Dragon Games

by Marisa Claire

  “Traka,” I said, pressing my numb hand to her nose the way Kaelina never would. “You must fly away from here as fast as you can. And not to Drakken Peak. They’ll catch you again.”

  “I understand.”

  “Are you able?” I asked, looking at the ugly wounds left where Arlen had pulled the bolts from her neck.

  She clacked her teeth. “I’m not dead yet.”

  And with one powerful flap, the old dragon disappeared into the blizzard.

  I looked at Arlen.

  Arlen looked at me.

  He swept me into his arms, our chest plates clanging together. He laughed. A real laugh. Like a real person.

  My arms circled his neck and somehow my frozen fingers wound up tangled in his hair. Our foreheads bumped against each other with an icy crunch. The laughter faded, but our smiles remained.

  I started to ease away from him, but his hands clung to the back of my chest plate. His eyes flickered back and forth between mine, as though searching for something. He touched his nose to mine, and my heart sped up until I was certain he could hear it banging on the inner wall of my chest plate. He tugged me closer, our armor squeaking.

  He lifted his eyebrows a fraction, and I realized what he’d been searching for was permission. Somewhere inside me a small voice tried to remind me that I was still a peasant and he was still a Noble and this was a very bad idea, but to be honest, I couldn’t really hear that voice over the roar of the fire and the groan of the wind.

  I nodded, my fingers pressing into the back of his neck. In a heartbeat, his lips were on mine, roughened by the cold, but still far gentler than I would have imagined—or than I realized I wanted. I curled my hands into his hair, bringing him as close as our armor would allow. His hands rose to cup my face, thumbs scraping the frost from my cheekbones, and somewhere in the back of my delirious brain, I realized we were still in danger.

  Suddenly, his warm lips left mine. My eyes blinked open to the stinging cold once more. He pushed me back to arm’s length, his face grave.

  “What’s wrong?” My voice came out in a cracked whisper.

  He dropped his gaze to the ground. “Dima, you must finish the race now.”

  I gestured at the shredded net. “They’ll find out what I’ve done.”

  “I will dispose of the gem on the way back to the Academy. They need not know what we did. Only that you set her free. They will assume she died in the blizzard anyway when she never shows up.”

  “What if Kaelina has already told them her version?”

  He smiled darkly. “Then the Lanthes will be revealed for the liars they are. And believe me, the other Nobles won’t look fondly on them for murdering a dragon when there’s so few left for their own children.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?” I asked, panicked at the idea of facing all those Nobles alone. “We can lose the gem along the way.”

  Arlen shook his head, stepping away from me. “No. I must return to the castle to recover from my injuries.”

  Startled, I looked his body up and down. “Where are you hurt?”

  He sighed. “I’m not… yet.”

  My brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

  He bent and picked up my sword, handing it to me. “I need you to stab me, Dima.”

  “What?!” I gasped. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “It appears so,” he said, gesturing around us. “Dima, no one must even suspect that I helped you tonight. I must tell them that we fought and you won.”

  “But why do I need to stab you?” I hobbled backward. “I am not stabbing you.”

  Arlen’s throat jerked. “Dima, my part to play tonight was taking credit for killing you after discovering what you’d done to Kaelina’s dragon. If Centrival finds out I abandoned my duty…”

  “Your father?” I whispered.

  Arlen shook his head. “That man is not my father, Dima. I have one… somewhere… a mother, and brothers. Lord Centrival holds their lives over my head every single day.”

  My mind whirled like the snow. “I don’t understand.”

  “He could make no heir, so he stole one. Me. By blood, I am a peasant, same as you.” Arlen turned to the side, showing me his outer thigh. “Here should be good. Avoid the artery. Elanich can get me to a draught in time.”

  “Arlen, no!” The metal swish. My father’s grunt. The pool of blood. “I can’t.”

  Arlen grasped my arms again, his eyes desperate and a little crazed. “Dima, he will burn their village. Burn it to ash. Imagine if Raffael were still at home and something you did…”

  Pali’s face flashed in my mind. Images of dragons circling, spraying Pithe with flames for a second time. Mother’s bent back. They would never be able to run. They would burn like the body on the gamblers’ bonfire… alive the whole time.

  My fingers tightened on the hilt of my sword.

  “Please, Dima…” Arlen’s hand cupped my face.

  Nodding, I pressed my hand over his and drew his knuckles to my lips. And even as I kissed them, I drove the blade of my sword into his flesh.

  End of Book One

  ***

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  Exclusive Sneak Peek of Crown of Lore

  Chapter One

  TOMORROW MIGHT BE the final day my mind is my own.

  I’m not sure why everyone plays the loss of one’s individuality off as an honor. For those in the Relic class—like me—the Transfer of Life Ceremony is the end of any freedom we pretended to have ever had. Might as well fuse a ball and chain to your ankle, if selected. My life will be set, and not in a good way. Plus, I’ll have to live with the creepy memories of some random elder.

  Yup, super great honor.

  But today, there’s still work to be done. So, get to it Bel.

  A sigh of exhaustion exits my lips as I slam my hands against the steel cart and give it a shove. The damn thing is heavy enough without the four inches of mud from last night’s rain pushing back at its thin wheels. I’m strong, but this is becoming ridiculous. It’s nearly the end of the work day, and I still don’t have much to show for it. Just a few yards of copper wire and a couple boxes of busted up circuit boards. Hopefully we can strip some gold from this archaic tech. If not, the Tenant class merchants will stop frequenting our shop, and we need their tokens of Lore or we don’t eat. The Royals don’t do handouts. No Tenants, no tokens—no hope.

  My feet are soaked. Silt and gravel ooze through the holes in my boots with every squishy step. A gentle breeze wisps by and I shiver. Strands of hair flutter annoyingly in front of my face. That I can at least fix this moment. I reach back and grab my too-long waist-length hair, grimacing when I notice how the drab, brown color matches the mud caking my shoes—I didn’t need that visual right now—and wrestle the wind-tangled mess through a spare hairband dangling from my wrist. A sting slaps the skin of my hand first, and then I hear it. Snap. Holding back the urge to roll my eyes, I throw the broken tie to the ground. Ugh, this day really can’t get any worse.

  And, as usual, I’ve spoken too soon.

  Taro and Salis make their way over to me from across the road. The orange-haired brothers think they’re so much better than everyone else for having the ears of the top Tenant class buyers. Their bulky frames fight to not rip through their tops. These boys spend a good portion of their week staying in shape even without having to drudge heavy carts around all day. Probab
ly just to make sure they can push around anyone who tries to compete for the same political leverage.

  Since I rarely see the two pulling hours of hard labor at any of the ruins, like the rest of us, I’ve decided they have other ways to make a living. But I don’t really care to find out what that might be today.

  In one well-choreographed swoop, I grab the hem of my mud-soaked skirt and tuck the fabric into my belt. Then, with a determined grunt, I give the cart a hard shove.

  Nothing happens. The cart refuses to give. Not even a charitable inch. My eyes dart first to the right wheel—nothing unusual. Then the left—the treacherous wheel that betrayed my plans of escape, sinking into the mud instead.

  I let out a long, slow breath and steel myself. “Hey boys.” I add an extra dose of artificial sugar into my tone.

  Taro takes the lead and makes a beeline right for my cart. He’s the taller of the two, and sports a crooked nose courtesy of his brother, who clocked him in the schoolyard. The whole thing happened maybe six years ago, when I was about ten or eleven.

  The brute slows before me and snatches up my wiring. Holding the stolen goods in the air, as if the near-trash were a trophy, he says to his approaching brother, “This will bring a few tokens, yeah?”

  I yank the coiled wire from his grasp. “For me. Not you.”

  Salis maneuvers in a flash to within inches of where I stand and growls, “Not anymore, little girl.”

  His putrid breath accosts my senses and I recoil. For a split second, my mind goes blank. Then, as if on instinct, my fist forms a ball. A feeling surfaces. A familiar injustice. My brother used to steal food directly from my plate, in front of everyone, as if he were entitled to my share. Anger simmers to a boil until it overwhelms me, and my fist collides with Salis’s nose in a satisfying yet sickening crunch! Vibrant red blood seeps through Silas’s fingers as he cradles his injury.

  “There, I fixed your face,” I sneer.

  Pride from my victory wells up in my chest at the sight, but it’s short lived.

  Taro lunges at me over the cart, but I’m quick, and he’s not. I side-step around him and hightail it down the street. Who cares about some stupid wiring and ancient junk? No clue why it was so important to me a few minutes ago either. I twist back after several successful running-stomps through the mud, but Taro, undoubtedly fueled with adrenaline, is nearly on top of me. Gripping my arm, he uses my momentum to throw me to the ground, topping off this disastrous day as mud covers and drips down my entire body.

  “You pigs!” I scream.

  Taro raises his foot to kick me in the side, and I brace for the crushing pain, when a body plows into Taro and slams him to the ground. I can’t help but gape. Six feet away from me lies Taro, face down in the mud.

  Scrabbling to my feet, I whip my gaze the other direction just in time to see a village boy with a mop of wavy wheat-gold hair. Asher flicks his famous rascally grin my way before twisting around to meet Salis. I want to roll my eyes again. I don’t need his help. But, without hesitation, Asher’s powerful right hook meets Salis’s jaw with a dull crack. Salis staggers back and catches himself. For a second, it looks like he might continue the fight. Instead, he straightens his tunic and spits a mixture of blood and saliva into the mud.

  Salis curls his lip and growls at my savior, and then grabs Taro by the arm and pulls him up. “Let’s go.”

  The brothers stumble off and out of sight.

  “I didn’t need your help,” I eventually say. Mud drips down my forehead and I wipe it away. Great. I probably just smeared the mess across my face.

  “Arabella of the House of Garin.” My pleased-with-himself savior bows low, as if he were addressing me as Royalty—a ridiculous notion. Something Asher knows will irritate me. “I am quite aware of your fighting prowess, but it appeared as if you needed a wee bit of assistance back there.”

  I scoff, but it’s truthfully more of a laugh.

  He offers a hand, and I take it and allow him to pull me to my feet, even though I don’t need his help with that either. Asher is only eighteen, but his hands are already rough with calluses. However, pretty much everyone who lives in Arlos, and all the other Relic class towns dotted across the Queendom, have calloused hands. Living out here is brutal. There’s no getting around that fact.

  To return his gallant bow, I lower into a playful, deep curtsy. “Asher, of the House of Caine, I thank you for your loyal service.”

  Asher smiles widely and, without releasing my hand, tugs me into his arms. “I’m forever loyal to you, Bel.”

  I try to squirm from his embrace. “I’ll get you all muddy.”

  “So?” The tenor of his voice rumbles through me. “I can’t resist a girl who can break a guy’s nose without a second thought.”

  Now I smile wide, remembering the shock on Salis’s face when I did just that. “You saw?” It was more of statement and less of a question. Still, he answers.

  “Yeah, I did. And I didn’t want to let you have all the fun.”

  Focusing on Asher’s gorgeous emerald eyes and square jaw, I almost forget about my awful day. He’s the ray of sun I can’t imagine living without. I lean in and press my lips to his, soft and warm. Kissing him always feels like coming home again.

  And, as promised, he doesn’t care about the muck and returns the kiss with enthusiasm.

  Much too soon, I step out of his arms to note the sun’s position in the sky. “It will be dark in a few hours.”

  Asher bobs his head slightly. “I am ever at your service, ma’am.” He fetches the copper coil still lying on the ground and tosses the metal into my cart.

  Together, we wiggle the cart free and start down the drier dirt path toward home. I spend a few minutes finger combing clumps of mud from my hair and clothes. The stains on my skirt and bodice are bad. Mama is going to be upset, but I’m not as mud-caked as I had originally thought.

  Even as the light dims, I can’t help but admire the strong contours of Asher’s jawline as he easily pushes the cart for me. Walking side-by-side, I drive my shoulder into his arm.

  He peers down and smiles. “What was that for?”

  “I don’t know, maybe because I can . . .” I pause and raise an eyebrow. “… or maybe because I love you.”

  He rolls his eyes before facing forward again. “I love you, too.”

  He won’t admit it, but I can feel how he’s carrying far more than his share of the cart’s weight now. I don’t bother saying anything this time. He did valiantly save me back there. Not that I’ll boast about that to anyone.

  A few minutes pass and we reach my family’s reclamation shop. It’s not much, but with all the overtime hours Asher has put into remodeling the place, it can almost pass as more than a Relic class merchant shack. Before he started working on it, the brittle wood walls and cracked cement foundation barely held up. He’s made the shop respectable with his retrofits. We can’t afford to pay him extra, but I get the feeling he doesn’t mind. He does get extra attention from his supervisor, though—not that he needs my real supervision.

  Mama won’t say it, but she would be lost without us. Father passed away a few years ago and my brother went off to the Lore Training Institute. Asher treats her well, even if he’s underpaid. And since he didn’t get a marking last year at the Ceremony, he’s here to stay.

  I walk up the few steps to the front entry. Like usual during this time of year, I have to yank the handle. The foundation settles every Fall, warping the frame. After a few tugs I manage to pull the door fully open for Asher as he grabs today’s haul from the cart.

  “I’ll take your bounty to the back.” Asher’s full lips twist into a sly grin.

  I poke his side as he passes me. “Yeah, you do that, servant boy.”

  Mama sits at the service counter studying the shop’s accounting books. She doesn’t even acknowledge us. Her gray-streaked brown hair hangs over the side of her face. The strands almost block the tiny worry lines around her eyes and mouth, ones that have
seemingly formed overnight.

  We’ve been short on Lore tokens this month. Without them, we’re forced to use the wood stove to heat the living quarters above the shop at night. Every building, old or new, has been integrated with Lore components. I’m not sure what the tokens we all slave for actually are, but I know better than to think they’re magic coins to summon electricity. The Royal Lores will never reveal their secrets. Hiding this knowledge from the working classes is just one more way of control.

  I head over to Mama, but a scream sounds off in the distance and I freeze.

  The woman screams again, louder this time. I rush to the front window.

  “What’s going on Arabella?” Mama calls out.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Asher storms out of the supply room. The floor cracks beneath his heavy footfalls. He meets me at the window and then we peer through the foggy glass. Up the road, near the ruins, is a gathering.

  “I’ll check it out,” he murmurs. “Stay here.”

  “Nice try. I’m coming, too.” I grab the gray cloak hanging on a hook by the front door—an unusual, light color of gray compared to the typical drab varieties in Arlos. In a flash, I have it on and tied around my neck.

  Knowing full well who I am, he doesn’t even try to convince me to stay

  “Please, be careful you two!” Mama hollers after us as she moves toward the back room to hide. She hates any sort of violence.

  The crisp air hits my face. Running only makes my skin colder and so I pull the hood of my cloak over my head. Near the old-world ruins, several people are gathered around a Tenant class collection carriage. The crumbling cement and steel building towers above the landscape, casting a long, dark shadow onto the road. Asher flings an arm across my chest, forcing me to a skidded stop. His gaze is locked forward. brows tightening further as he studies the scene. Even on my toes, I still can’t see what’s going on. Asher has about seven inches on me, which he sometimes forgets. Like now.