Bonds of Fate (The Bloodbound #1)

CHAPTER One

Elysia

The pyres burn hottest before dusk.

From the hill above the river, I watch the flames lick at the sky, devouring bodies wrapped in pale cloth. Smoke coils upward in ribbons of black and ash, twisting against the pale blush of sunset.

The Council calls it mercy, a cleansing flame meant to spare the infected from the slow agony of the plague draining their magic. They claim it is done so the souls might still be gathered by Noctis, God of death, before corruption can take hold.

But there is no mercy here.

Not in the way warrior mages stand hollow-eyed, torches lifted high, listening to mothers scream as their children are turned to cinder. Not as sons and daughters cry for parents whose hands will never reach them again.

There is no mercy in watching living bodies turn to ash.

If Noctis is watching, he is not being honoured.

He is being used as an excuse.

“You shouldn’t linger this close.”

I turn, already knowing the voice.

Cole leans against a tree a few paces behind me, arms crossed, his dark brunette hair pulled back and dusted with ash from the wind. His cloak hangs half-unfastened, and a faint grin tugs at his lips.

“You keep watching the dead burn, you’ll start smelling like them.”

“Charming as usual.” I scoff, my dagger twirling between my fingers. Its runes hum faintly as if the blade itself hungers for justice or vengeance.

It’s hard to tell the difference anymore.

“Well, someone has to balance out your constant brooding, Sparks.” His lips tilt, amused with himself as always.

He falls into step beside me as I descend the hill, his stride unhurried. The kingdom sprawls below, illuminous and alive against the approaching night. For a moment, it almost looks untouched by plague. Almost.

“Council pyres are spreading further each day,” he says, tone flattening. “South Quarter had a burning last night.”

“I know.”

He nudges me playfully with his elbow, “Ever the little spy… you think it’s actually for mercy?” his arm slinks into mine as we go down the hill, his presence making me feel a little lighter as we descend.

“I think that’s what they want everyone to believe, but we both know they care little for mercy. They’re just struggling to contain it.” I say, sheathing my dagger at my thigh.

It isn’t the crude blade outsiders assume it is when they catch the faint glimmer of its runes. It’s extremely beautiful, achingly so.

Hand-carved from star-iron, the metal gleams with a muted silver-blue sheen. A centre rune carved into the centre of the hilt, each line cut with a craftsman’s care, curling and spiralling in intricate patterns that seem to shift whenever I tilt the blade.

The rest of the hilt itself is carved smooth, inlaid with delicate swirls of moonshade cerulium crystal that twine like roots. It’s truly ethereal, though it’s most breathtaking when blood kisses its blade; the runes awake and glow a blue hue.

My father had forged it the year I turned fifteen, binding a fraction of magic into the runes with a drop of his own blood and mine.

Cole hums at my side, “Hmm, do you think it’s evolved then? More High Mages are coming down with it every day.”

“Probably, history shows that plagues always do… what’s to say a magical one can’t?” I shrug, my finger tracing the cold metal of my ring.

“Fuck.” His hand runs through his hair, ash falling from the movement. “I pray to Neytiri that neither of us is unlucky enough to get infected.”

I give him a pointed look out of the corner of my eye, a smile tugging at my lips. “If either of us comes down with the plague, it would be of your doing. You can’t keep it in your pants for a single night.”

His free hand shoots to his chest, feigning shock at my statement.

“A stake to the heart. I’m hurt, truly… but I can’t help that the ladies love me.”

I snort in response, laughter bubbling up my throat.

Cole has been my best friend since I can remember. Hell, he’s practically my brother. His mother was very close to mine, friends since childhood themselves. We grew up in these very streets together; our memories and laughter still echo off the walls wherever we go.

He's always been loved by women and girls alike, and it’s no surprise. Sharp facial features, wavy chocolate-brown hair, pale green eyes that shift hazel at the centre, and though he isn’t built like a warrior, he’s toned in all the right places.

“Plus…” he adds with a grin. “I do leave at first light tomorrow for Celestrian War Academy, so I think I should get a pass. Gods know I won’t get any there.”

I tut and nudge our joined arms into his ribs. “You’re a shameless harlot, Sanchez.”

“I prefer the term generous lover.” He replies smoothly, flashing that infuriating grin that could probably charm a priestess out of her vows.

“Generous? Please. You barely remember half their names.”

“Incorrect,” he says, holding up a finger. “I remember all their names, I just choose not to say the wrong one out loud.”

I roll my eyes, but laughter spills out of me anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you adore me.”

“Unfortunately…” I say, smirking. “You’re like a stray cat I fed once and can’t get rid of.”

“A devastatingly handsome stray cat,” he corrects.

“With fleas.”

He gasps, clutching his chest again. “You wound me, Sparks.”

“Good,” I reply, bumping my shoulder into his as we walk. “Maybe you’ll finally stop spreading your generosity across the kingdom.”

“Never,” he says with mock solemnity. “It would be a crime to deprive Celestria’s women of this face.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Gods help the border, then. If the war doesn’t kill them, your ego might.”

He laughs, bright and boyish, the sound echoing down the narrow stone alleyway.

The lanterns strung above us sway in the evening breeze, amber light stretching our shadows long and crooked.

For a fleeting moment, everything feels almost ordinary, two friends walking home beneath the hush of twilight, pretending the world isn’t falling apart.

The golden light catches on my plait as we walk, dark blue strands that fade lighter at the ends, turning to liquid silk that spills down past my hips.

At five feet, I’ve always been too small to be a warrior, but my features too sharp to be ignored.

My eyes are pale blue, laced with silver specks.

My father used to say it looked as though I carried pieces of the moon itself in my gaze… beautiful, but distant.

The market square of Celestria sprawls before us, a riot of colour and noise.

Stalls lean drunkenly against one another; their canvas awnings stitched in shades of pinks, blues and purples.

Wind catches the silks, turning them into sails that snap and ripple overhead, painting the ground in a kaleidoscope of shifting light.

A spice merchant fans powders nearby, the air now thick with cardamom, clove and cinnamon so sweet it coats the back of my throat.

Cole coughs, wrinkling his nose up at the scent as he waves the drifting spices from the air.

He hollers teasing words at the merchant before leaning over and swiping a handful of figs from the next stall, popping them into his mouth.

“You should eat something, you get that murderous look when you’re hungry,” he states, waving a fig in front of me.

I take the fig and pop it into my mouth, its sweetness coating my tongue as I chew. “I get slightly agitated when I’m hungry, I wouldn’t go as far as to say I become murderous, that’s a little dramatic.”

Cole huffs, amusement etching his features. “Do I have to remind you of the time you threw a throwing knife at me, just so you could have the last sticky bun in my hand?”

“That was my sticky bun and you know it! You were just trying to sneak an extra helping. I was simply defending what was rightfully mine.”

“You nearly took my head off!” he laughs. “Defend it all you want, Sparks, but you’re a murderous little thing when you’re hungry.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe you were just annoying me, so I deemed it fit to scare you out of constantly stealing my food?”

He grins, unbothered. “Scare me? You embedded the blade in the wall two inches from my head!”

I shrug, biting back a smirk. “If I wanted to hit you, Cole, I would have.”

He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “Gods help the poor bastard who ever tries to court you.”

I nudge him playfully in response as we continue through the square.

A deep, wide blue river winds through the heart of Celestria, sparkling like liquid sapphire as it threads its way between streets and buildings, a living vein at the centre of the kingdom.

Grey stone structures make up each building, ancient yet sturdy, their walls wrapped in vines, luminous flowers, and clusters of berries. Lanterns hang from every building, casting warm amber glows that dance across stone and ivy alike.

Fluorescent blue butterflies and fireflies drift everywhere, fluttering between flowers and stone, their wings glowing like tiny lanterns as they dance through the air.

Beyond the village, rolling hills and forests are thick with luminous plants and wildflowers, the land itself glowing softly beneath the star-filled night sky.

Celestria is truly breathtaking.

It’s The Tower rising ahead that casts a dark gloom over the kingdom.

An ancient castle made of dark, weathered stone. Tall arched windows line every wall. Moss, vines and faint luminescent plants and flowers climb each brick.

I can imagine it used to be beautiful, once.

Now it casts a sprawling shadow across rooftops like a rot that never receded.

A wet cough tears through the air, dragging me to a halt and pulling Cole to an abrupt stop with me. I turn, a boy no older than nine sags in his mother’s arms, his skin ashen, veins glowing a faint red, like cracks filled with poison.

The plague.

I readjust my cloth mask at the same time as Cole, making sure my nose and mouth are thoroughly covered. Everyone has seen it often enough to recognise the early signs.

A faint tremor in the hands, a fever that refuses to break, sleepless nights full of restless dreams.

Then your veins begin to glow.

Not all at once, just thin red threads beneath the skin, pulsing unnaturally. That’s usually when mages and High Mages alike begin to pray. Whispering soft pleas to Neytiri, the goddess of life, begging her to spare them, spare their children and have mercy on the souls she once breathed life into.

But a magic-born plague does not answer to her.

It’s slow and cruel in its patience. Over months, it steals control piece by piece…

hands that can no longer grip, legs that tremble beneath their own weight as muscles slowly forget their purpose.

After a few months, most are confined to their beds, trapped inside themselves as the plague tightens its noose.

Eventually, your veins fade to black as it drains your magic, siphoning it drop by drop until there is nothing left, and once your magic is gone, death follows within a month. Sometimes sooner.

The mother’s eyes lock onto mine, desperate and pleading.

You’re a High Mage. Help him.

I want to. Gods, I want to, but my power against something like this?

I can kill, I can defend, I can burn half a street to ash. But heal?

No, I can’t heal.

Then again, healing abilities are useless against this and scarce even at the best of times. Healers can only brew tonics and minor aids, remedies too small and fragile to stand against the plague.

Shame claws at me as I look away and force us both to keep walking, Cole’s gaze reflecting the guilt within my own as our boots strike the ground too loudly, announcing our failure.

We turn into the narrow alley that leads to my home, a modest cottage with vines and glowing white roses climbing its walls. Nestled away by the river, secluded, out of the way… perfect.

From the outside, it looks deceptively small, nothing more than an ashen grey building overgrown with plants, but inside it’s entirely my own.

We stop a few steps from my door, glancing toward the river as twilight deepens.

“You’ll be all right here?” Cole asks, coming to stand in front of me.

“We are mere inches from my front door, Cole. I’ll be fine,” I mock, squeezing his arm.

His brows pinch, “I mean, will you be all right here while I’m at the border?”

I sigh, the teasing edge fading from my voice.

“I still don’t like that you’re going… but yes, I’ll be okay.

Just do me a favour and don’t get yourself into trouble.

” My lips curve into a smirk. “No entanglements with your squadmates' partners. I’d hate to have to come identify your body because you bedded the wrong woman.”

He grins, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “That happened one time. And in my defence, I didn’t know they were an item.

” A pause, then his tone turns mock-accusatory.

“Besides, I won that fight. So, if anyone’s body needs identifying, it won’t be mine.

” He winks and pulls me into a hug, his chin resting lightly atop my head.

“Just… be careful, okay?” I murmur into his chest, holding on a heartbeat longer than usual.

“It’s only war training, Sparks. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

I scoff and roll my eyes, “It’s not, though, is it? Everyone knows training to be a warrior mage is more survival than learning. Anyone can kill you at any given time, Cole… so I’m well within my right to be worried.”

He presses a kiss to my hair, sighing lightly, “No one is going to try and kill me. I’m a lightning wielder, so I’m much too valuable to be picked off.

Plus, we both know I can hold my own.” Then he pulls back with a crooked smile before turning to leave, his cloak snapping softly in the wind.

“I’ll see you in four months, I promise.

Don’t burn down the kingdom while I’m gone. ”

“No promises,” I call after him as he rounds the corner out of sight.

Turning and walking the last few steps, I reach for the door and open it gently, a soft hiss of warm air prickling my skin with goosebumps.

Inside, soft light refracts through the windows, scattering moonlight across the floor.

Dark green couches and an armchair sit atop an old cream-patterned rug in the centre of the living quarters.

To my right, a low fireplace crackles, casting a warmth that makes my skin instantly flush. Shelves line either side of it, heavy with books, photos and trinkets collected over the years by my mother.

I drop my cloak onto a hook near the door with a sigh and walk through the main living area, up to the door that leads into my personal quarters.

My canopy bed comes into view, the midnight-blue drapes flowing over it, matching blankets and pillows adorning the plush mattress.

An armoire to the left of the bed, fully stocked with my favourite weapons.

I don’t need them, but it’s nice to have a collection on the off chance I will.

A small desk is situated in the opposite corner by a spacious window.

Books, magical diagrams and half-finished runes glow faintly with residual enchantment.

Glowing plants are collected in the windowsill, their floral smell filling the room as the night breeze whispers through the half-open window.

Blankets engulf my frame as I sink into the bed and lift my dagger into the moonlight, its runes ripple faintly, reflecting silver-blue across my pale skin.

A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision draws my attention, and my senses heighten instantly as I lift myself from the bed, scanning for a potential threat.

I barely have time to take in the translucent envelope before a sharp pull rattles through the air, a pulse of magic that demands attention.

My stomach knots.

The Council. They have summoned me.

I stand, the moonlight catching my hair as I instinctively grip my dagger and twirl it between my fingers. Its runes pulsing faintly in response, as if acknowledging the coming storm.

Slowly, I make my way towards my desk, the envelope now fully materialised with a soft hiss. The wax seal bears Celestria’s emblem, a crescent moon encircled with small stars.

I break the seal with the tip of my dagger and slide the parchment free. The words sprawled across the page in elegant ink, carrying a command that settles heavy in my chest.

To Elysia Morningstar, daughter of Eryon and Selene.

By decree of the High Council of Celestria, you are hereby summoned to appear before us at first light tomorrow within the Hall of Binding.

The spreading plague threatens the stability of our kingdom, and through the ancient wisdom of bloodlines and bondcraft, a remedy has been discerned.

It is The Council’s will, and therefore the kingdom’s, that you submit to the Rite of Soul-Binding. The Council has determined your fated partner: Kaden Reinheart, of the warrior’s line of Arcanis.

You will present yourself in ceremonial dress. You will yield your will to the Rite. You will bind, for the sake of every soul that breathes within our realm.

Know this, Elysia Morningstar, refusal will not be tolerated. Defiance will be treated as treason, punishable by execution.

Signed and Sealed,

The High Council of Celestria

By our word, so it is decreed.