The Dragon Games

Lessons

Someone pounded on our door at sunrise, shouting, "Breakfast in the mess hall!" 

While my roommates dressed in the open, I brought my clothes to the privy. My scars may blend in among the raiders, but not so much among this crowd.

In the mess hall, there was no assigned seating, but no one strayed far from their squads. Balthasar would make a laughingstock of any outsiders, Steward and Windsor seemed content with themselves, and no one wanted to sit at Tudor. Even Tudor did not want to sit with Tudor.

We were pretty infamous for our lack of funds, and showing up with a sloppy 'T' patched onto our jackets didn't help – especially considering that Balthasar had hired a seamstress to fashion their "B" with small, glittering gemstones. 

I guess that's where all the tax money went when my orphanage couldn't afford to buy me shoes. Stepping on a rusty nail and nearly losing a toe to consumption was definitely worth it, so long as the Balthasars were bedazzled and –

As I stepped out of the food line, my foot snagged on a boot sticking out of the Windsor table. I managed to right my balance before falling, but my trey tipped, spilling my breakfast across the floor with a loud clatter. The Windsors fell silent and turned to me, openly watching my reaction. 

Clearly, this was a test – would the raider bite back or accept the slight? Failing would set a precedent, but with the parlay hanging over my head, I didn't care to do more than snag a new breakfast off the Windsor table and leave without a word.

The Tudor table didn't go much smoother. The conversation did not stop, or anything as dramatic as that, but there was a definite shift in the air. Shoulders locked up, hands twitching for their weapons, nervous stares darted my way. 

More Tudors joined the table, but all left at least a two seat gap around me, even wedging elbow to elbow with their neighbor. I pretended not to notice and focused on my breakfast instead. Just as I lifted my spoon, a passing pledge bumped into me, knocking oatmeal across my arm. I eyed the ugly grey splotch, my jaw ticking.

Across the table, Bianca was dabbing her chin with a handkerchief. When we locked eyes, she sniffed and proactively folded the handkerchief into her pocket, in case I got any wild ideas of asking to borrow it.

"Attention!" A knight banged his gauntlet against his breastplate, the loud chinks of metal ringing across the mess hall. All squads quieted, their heads turning to the front. 

"Miss Austen, your instructor of strategy!" he boomed, gesturing at an old woman standing by his side, dressed in long brown robes.

"You have eight months until Blood Fest begins," Instructor Austen said. "While you train, the knights will scout the land around the arena to compile a list of all dragons present. Then, on the night before the Blood Moon Festival, there will be an auction. Each squad will give their best pledges a sum of gold to put a reward on the location of their favored dragons. If another pledge happens to cross that dragon's path in the arena and knows they are too weak to bond with it, they can send a letter detailing its location for the prize sum. So train hard. Your instructors will be watching, and our recommendations will determine which pledge deserves the auction funds the most."

I turned back to my breakfast, unimpressed. So we were supposed to bust our ass for the auction funds, but there was no guarantee we would bond with the dragon we paid for, only that we would know its location? 

But on second thought, how else would we bond with a dragon? To look in its eyes, you had to get close to it first. Winning the funds might be the difference between bonding with a dragon and leaving with nothing. Or in my case, bonding with a dragon or stepping in the noose.