The Dragon Games

Roommates

I stood, tucking my makeshift blade into my pocket. Across the length of the mess hall, Cassian caught my eye. I tensed, my back going rigid. I hadn't done enough. I should have drawn out the fight, used it as an opportunity to show all I can do with the divine. 

After all, Cassian made it perfectly clear that he wouldn't do me any more favors. If I wasn't useful, I was dead. 

He broke eye contact first, nodding to the girl holding Tudor's banner.

"Raven Black for squad Tudor!" the girl shouted. 

I let out a breath of relief, then Squad Tudor echoed her shout, thrusting their banner and stomping their feet. And to my surprise, squad Steward bid for me next. The handsome boy sitting at the front of the table grinned at me and signaled Steward to shout my name. 

I pretended to give the offer some thought, and even started heading their way with a cheesy grin on my face – partly so it didn't look as suspicious when I headed for the infamously bad Tudor, mostly to mess with Cassian.

"Thin ice," Cassian muttered as I sat down. "Microscopic."

The other matches faded into a blur, almost none using divine, with two exceptions. Edmond's match claimed every eye in the room. He faced his opponent with a smirk, then tossed his sword aside and folded one arm behind his back. 

Instantly, the entire Tudor table was against him. Considering most of them had just lost their matches, they didn't take kindly to the bragging. They wanted his opponent to punish his attitude, but Edmund's divine hung the poor boy from the ceiling rafts in less than a second.

And then came a girl named Grace Midland. With a face pulled straight from the story books and smooth brown skin that glowed under the torch light, she was easily one of the most beautiful girls I had ever seen. 

The only imperfection of her appearance was a single loose curl, which she quickly tucked back into her skull-tight braid. According to the whispers going around Tudor's table, her father is a lord and her mother is a princess of some foreign island.

"They call her the salt princess," Cassian murmured so only I could hear. "Over dinner, her father told her that she'd marry the Windsor heir – a man forty years her senior whose previous three wives died under sudden and unforseen circumstances. Rumor has it, her only response was please."

"Please pick another man?"

"Please pass the salt. I'll have to cut down on sugar to fit into a nice wedding gown."

My cheeks puffed out, just barely catching my laugh in time.

Like Edmond, Grace carried no weapons into the match. On the knight's signal, she flicked her wrist and sent her opponent flying like a rag doll. Shocking no one, she received four bids. Shocking everyone, Grace strode past the Balthasar table to sit with Windsors. While the Windsors cheered like crazy, she gave them a pageant smile – more to humor them than out of any real joy.

"I thought Balthasar was the best," a Tudor pledge burst out.

"It's often viewed that way," Cassian replied diplomatically. "But with Edmond around, no one in his year will ever be captain but him. Talented pledges like Midland will often pick a lower squad for a fighting chance."

The pledge scoffed. "Arrogant."

"Ambitious," Cassian corrected.

With bidding finished, Cassian led his thirty-two new pledges to squad Tudor's tower. There were no qualifying tournament entries among us, but I had seen one or two join Windsor and Steward. Suddenly, the tower door kicked open, and a group leaped from the shadows. 

I jumped into action, calling divine to my hand, only to freeze when I noticed the cake, streamers, and posters.

WELCOME HOME PLEEBS!

MONTHS UNTIL BLOOD FEST: EIGHT

Sheepishly, I slackened my hands. Grads and rookies rushed up to greet the pledges, handing out small satchels. Inside of mine, there was a thick patch shaped like the letter "T," a red key, and a name tag. I scrawled my name and pinned it to my jacket, but there was barely any time for introductions before two goblets bashed together, silencing the tower. 

A middle-aged man stood on one of the tables, his swollen beer belly waving hello at the crowd. With his ruddy cheeks, unkempt beard, boar coat, and heavy gold chains, he made for an interesting combination of wealth and scruff.

"Our duke has graced us with his time?" a pledge said, perking up.

The grad next to him snorted. "Once in a blue moon, miracles do happen. Maybe next year, he'll tear himself away from the boozing and boar-hunting long enough to honor us with two appearances –"

Cassian elbowed him in the ribs, sending the grad collapsing in on himself just as the duke began a speech.

"For the new faces in the tower, I am your House sponsor, Duke Tudor. Now take a look around, pledges. These are the people you are going to live, train, and study with until the Blood Moon Festival begins. They will become more than your teammates. They will be your best friends, closest confidants, maybe even your spouse–"

I accidentally locked eyes with another pledge. He paled, his shoulders locking up. Perhaps I should not have blown him a kiss.

"-- and now Cassian has some words," Duke Tudor said. 

He stepped aside, allowing Cassian to climb onto the table.

"Based on the color of the key in your satchel, you will be grouped with three other pledges to share a room and ally with during Blood Fest," Cassian said. "Approach them with open arms, because this year, I will sooner kick a pledge off my squad than allow a room change – no if, ands, or buts."

A few eyes wandered in my direction. No doubt that rule was made with me in mind, because who would willingly walk into the arena allied with a massive, raider-shaped target? 

Cassian paused, looking around the pledges. "What are you waiting for, pledges? Find your allies."

I turned around the chamber, lost in the crowd as pledges found new roommates and reunited with old friends. By the time I spotted another red key, all three of my roommates had already found each other: two boys and one girl.

I recognized the girl from the boat ride to Skydescent. It was Bianca, the bold pledge from my boat. The boy to her right had Gordo scrawled across his name tag. He had a thin face at odds with his mountain sized body and looked like he could snap my last roommate in two. 

He was tall and lean, with high cheekbones, a messy thatch of raven black hair, and startling blue eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about his face, but it did not hit me until I saw his name tag. I came to a dead stop.

Elio Bates... 

Elio bloody Bates. 

The commander of the Sword Brethren's son; the bastard that stole Slicer's mask to sneak attack me. Just my luck. Of all the chambers I could have placed in, I placed with him. Before I could decided what to do – flee, attack, curse – they spotted me.