Dragon Games

by Marisa Claire

  “Did I mean what?” Arlen enunciated each word as though correcting some flaw in my own way of speaking.

  “You offered me riding lessons,” I said.

  He studied me for a moment, and then went back to work on his sword. “You didn’t seem interested.”

  I cringed. So maybe I had told Arlen to eat dragon dung that morning before the joust, after he’d admitted that he only wanted to help me to protect his precious inheritance. But in my defense, he’d only ever been rude to me before that, and he caught me while I was silently panicking over whether or not I could actually win the gemlinks my sister desperately needed.

  “Perhaps I was rash?” I asked, offering a half smile.

  He flattened his brow. “I meant it then, but I don’t mean it now.”

  Anger flickered inside me. I pressed my shoulder against the door frame, folding my arms over my chest. “What? Did your father change his bet or something?”

  “My father… No. His wager remains.” He curled his lip and shook his head.

  I lifted a tentative eyebrow. “Then wouldn’t it still be in your best interest to make sure I don’t lose because of some amateur riding mishap?”

  Arlen sat his sword and polishing cloth aside, twisting on the bench to face me squarely. “Why are you asking me this today?”

  “Because…” I chewed on my lip, struggling to think of an excuse.

  Arlen rolled his eyes. “Do you know you’re the fourth girl to ask for my assistance on some trivial matter this morning? I can see right through all of you.”

  I stood up straight, hoping the furious heat flushing my face looked like the anger that it was and not a blush confirming his accusation. “Then you need to have your vision examined. I’m here only because you offered. But perhaps those other girls were too?”

  Arlen’s eyes flashed. “I made no other offers.”

  My stomach did a funny flip flop. Why should I care if he offered every girl at the Academy private riding lessons or sword fighting lessons or looking unflappably smug lessons? I was only here to see what information could be gleaned from him. So why did I find myself tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and… and… what were my eyelashes doing fluttering like that?

  “Then you must have plenty of time.” I smiled.

  Arlen rose and slid his sword into its scabbard. He came to stand in front of me, his blue eyes peering down his straight, regal nose. A fine dusting of stubble coated his normally smooth jaw and speckled his upper lip, and I wondered what he’d been doing all morning, why he’d missed breakfast and apparently shaving too. Though personally—not that my opinion on his personal grooming mattered in the slightest—I much preferred this more natural version of his face to the inhuman marble look most young Nobles strived for.

  After a long moment, he said, “I will have our dragons summoned to the courtyard at one o’clock.”

  He swept past me, brushing his arm against mine, and I waited for his footsteps to finish echoing down the hallway. Stepping into the armory, I caught my reflection of an enormous broadsword hanging on the wall. I re-tucked the strand of hair behind my ear and batted my eyelashes at myself.

  I couldn’t believe that had actually worked.

  ***

  “Heels down, toes up!” Arlen barked for the tenth time. “Dima, it is not that hard.”

  I tilted my feet into the correct position, but oh, bleeding dragons, did it burn. Arlen stood what would have been a wing’s length away from us, frowning, but Thula’s wings were folded right now. Arlen said it was best to work on riding form with all four feet on the ground. When we graduated from the Legion Academy into the Legion Army, we would spend most of our time in the saddle walking or trotting, as though our dragons were just enormous hogsteeds. Flight energy was reserved for battle and truly long-distance travel. I didn’t tell him I had no intention of ever actually joining the Army.

  “You have the worst posture of anyone I’ve ever seen,” he said after a few minutes of me riding Thula in a slow circle around him.

  “You should meet my mother,” I cracked.

  “Why?” he asked with a puzzled expression.

  “Because she’s... forget it. What’s wrong with my posture?”

  “How can you not feel it? You look like a tree serpent sitting up there.” He held up his arm in a crooked shape where his slouching hand clearly represented my hand and his jutting elbow my stomach.

  I would have laughed if I weren’t blushing. Sucking in my stomach, I lifted my chin until my neck burned like my calves.

  “Dragons save us,” he muttered. “No, Dima, no. Just... hold on. Stop her.”

  I pulled back on her reins, bowing Thula’s chin toward her neck, and she stopped walking. Arlen jogged to Thula’s side and with one swift vault lodged his left foot into her lower stirrup and then hiked his right foot into the second one. Gripping my saddle horn with one hand, he placed his hand on my back, pushing my shoulders up and lengthening my spine.

  “You can breathe.” He chuckled, and his breath was warm on my cheek in the cool morning air. “Just breathe with your back like this. Straight.”

  I swallowed, trying to ignore the strange tingling feeling in my body caused by his proximity. His hand remained between my shoulder blades, creating a radiating circle of heat, like a tiny sun. He leaned in, and his thigh pressed against mine, stealing the air from my lungs—posture or no posture.

  His lips hovered closer to my face. My heart hammered a frantic warning in my chest. This was not how this was supposed to go. I asked him for a lesson so I could feel him out for information about his family, not... feel him.

  “I warned you not to win the First Trial, but you didn’t listen,” he said in a low flat tone. “Listen now. The Second Trial will begin tonight. There is a coordinated effort underway to ensure you do not come out of it alive.” He took a deep breath. “But you must.”

  If I turned my head to look at him, our lips would brush, that’s how close he was. So I kept my face trained on the space between Thula’s skull ridges, just as he’d told me to do to maintain my focus while riding.

  “Why do you care?” I asked, remembering the callous way his father had spoken of my death, of Traka’s. But was that even really his father?

  “As you so kindly reminded me earlier,” Arlen said, halfway between a whisper and a growl. “My father has bet an exorbitant amount of on this year’s Games, even by Noble standards. But as far as I’m concerned, at his age, that money was as good as mine. Gambling it away was never part of our arr—our plan.”

  I snorted. “And here I thought you might be the only Noble capable of moral qualms. But of course, it’s just about the money.”

  “Yes, of course.” Arlen blinked at me. “What else would it be about?”

  I shrugged his hand off my back, his touch gone cold. “Your father isn’t even betting on me; he’s betting on Thula. He doesn’t care who rides her. How do I know you aren’t part of the plan to deliver her to Kaelina?”

  His eyes widened. “Did your dragon tell you that?”

  “For the last time, my dragon doesn’t talk. But your father does, loudly and with Lord Lanthe. I overheard them.” Best to leave Raff out of it. “Did you know they plan to kill Traka too? To release Kaelina from their bond?”

  Arlen winced. “Yes. I do not approve.”

  I shook my head. Unbelievable. I didn’t approve of anyone trying to kill Traka either, but I also didn’t approve of anyone trying to kill me. But when it came to that, all that mattered was keeping his precious inheritance. But was it even his? And if not, did he know?

  “So why are you warning me? What does it matter to you who rides Thula, as long as she wins?” I leaned away from his thick eyelashes and his soft lips and his warm breath.

  His hand fell away from my back with an exasperated sigh. “They are foolish to believe this dragon would ever choose Kaelina Lanthe. Surely you trust her more than that?”

  Of course I did. But why w
as Arlen so confident? How much did he know about the things his father and Lanthe spoke of? The mysterious necessity of the gem? The identity of Lyonette?

  “Lord Lanthe spoke as though Traka and a dragon named Huskell were the only two dragons left on the Peak when Kaelina climbed.”

  Arlen laughed. “First of all, Kaelina didn’t climb. None of us did.”

  My mouth dropped. “But that’s how the dragon knows you’re worthy.”

  “We’re Nobles, Dima. We don’t have to prove we’re worthy. Our parents bring us to Hector, and he fetches the dragon they’ve picked out.” His mouth twitched. “You’re the only student here who’s been on the Peak.”

  The sky spun around me though Thula’s feet remained flat on the ground. “But… but what about the Call? The dragon’s choice?”

  “Myth.” He shrugged. “Or at least I thought it was until you showed up.”

  My hands gripped the saddle horn, forcing him to move aside. He clutched at Thula’s shoulder blade, and immediately she gave a warning hiss and shifted her body away. Arlen tilted precariously backward, and I grabbed his wrist, pulling him back in.

  Then I dig my fingernails in just for the hell of it.

  “But is it true? Are the dragons all gone?”

  He glared at my hand. “More will return as their Legionnaires die in the wars. And the Games. But for now… yes. It appears to be so.”

  My pulse pounded in my ears. This was too much to take in. This was too much to be happening. I should never have answered Thula. She really had gone rogue. But why? Why had she brought me here? Just to die?

  “To win.”

  My eyes flicked toward her head. Arlen’s gaze followed. “She can speak to you, can’t she?”

  My jaw tightened. But it was answer enough.

  “Don’t let that slip again,” he said softly. “If they knew…”

  I snapped my head at him. “How can I know you won’t tell?”

  He blinked. “I won’t do anything to compromise your win.”

  Our eyes locked, mine searching the depths of his blue for any signs of honesty or loyalty. But they remained as blank as the morning sky above us.

  “What’s the Second Trial?” I asked.

  His lips flattened. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  I laughed. “Oh, really? That’s what you’re not at liberty to say?”

  He glanced around as if suddenly remembering where we were, who all could have seen him hanging off the side of my dragon for however long our exchange had taken. He leapt down, landing lightly on his feet.

  “Excellent lesson, Dima,” he thundered. “I think we’ve accomplished a lot.”

  He turned and walked away, leaving me staring after him and Thula staring back at me.

  He turned. “Oh, and I hear there’s a north wind blowing in tonight. Dress warmly.”

  ***

  “Riders, rise!” Hector’s voice bellowed, following by a series of thunderous knocks, startling me from my bed, for the second night in a row, I hadn’t actually been sleeping.

  I stumbled to my door, opening it just a crack. Kaelina and Coferi peeked from their doors too, along with Pellagra and Miasha, two girls from smaller territories.

  “Second Trial begins now,” Hector grunted and disappeared through the common room door—where we never actually gathered because we all hated each other.

  “What?” Coferi shrieked. “This is too soon!”

  “War doesn’t come on schedule,” Kaelina snapped and slammed her door shut.

  Closing mine, I hurried to my chest of drawers. Dress warmly, Arlen had said. But all I had were tunics and breeches, nothing like a cloak. Someone knocked softly on my door.

  “What is it?” I growled.

  “It’s Amelie, Miss. Here to help you dress.”

  “Come in,” I grunted, pulling out two pairs of breeches. I would layer them.

  Amelie slipped into the room, carrying a piece of folded fabric in her arms. “I’ve brought a cloak, Miss. It will go over your armor.”

  “Very good, Amelie.”

  I went ahead and double layered my breeches and socks and the thin undergarments we wore beneath our tunics. Two tunics plus armor would restrict my range of movement, so I pulled only one over my head, and then let Amelie begin the quick work of re-braiding my hair. Once my boots were on, Amelie led me quickly to the War Room where all of the first-years had gathered, frantically pulling on their light training armor.

  Amelie frowned at one of the other girls’ servants. “No battle armor?”

  The other servant shook her head. “Hector’s orders. He wants them flying light.”

  No, I thought with a chill, he wants me flying as unprotected as possible.

  Amelie helped me into my chest plate and settled my helmet over my head. It squeezed painfully against my braid. I held out my hands and Amelie slid the light armor gloves onto them, and then I stepped into my clunky boots.

  Next, we stopped at the armory where Hector, looking so frazzled I wondered if he had even known this was coming, handed out scabbards and swords. I hesitated when he held out mine. The swish of metal. The silent grimace. The blood on the ground. How could I betray my father’s memory by taking up this sword now? To use against another student, no less, not even a real soldier.

  Arlen appeared at my side. “Is there a problem here?”

  He looked down at me, and his eyes were no longer blank but full of urgency. This was not a game. Attempts were going to be made on my life. My father had made his choice, but I would have to make mine. And I wanted to live. For Raff, who was trapped here. For Pali, who was sick. For my Mother, who was broken. For Thula, who was mine, more than any other dragon here was their student’s.

  I picked up the sword.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Second Trial was about endurance. A blizzard was rolling into the northernmost mountains of the Drakken Range, over twenty miles away. We would fly to the Northern Fort, guided only by beacons. Whoever arrived first would win. We would be flanked by third-years, including Arlen, but they were forbidden from helping us in any way. They were only there to bear witness.

  The second-years had been stationed at ambush points along the way.

  The chances of another one hundred percent survival rate were slim.

  When Raff tossed Thula’s reins up to me, I leaned down and said, “If I don’t come back, you run. Get home to Pali; whatever you have to do.”

  He swallowed and nodded. There wasn’t any point in telling me I would definitely come back. He had heard the same conversation as me.

  Hector’s cry of “Riders, fly!” cracked the crisp night air.

  Nineteen dragons soared into the sky—thirteen first-years and six third-years. Elanich’s white scales glowed under the moonlight, just as they had the night he and Arlen first flew up beside us. Just beyond the courtyard gates sat an enormous stone brazier in which a fire blazed—our first beacon.

  Thula glided over it, casting a terrifying shadow into the circle of light it created. I looped the reins over the saddle horn and patted her on the shoulder.

  “I trust you more than I trust myself.”

  “You’re a wise warrior.”

  I had no idea if she meant that as an affirmation of my decision to let her lead or an encouragement that I had the skills to do so myself. Either way, I still felt better with her in control. I needed to keep my eyes on my fellow competitors—one in particular.

  Stars twinkled in the velvety black sky over the sky, but toward the north, towering gray clouds blotted everything else out. A frigid wind zipped over my face, catching the cloak that hung about my shoulders. I reminded myself that I survived the snow and ice of Drakken Peak, something no one else flying tonight had to do. Their dragons had been delivered to them like mere hogsteeds.

  Slowly, the tight clump we began in thinned out as some riders rushed ahead while others like myself held back, conserving energy. A dragon floated up alongside me, and I c
aught Yarben’s eyes looking at me beneath his helmet. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then shook his head and flew away. My chest hollowed out. It might be the last time I ever saw him.

  Soon, Thula and I were the only dragons left in our part of the sky. Her wings moved in slow, careful strokes, and she held her alert, swinging slightly back and forth, scouting for the promised ambushes. Three beacons passed without incident—only seventeen more to go.

  By the fourth beacon, snowflakes were falling from the sky, melting harmlessly on Thula’s neck but sticking to my cold metal armor. By the fifth, they were harder, icier, stinging my face—what I could still feel of it anyway. By the sixth, Thula’s head was only a faint black outline in the gauzy white curtain that swirled around us.

  A dark shape lay in the snow beside the seventh beacon, arms and legs spread at odd angles. With no dragon in sight, it was possible that someone had successfully taken out one of the ambushing second-years. But it was also possible the dragon, sensing futility, had just flown away.

  The snow around the ninth beacon was deeply furrowed and splattered with something dark—dragon or human blood. Unease prickled at my neck, not because of what I was seeing, but because nothing had been done to us yet. What were they waiting for?

  And what was I waiting for? I hadn’t been able to question Thula last night because of the returning handlers, and I couldn’t ask her earlier with Arlen around, but what was stopping me now? We were the only two beings in the sky.

  “Thula?” I shouted into wind so fierce I wasn’t sure she’d even hear me.

  “Yes?”

  I filled my lungs with air and then yelled, “Who was Lyonette? And why did she take your gem?”

  Before she could answer, Thula’s body began to shudder. Glancing to the side, I saw ice crystals forming on the edges of her wings.

  “Breathe fire,” I said through chattering teeth.

  Thula’s ribs expanded with a deep breath and she blew a small burst of fire into the sky. It fizzled out but flying through the warmth it left behind melted some of the ice that coated us.