When Alain Adair dies, it is a brutal death for a brutal man. The townsfolk know who killed him, but they don't know how. They suspect magic, though no one has the courage to speak the words aloud. Alain's young wife, Kora, murdered her husband, although she has no idea how she did so. Suspected of using magic, she flees and seeks refuge in an ancient forest. Unconscious, feverish, and at the threshold of death, her life takes a strange turn; when she wakes she is tethered to Draeon, a rebellious dragon prince. Kora struggles to understand who and what she is while surrounded by creatures known as Fae in a world filled with magic. She and Draeon become intertwined with the nefarious goals of an over-ambitious dragon, Fedelmid, who seeks to gain power at the sacrifice of all. With an aging dragon historian, two elves, and two dwarves, Kora and Draeon become the unlikely chosen people to venture to the human world to ensure the scheming, power-hungry Fedelmid faces justice. The fate of the Fae, as well as the human race, depends upon their success in stopping him. Their bond and its physical limitations could prove to be an overwhelming challenge to accomplishing this goal.
Soulbound
By Robin Cowan-DanielAbbott Press
Copyright © 2012 Robin Cowan-Daniel
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4582-0548-3Chapter One
The man's death was not so horrible a thing. This was the general consensus among the townsfolk. Soft whispers were heard throughout the crowd like the hissing of many snakes. The opinions varied as to the cause of death. Some spoke of an illness, others suggested poison. A few imagined the bully ingesting acid, eating him alive from the inside out. None dared to speak of another suspicion, the suspicion of magic. Those who were unfortunate enough to view the body were now dotted around the yard, hunched over and vomiting. A foulness enveloped the entire village, permeating everything with the stench of decaying flesh. Though the man had only been dead a few hours, whatever the toxin used, it had decayed his body rapidly, causing his corpse to bloat like a yellow slug. The effect matched his personality in life, which was foul indeed.
While there were several theories about what artifice had actually killed the man, everyone knew who had killed him. In unspoken accusations, the eyes of the villagers turned to the young woman standing just outside her front door, holding a small child in her arms. Two other young children clung to her dirty skirt. She was tall for a woman and as slender as a willow branch. There was a gracefulness about her that likened her movements to those of a cat. Her long golden hair, which once shone with the radiant kisses of the sun and moon, now seemed dirty and dull. Her vibrant violet eyes had changed to a sorrowful grey-blue. Her plump vermilion lips, once so full of happiness and laughter, had tightened into a permanent frown. Melancholy should be her name, for she wore it like a mantle. This once beautiful woman, haggard decades before her time, was the dead man's wife.
The greatest crime, all agreed, was the crime the dead man had committed against this poor, unfortunate girl. He had taken a delicate flower and crushed it in his fists, bent each petal to his will and created an ugly thing, a weed. From the core of that weed, resentment bloomed, and soon the seeds of hate were sown. It was generally accepted that the wife had taken enough from her abusive husband and put an end to her misery. The weed she had become grew strong in the bitter soil and had finally broken through the stones of her prison to gain her freedom.
Defiantly, Kora glared back at the gossiping villagers. Holding a crying child on her hip, she struggled to keep her wits about her. I suppose I should cry, she thought, but what is the use in false tears. All know I will not morn him. All know I would kill him again and again if I could. The girl holding onto her skirt was not crying either. She stared blankly at her brother, who had grown tired of standing and had begun to play in the dirt.
"When will Orlia return?" she asked.
Kora looked down at the child. "She has gone for a walk, Kelia. She will not return for some time." Maybe never, Kora thought. She envied the girl's freedom. If there were nothing to keep her tied to this miserable place, she would simply walk away too. Despite her stepmother's explanation, Kelia kept scanning the crowd, looking for her older sister. This was a strange night indeed, one that she would come to remember for the rest of her life.
A large woman left the tangled mass of onlookers and walked toward Kora. Her yellow dress glowed like a beacon of hope, and her round face favored Kora with a wry smile.
"Well, this is a bad lot, Kora. Where's the girl?" Rose asked, none too patiently.
"She went for a walk some time ago," Kora replied in barely a whisper.
"Went for a walk? Humph! Ran away more likely." Frustrated, Rose, who was the sister of the dead man's first wife, took Kelia's hand. "Well, let's get you out of this mess then and get you some rest." With her other hand, she grabbed the boy's arm, lifting him up off the ground, and added, "Let's get you and the children cleaned up and get you something to eat. You can stay with me tonight."
Kora obediently followed Rose to her house, which was small but comfortable. The earthy scent of dried herbs desperately tried to mask the foul air. Rose gathered up the children and directed them to a wash basin, and then took the youngest child from Kora's arms. Kora stood motionless, waiting for orders, as was her custom since coming to live in the village of Amber.
Rose began getting bowls of stew on the table while the smallest child clung to her skirts. Once the children were washed and seated, Rose told Kora to do the same, and she did as she was told. The coolness of the water startled her. She looked down and saw ribbons of blood flowing from her hands, filling the bowl. Kora gasped and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the water was clear again. She realized in that moment that her hands would never be clean again. She had killed someone. Though not aware of how she killed her husband, she knew it was her act that had done the deed.
Rose led Kora from the wash basin to the table and sat her down across from Alain. The boy looked so much like his father. Little Alain was watching the steam rise up from the stew bowl, admiring the many shapes that curled before him. Kora smiled at his innocence as Rose called them all to begin eating. And they did so, in silence.
Later, once the children were asleep, Rose began the conversation that she had been dreading. Seated in front of the gray stone fireplace, Rose studied Kora for a moment before asking her the question.
"Was it you that killed him, or was it the girl?"
Kora looked down at her hands and saw a flash of scarlet upon them. "It was I, Rose," she whispered.
"Now Kora, are you sure it was you that done it? If it was the girl, no one would blame her for it. He was a brutal man in his own house. Those of us that knew him best knew that. If you're covering for the girl, tell me now and let us settle this matter at once." Rose looked at the younger woman with sympathy.
Kora stood then and looked at Rose. "No, it was I that killed him. I do not recall how, but I know I was the one that ended his life." Kora turned then, intending to walk to the door. Suddenly, the room had grown too hot, and she felt suffocated and afraid. But then, she felt Rose's hand slide into her own and pull her back to her chair.
Rose looked at Kora intently and said, "Okay, let's get all of this out now. He is dead and can harm us no more. I know how he treated you, girl. I know he grew tired of you fast once the child he married grew into a young woman. I know too that he had been hounding Orlia for months now."
Kora looked up quickly, trying to judge if she had heard correctly what the plump woman was telling her. Rose's deep, warm laugh filled the room.
"Child, I have known Alain Adair longer than you have been alive. He was so charming to my sister until she got into their wedding bed. Then his charm slid away like oil and the snake he really was came forth. I suspect he even had a hand in her death. I've been keeping my eye on Orlia for some time. As you may recall, I told Alain that she should apprentice with me in herblore. And as you recall, he scoffed at me. Laughed in my face. 'Orlia is too pretty to be a herbswoman,' he said. 'Her future will be better than that, and a good marriage will come of her beauty.' "
"It was my fault," Kora proclaimed in a harsh, bitter whisper. "I was not a good wife to him. I hated his voice, his smell, even his footfalls as he walked. I hated his touch most of all. I always felt so...
