a perfectly na?ve and receptive buffet for the horny men who spent too much time with only themselves and their dragons for company. Those girls wouldn’t even think to protest when confronted by handsome warriors willing to lay the world at their feet.
That’s why I was so confused at the magistrate suddenly knocking on my door.
The idiot wouldn’t stop smiling, and with the flowery wreath hanging crookedly off the side of my head, I gaped at the gathered men. Then, without another word, I stepped back and slammed the door in their faces.
‘Ani! Please, you can’t refuse, and you know it. I know it’s a little unusual, but the chancellor’s order came a week ago. He commanded all unmarried women to join the selection, even mages. Please, Ani. We can’t afford to lose the protection of the outpost. If the commander learns we didn’t do as we were told, that is exactly what will happen. I will have to inform the council of your refusal. You don’t want us to take you to jail, do you?’
‘I’d like to see you try,’ I muttered, more disturbed by him threatening to alert the council than his trying to take me to jail. The obstinate man just kept thumping on the door.
‘You know what dwells on the other side of the mountains. We need them, Ani, please. We both know you’re too old to be chosen, so just show up, stand around for a while, and then go to the tavern for a free meal. We’ll even give you a horse for your trouble.’
The magistrate wasn’t an evil man; he was simply out of his depth. I’d had him in my bed once, and once was enough to convince me never to repeat the experience … though his “little problem” hadn’t affected our friendship. Until now, of course. Now, he was pleading at my door whilst simultaneously offending me with his reassuring platitudes.
‘Really?! Too old ? I’m not too old, you dimwit. I’m just … unavailable. I wasn’t too old when you stuck your … Never mind, you know what? Fine, I’ll go, but I want more than a horse. I want a new bench for my workshop, and that meal had best be accompanied by that special brandy you’ve been hoarding,’ I shouted, willing to extort more from the little shit for calling me old.
Grumbling, I looked in the mirror. I looked good for my age. If I made a little effort, there weren’t many who didn’t turn back for a second, more appreciative look as I walked by.
My chestnut hair accentuated the hazel-flecked green eyes that always seemed to capture people’s attention, and my body was trim from all the trekking I did on the mountain, even if life had added a little extra padding to my curves.
Just because I rarely did more than braid my hair down my back or in a peasant’s crown, and preferred male clothes or a kirtle over delicate dresses, didn’t mean I wasn’t attractive. The hairstyles were practical, and it was easier to wash blood and soot from leather and linen, but something about his comment prickled my female pride.
Did I really let myself go so much that even a former lover sees me as ‘old’? And damn it, why do I give a shit? Fuck it, I’ll prove them wrong.
I knew that with a little effort, I could lure any man to my bed, especially in a small town like this. Put me in front of the isolated dragon riders, and I doubted any would turn me down. I just didn’t want to try.
Yet something in the magistrate’s words bothered me immensely.
It appeared that I still had a shred of female vanity left. In fact, the foolish man had unintentionally touched on two things that could lure me out of the cottage: my pride, and my fear that if I refused, the repercussions might reach the Council of Mages, revealing my existence.
Once I’d promised to be in the town square by noon, the magistrate left me in peace—though he’d also left some men behind to ensure I wouldn’t forget our arrangement. Another insult, considering I’d never gone back on my word in all my years of living here.
After several moments of tugging and swearing, the wreath finally gave up its hold on my hair, and I threw it onto the nearest table. I didn’t care how important the tradition was—I refused to wear such an ugly monstrosity; it would have to be enough that I’d dress up for them.