Chapter Thirty

Let Me In

The archives of Dragon Keep were vast, vast enough for a great many tomes and scrolls to lay forgotten, abandoned to dust and decay.

It was a wide chamber with a low ceiling, dark and oppressive. Bram had never understood why this repository of valuable knowledge was neglected by so many Dragon Knights. Even Davion, who was not much of a scholar, had spoken of the value of this place. He and Bram had ventured down here many times to research dragons. Davion's mentor had dragged him down here too, and thanks to his lessons Davion had gained an appreciation for the knowledge scattered throughout these shelves.

Nobody knew more about dragons than the Dragon Knights, which was why Bram had brought a lantern down every day since arriving. He was forbidden to venture out for obvious reasons. They all knew that he would try to find and help Davion.

That would not stop him from helping his friend though.

Bram lifted a dusty tome from a shelf he had not tried yet and laid it upon the nearest table. He opened it carefully and peered at the letters inside. They were faded by time, and he had to look closely to read them.

'Squire Bram.'

Bram looked up to see Jorsen striding into the archives, a torch lighting his way. 'Sir Jorsen,' he responded, not pleased to be distracted from his task. 'Can I help you?'

'What are you doing down here, Bram?'

'I'm learning about dragons.'

'You mean that you're trying to find some way to help the traitor.'

Bram glared at Jorsen. 'Davion is my friend. He wouldn't have willingly chosen to become what he is.'

'Bram, he allowed Sir Kaden to die. He let his demonic friend kill one of the greatest Dragon Knights in history.'

'I know.' Bram murmured.

Jorsen sighed and moved closer. 'Bram,' he laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. 'You are a good man and a loyal squire. I cannot fault your loyalty, however misguided it may be. But there is nothing you can do for Davion. Death is the only mercy we can offer him now.'

Bram shook his head. 'I don't believe that. I won't.'

Jorsen let go of his shoulder. 'My squire died at Weiß Wache. Davion is a lost cause. I'm willing to teach you the ways of the Order, as Davion should have done.'

Bram looked round at him again, anger sharpening his features. 'I am Davion's squire. It's my duty to aid him. And that is what I am going to do, Sir Jorsen.' He looked down at the book again, leafing through the frayed, dusty pages.

Jorsen shook his head and left, his footfalls landing heavily on the old stones.

Bram frowned down at the page, noticing something in the ebbing light of his guttering lamp. He traced the shape with his fingers, wondering what it meant, for it was not one he had had seen before.

It seemed to be a signature of sorts. As Bram's lamp began to dim, he thought that the shape reminded him of a dragon. Or more accurately, a wyvern.


Luna ran the whetstone across her blades once more. Her Moon Riders had gathered outside of Coedwig, hidden amongst the trees, waiting for the scouts to return.

The various night-beasts either lay dozing or simply sat waiting. Her soldiers prepared their weapons or stood watch with recurve bows, falchions, crescent axes and glaives at the ready.

Luna was eager to carry out her goddess' orders, though the coming battle did not excite her. "Battle" was perhaps not the right word. Though the scouts had yet to return, she knew that her target was a small enclave, little more than a village, and it was the not the first of its kind she had destroyed. They were always poorly defended.

Perhaps that was not the worst thing. Though she enjoyed a good fight, she thought it embarrassing to lose good soldiers to pathetic heretics.

This would not be a battle. It would be a massacre.

'Commander?'

Luna stood as the chief scout strode towards her, his bow slung across his back. His night-beast followed silently.

'The village is only lightly defended. There are a few guards with spears, axes, bows, only clad in leather armour. One charge should scatter them.'

Luna had expected as much. 'We attack at nightfall.' It seemed fitting to fulfil Selemene's will as the moon gazed upon them from on high. 'Take your scouts and outriders and surround the village. We will leave no survivors.'


The Invoker frowned down at the silvery water, watching as they prepared the nooses. There was nothing he could do but wait.

Why did he have to impotently oversee the actions of such bumbling fools?

Via the handmaiden's amulet, he could see the drama unfolding on the scaffold. The crowd was growing frenzied, eager to see more death. Though the ones who would die were technically his enemies, he needed them alive at least for the time being.

Mene's Chosen was still hidden, and he was thankful for that. From what he could see, courtesy of the sapphire she still possessed, she was furtively scrambling through a window.

He needed her alive too, more than the others. She was becoming too friendly with Selemene's pawns and the disgraced Dragon Knight for his liking though. If she died, Mene would be most displeased.

But his task would not be impossible.

The Invoker's gaze flicked to the lotuses floating atop the surface. Their violet light was gradually fading and darkening. At least his ritual was going to plan.

Mene would return, and Filomena would be able to rest peacefully at long last.

He waved his hand and the image in the water changed. Now it displayed a large gathering of elves and beasts, all amassing for war.

He spotted the leader of this army marshalling the warriors into formation. Black armour decorated with the symbol of the full moon filled the image as soldiers moved under his direction.

Once, that moon would have been white. Now it was a deep violet.

They called this army the Dark Moon Horde, perhaps as a mockery. As far as the Invoker was concerned, this was the real Dark Moon Order—an army devoted to the return and glory of Mene.

'Dierdd,' the Invoker thought rather than spoke the name, knowing that he was sending his voice directly into the mind of the leader of the Dark Moon Horde. 'It is almost time. Begin the march. Wait for me outside the Nightsilver Woods and prepare for war.'

'It shall be done.' Dierdd responded, showing no outward signs of emotion as he worked. 'By the Dark Moon, the Usurper shall fall.'


Fymryn crept through the house, unsurprised that it was dark and gloomy within. But she had found what she had hoped for.

The buildings were made of stone, yes, but even a stone building needed supports, especially during construction.

All of the beams were made of wood, and there was plenty of cloth for furnishing. All she needed now was a flame.

That was as far as she had gotten with her hasty, desperate plan. She had nothing to light a fire with. But this house had a fireplace with dry wood and kindling at the ready. Stone was easily cooled, and a stone house would grow cold in the winter.

Fymryn found an iron striker next to the grate. She scattered the firewood around the house, feeling only slightly guilty about setting somebody's house alight. The occupants were out there cheering, eagerly awaiting the death of her friends.

Friends.

She could not call them enemies any longer. Not now. She wanted them to live, and not just because she had been charged with keeping them alive.

Fymryn drew one of her knives and struck the back of the blade against the striker, praying for sparks to fly and start a flame. If she could cause a big enough distraction, she would have a chance.

Fymryn hissed in elvish as she scraped the striker repeatedly. She'd lit her own fires before, why was it always so much harder when she really needed a fire?

At last, a spark landed on the kindling and caught. Fymryn grinned, dropped the striker and moved to the window. It did not take long for the flames to start growing, spreading across the firewood she had laid out, moving towards the furniture and curtains almost as if it was deliberately seeking to start a ruinous blaze.

Fymryn braced her foot on the sill, ready to jump back down to the ground. She would alert the guards with a shout, vanish into the shadows, and approach the scaffold when the guards ran to put out the fire.

Stone city or not, a fire could not be allowed to spread. They would have no choice but to act.

It was just as Fymryn stuck her head out of the window that she heard the baby crying somewhere above her.

The child was in the house she had just set alight.


Dendrall still appeared to be bored when the nooses were tightened about the necks of Davion and Marci.

Davion seemed to have accepted the end.

It was untrue to say that Marci did not fear death. She feared it just as every mortal creature did. She was young, the potential of life before her, much left unresolved and unfulfilled.

But she knew death. She knew its touch and the promise of quiet oblivion it offered. Ever since that day fourteen years ago, when she had lain with her life seeping from her in a river of red, she had known death, and she had known that it would one day claim her, as it did every other life.

This did not mean that she had expected to submit meekly. She had sworn to defend Mirana, and she could hardly do that if she was dead. She wanted to be by her side, as she had promised. She had wanted to spend more time with Davion.

Once again, she was helpless as death came to claim her. She should have known it would be so, just as before. Only by the goodwill and pity of Kashurra had she been saved. She had been helpless when the un-dead had come for her back amongst the Broken Peaks, and it had only been because of Davion's timely arrival that she had survived. She could not hope to be so lucky today.

Marci closed her eyes and breathed deeply, waiting for the stool to be kicked out from her feet. Death was waiting for her, almost like an old friend awaiting a reunion after many years of separation.

Maybe she would see Davion wherever the dead went afterwards. Mirana would join them one day, though Marci hoped that would come after many years of safety and happiness. She might see her family again. She could tell them how sorry she was.

She could still feel the sensation of the kiss on her lips. A smile tugged at her lips as she turned her face towards the sun. At least she would leave life with some good memories, that kiss being one of them.

She savoured the feel of the sun on her face and let her mind drift. If she ignored the noose about her neck, she could have been back home.

She would have liked to have shown Davion Rasolir in happier times.

'STOP!'

Marci's eyes snapped open, the clopping of hooves on stone and the murmurs of the crowd filling her ears.

Atop a strong-limbed grey gelding rode a familiar woman in orange dragon scale armour. Behind her came Mirana, still forced to ride side-saddle atop Sagan, and following was a small, blonde elf on a chestnut horse, her crossbow in her hand.

Marci's heart soared at the sight of Mirana, even if she was obviously a captive of Eserren and Caewyn. It was far from ideal, but she knew that Eserren, with her rigid codes of honour, and Caewyn, being a kind-hearted soul, would not harm Mirana needlessly. The Dragon Knights would perhaps be content to let her go free. She was the Princess of the Moon, hurting her would anger a goddess. Even dragon slayers would think carefully before acting against Her.

Dendrall glowered at Eserren as she approached. She inclined her head respectfully, but Marci could see the dislike in her expression. 'What is the meaning of this?' Dendrall demanded.

'Forgive me, King Dendrall.' Eserren did not sound contrite. If anything, she sounded displeased to be speaking to him. 'I have been charged with apprehending two of your prisoners by Fathers Ritterfau and Carliven of the Dragon Knight Order. I ask you to released the two known as Davion and Marci into my custody.'

Dendrall scoffed. 'You have wasted your time, woman. You will not need to worry about these two murderers when they are dead. You should thank me for bringing them to justice.'

'You're speaking to a Knight, your highness.' Caewyn stated, her tone unusually brisk. 'She deserves respect.'

'I will not take lessons in courtesy from an elf.'

'You will also show respect to my squire, your highness.' Eserren warned. 'I am to bring Davion and Marci to Dragon Keep alive and whole.'

Dendrall was silent for a moment, and then his face broke into an amused grin. 'I never thought I would bear witness to the day when the honourable, noble, chivalric Lady Eserren uttered a falsehood.' He chortled as his Viceroy handed him a scroll. 'Your Order wants them dead. You are not native to these lands, Lady Eserren, if only because your people are too cowardly to take up arms against any threat. A small wonder that you embraced a new family when yours was lost. Yes, Lady Eserren, word spreads quickly. Even Dragon Knights gossip over mugs of ale. I know of your past and your self-imposed code. Do not lie to me again, Dragon Knight, or you may end up on this scaffold too, along with your rot-spawn pet.'

Caewyn grimaced, but Eserren held up a hand to silence her. 'I am not a liar, King Dendrall. Short-sighted fools amongst my brothers may want these prisoners dead, but they have greater value alive. I have orders, yes, but I am a Knight, not a slave. And these two have honour. If they are to die, they should die honourably.'

'You would kill them yourself?' Dendrall scoffed. 'No. I know of your code. You are dismissed, Dragon Knight. Take your captive and go, and let your superiors know that it was I who avenged Sir Kaden.'

Eserren dismounted and pulled her bardiche from her saddle. She thumped the blunt end, capped with a mace-like head, against the flagstones, spreading spidery cracks through the granite.

'You would defy your King?'

'You said it yourself: I am not from this land. I am a Ruelander and a Dragon Knight. Davion and Marci deserve more than a hanging.'

'Your squire will die if you fight my guards.'

'If you will not allow Davion and Marci to fight for their lives, then I will fight for them. We can end this with single combat.' She lifted her bardiche and pointed it at the King. 'Send forth a champion or take up a weapon, and let the gods decide this.'

Dendrall sighed irritably and whispered to his Viceroy. Eserren waited, resting her bardiche against her shoulder. Her eyes ranged over the guards, briefly passing over Davion and Marci as they went.

Davion had heard a little about Eserren's rigid, self-imposed code of honour. It was ironically why she was considered rebellious by her superiors. Her ideals sometimes caused her to act against her orders.

She would slay a rampaging dragon as requested, but would stop along the way to protect a village from marauders without hesitation even if told not to. She had taken in Caewyn against orders. Dragon Knights were supposed to maintain neutrality, their sole purpose being to hunt monsters.

So far, Eserren's superiors had only turned a blind eye because she was one of the best dragon hunters in the Order. She had worked hard to secure her place amongst her fellow Knights, defying them even then. Nobody in Steelpoint Vigil had wanted a woman from the Ruelands to take up arms for the Order, believing that she would bring shame upon them. The people of the Ruelands were seen as craven, as they had so miserably failed to defend themselves against the armies which had warred across their lands, seeking non-existent fortunes in the name of their kings. And even today, Davion could count on one hand the number of women who had become Dragon Knights. He knew of only one elf who had joined the Order, and she would likely never become a Knight.

If what Dendrall said was true, then Eserren's place amongst the Order would likely be forfeit when her actions came to light. She had no need to ask Caewyn what she wanted to do. She held the same ideals as her surrogate mother.

'Very well, Lady Eserren.' Dendrall decided. He did not sound as annoyed as expected. Perhaps he expected his champion to win, providing a little extra entertainment for the crowds, and himself, before hanging his last prisoners. 'You shall have your wish. But you will lay aside your bardiche. I can see from here that it is no ordinary weapon. You will fight with a mundane weapon and without using the magic in your armour.'

Eserren did not argue or hesitate. 'Caewyn.'

Caewyn dismounted and took the bardiche from Eserren, struggling with the weapon's weight. Eserren removed her bracers and held them up for King Dendrall to see. 'Without these, my armour is incomplete. My strength is such as I have made it, no more, no less.' She reached out and pulled her cavalry hammer from her horse's saddle and held that up next. 'Simple steel and wood, no magic.'

Dendrall nodded to his Viceroy, who waved the King's personal bodyguard forwards. The man was as tall as Eserren, clad in ornate grey and silver plate and armed with a greatsword. He stepped through the crowds, cheered by his people as he marched towards the Dragon Knight in her sunset scale armour, bronze-coloured plate and mail. Eserren pulled on her helmet and Caewyn handed her a simple steel buckler.

Even with her strength unaided, Eserren was sill managing to bear armour which had to weigh almost as much as she did.

The King's bodyguard did not give her long to prepare. He moved in and lifted his sword.

Eserren brought up the buckler, taking the blow of the heavy blade stoically. She swung the hammer round, smashing it against her opponent's knee.

If she had been using a sword, it would likely have just bounced off the poleyn. But warhammers were ideal for bending and crushing plate, tenderising the flesh and shattering the bones beneath.

The crowd seemed to wince as a single entity as their champion's leg bent unnaturally beneath his armour. Howling, the man staggered. With his leg unable to bear his weight, he toppled.

Crawling backwards, he attempted to bring up his sword. Eserren simply walked over and swung the hammer again, smashing the man's hand and sending his weapon skittering across the flagstones.

Eserren turned the haft in her hand, now holding the spiked end over the fallen knight. With one swing, she could drive that spike through his cuirass or his helm. 'Enough people have died today. Yield.'

The man held up his uninjured hand. The other was limp beneath the gauntlet, probably maimed beyond use.

Dendrall glowered as Eserren stood away from his fallen bodyguard. He had been humiliated and deprived not only of a bodyguard—his fallen man would be unable to serve with his ruined hand—but also of his amusement. His best warrior, defeated by a woman from the Ruelands... how would he live this down?

Though he obviously longed to have his men kill Eserren for her defiance, he did not wish to cross the Dragon Knight order. Kestren was a land which was almost always beset by dragons of many kinds. If he killed Eserren after an honourable duel, the Dragon Knights would withdraw their support for his kingdom. Kestren was not the Helio Imperium, with its wealth, vast armies and lack of dragons. He needed the Dragon Knights.

Dendrall groaned. 'Release them.'

Mirana relaxed, a smile of pure relief blooming on her face as the executioner reluctantly removed the nooses from the necks of Marci and Davion. She looked down at Eserren as she returned to her horse. 'Thank you, Lady Eserren.'

Eserren pulled on her bracers. 'A life for a life, Princess. Your friend saved my daughter. Now the debt is settled. And no matter what he is now, Davion was a fellow Knight. If he is to die, it should be in battle.'

Mirana watched Eserren as she took up her bardiche once again. She would have made a brilliant Legionnaire, and a better Sun Guard.

The executioner had just finished unlocking the manacles when somebody shouted the word nobody in a crowded city wanted to hear.

'FIRE!'

All eyes turned to one of the houses on the edge of the square, flames now billowing from the windows. A small, slim figure leapt from one of the lower windows, holding something in its arms.

The guards ran towards the house, shouting for water. The small figure tried to run, but a small group of guards surrounded her and pointed their weapons at her.

Mirana recognised her, even though her hair and skin were blackened by smoke. Fymryn.

'My King!' One of the guards hurried forwards, having taken the squalling bundle from Fymryn. 'It's an elf! She must have set the fire. She was trying to steal this child.'

A woman from the crowd ran forwards to take the child back, screaming curses at Fymryn as the elf was dragged forwards, her knives in the hands of another guard.

'Elves are attacking us!' This came from somebody in the crowd.

'Damn elves!'

'They all want us dead,' an accusing finger was jabbed at Caewyn. 'She must be in on it too!'

Eserren lifted her bardiche into a two-handed grip, ready to defend her adopted daughter. Caewyn had loaded a different bolt into her crossbow. 'Stand away!' Eserren yelled.

'It looks like we'll have another hanging after all.' King Dendrall announced. 'Bring that elf up here. No! The other one! Not the squire. Come on, hurry up!'

To everybody's surprise, Mirana gave Sagan a command which made him advance on the guards around Fymryn, baring his teeth and growling. The guards quailed before the night-beast. Never had they faced such a creature before.

This was getting out of hand in a hurry.

Davion heard a scraping sound and saw the greatsword Dendrall's bodyguard had lost now resting at his feet. Marci had nudged it towards him.

'Back away from her!' Mirana was shouting at the guards surrounding Fymryn.

Davion picked up the sword. Marci was at his back, feet apart and her fists clenched.

Caewyn swore quietly, the strange bolt ready to fly.

'Tell your guards to stand down, King Dendrall,' Eserren barked. 'Princess! Back down.'

Marci became aware of new cries in the air, full of terror. The square filled with the clanging peal of bells.

Something blotted out the shaft of sunlight, a winged form familiar to Marci: a sky dragon.

But there was something different about this one, something fell. It clutched a large red stone in its talons, a stone which…

Marci's eyes widened in shock. It was the strange stone she had seen back in the mountains, the one which had created all of those shambling horrors, the one which had nearly claimed her. It had been there when the "voice" had spoken to her for the first time.

People were screaming now. The sentries on the walls had been lax in their duties, and now a dragon was alighting upon the roof of the castle.

The dragon lifted its foot and released the stone. The Direstone smashed through the scaffold, crushing the unlucky executioner. Blood sprayed across the square. The dragon watched from the castle roof, its eyes full of an eerie, evil green light.

The people closest to the stone became slack-jawed and empty-eyed. They started to drag themselves towards it, practically drooling. When they touched the stone, their flesh crawled, writhed, shrivelled and began to rot away, ageing a lifetime in a heartbeat.

More screams filled the square as the victims of the Direstone turned towards their living counterparts, their eyes now filled with red light.

Atop the castle, the dragon leered down at them. Marci looked up at it and felt shivers of fear shooting through her veins. Memories began to race in her head, fears and terrors she revisited in her nightmares.

'No...' Davion uttered the word so quietly she barely heard it. 'It can't be!'

Marci heard a woman wail. She saw the mother whose child Fymryn had nearly killed being backed towards the castle doors, now barred shut by the terrified people within, by the un-dead.

On pure impulse, Marci raced forwards, ran around the scaffold, and started to attack the un-dead on the other side. The noise in her head grew as she fought, smashing and snapping bones.

The rasping hum was louder now, threatening to overtake her will once again. With it came memories of the knife cutting into her throat, recollections of the Bloody Dance, a year spent in nigh constant fear as she and Mirana fled the Imperium. These did not come from the stone, they were conjured to the fore of her mind by the creature atop the castle.

The dragon snaked its head down towards her. It began to laugh as it dug its claws into the stonework, climbing down at a leisurely pace. 'Hello, little handmaiden.' The voice carrying over the dragon's guttural growling was full of malice, stirring Marci's deepest fears as the creature spoke. 'Such a brave face you wear, hiding away so much fear. And so much guilt.'

The woman clutching her child screamed and backed against the wall. Marci moved to defend her, fighting against the din in her head and her own memories. Her allies were cut off by a steadily growing army of un-dead.

Marci clenched her fists tightly and readied herself, if she could just tap into the strange power within, she would have a chance.

But she had no idea how to do it, and she could barely think now.

The green-eyed dragon now came a halt on the ground before her, backing her and the woman into the corner.

'So much potential!' the dragon mused. 'So much strength. So much vigour. So much fear. And the guilt which spills off you like the waves of the ocean, it is glorious. Does clinging to your oath ease the pain? Do you put your life at risk for the sake of those in need, those you care for, out of courage or love? Or do you crave an end to your sorrows?' The dragon advanced ever closer, close enough for Marci to smell the stench of rotting meat emerging from the beak-like maw. She could feel a connection between them now. This was not a dragon, not any more. Now it was something more, something so much worse: terror made manifest. 'Can you feel it, little handmaiden? Can you feel the knife tearing into your throat? There it is! The pain and the fear as they took away your sweet little voice forever. Such delectable terror!

You fear your own strength. You fear your own power. One movement out of control, and the people you care for are hurt. You believe, deep down, that they were always right about you: you believe that you are a freak. You fear failure, Marci, you fear failing in your duty to your precious Princess. You fear anything which threatens her or your oath, even your growing attachment to the Dragon Knight. You still fear your own helplessness, sinking into an abyss alone and abandoned, giving in as you realise how powerless you really are.' The Demon chuckled again. Marci remained rooted to the spot, held by the hypnotic effect of the Direstone and the pure terror streaming off the possessed dragon before her. 'You have already failed, handmaiden. If you had been faster, if you had been stronger, you could have saved her parents. You could have defeated Shabarra. But you ran. You abandoned your own family. You chose to save one instead of many. You can tell yourself that you did this to honour your promises, but you ran because you were afraid. And then you failed her again. It is because of you that she will never have the love of her goddess ever again. You are a failure, Marci, you always will be, and you will die a failure.

'But I can help you, Marci. I can take all of that fear away. I can ease your remorse. I can do all of this and more. I can offer you so much.' If a dragon could have grinned, it did now, baring fangs stained with gore. 'You can try to hide them from me, your deepest desires, but I can see them. I can see through you, little handmaiden. I could make you unstoppable, invincible, and you would never need to fear being too weak to save those you love. I can help you to harness your full potential, to master the gift in your blood, a gift you could use to save so many. You could protect everybody, Marci.

I could make you a queen, Marci. You would be loved and admired, not cold and distant like the Princess you serve. Nobody would defy your will or your strength. You could rule for an eternity without fear.'

The Demon stopped almost beak-to-nose with Marci, savouring her fear and hesitation before offering the final boon in a low whisper which carried across the embattled square: 'I could give you a voice, Marci. Yes, I can do even that for you. No longer would you be a mute oddity. You could make people understand you. They could truly understand you. You could have the most beautiful voice in the world, singing songs which would lift the hearts of all who hear them. You could tell Davion what you want.' The fathomless green voids bored into Marci's brown eyes, now full of doubt and temptation. The dragon moved back, towering over her again. 'All you have to do is… let me in.'

Let me in. Let me in. Let me in.

Do it. Do it. Do it.

The power to save the people she cared about? An end to the guilt and remorse? An end to her fears?

She could complete Mirana's mission, and Mirana would be able to return to Selemene and serve her once again. And Marci would be able to return to Rasolir, to her true home, and destroy Shabarra. She could take the Solar Throne as her own and restore peace and prosperity to the Helio Imperium. It would be glorious!

And of the offers most seductive was the promise of a voice. She might have grown used to her muteness, but even now, even after adapting to a life without one, she still secretly craved a voice. She could make herself understood. She could sing again. She could tell Davion how she really felt about him.

All she had to do was… let him in.

Marci exhaled shakily. She looked to her friends and allies, trying to fight off the un-dead alongside the terrified guards. If she took this offer, she could save them. She could save them all.

Marci met the Demon's eyes. Slowly, she lifted her arm, her open palm facing upwards, ready to accept the bargain.

Terrorblade laughed, and his glee filled all around him with horror.


And there you have it: that's the end of Bound In Blood, but not the end of the story. The first chapter of the sequel, Dragon's Blood Ascension Book Two: Requiem For The Usurper, is up. You can follow or favourite if you so desire.

Since you've made it this far, I'd welcome your opinions on the story thus far. Whether you loved it or hated it, please be sure to leave a review. I would love to hear your opinions, and I thank you kindly for reading Bound In Blood.

Massive thanks to all who have supported me. There are more of you than I can put a name to now! I am really grateful for all your kind words and generous support.

I hope you've all enjoyed this so far, and I hope to see you for the sequel!