The Dragon Games

Lessons

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

While my roommates got dressed out in the open, I brought my clothes to the privy. My scars blended in among the raiders, but my skin was practically a battlefield compared to the pledges'. My back was textured like braille; you could read the past year of my life in bumps and scars.

There was no assigned seating in the mess hall, but no one strayed far from their squads. Balthasar would make a laughingstock of any outsiders, Steward and Windsor seemed pretty content with themselves, and no one wanted to sit at Tudor.

Even Tudor did not want to sit with Tudor. They were pretty infamous for their lack of funds, and showing up with a sloppy 'T' patched onto their jacket didn't help –especially considering Balthasar hired a seamstress to fashion their badges with small, glittering gemstones.

As I stood in line, waiting for my food to be served, I could not help but glare at the Balthasars in front of me. So that's where all the tax money went when the orphanage couldn't afford to buy me a pair of shoes. Stepping on a rusty nail and nearly losing a toe was all worth it, so long as we bedazzled the Balthasars.

As I returned to the Tudor table with a heavy plate of food, Bianca stuck an arm in front of my path. She nodded at a leg sticking out of the Windsor table, waiting to trip me up.

"Thanks," I said, stepping over the leg.

"What are friends for?"

"We're friends?"

"I hope so," Bianca said. "We're roommates and going into the arena together. If we're not friends, we really ought to be."

"Sure," I replied agreeably. Marcus' betrayal had turned me off the idea of trusting anyone new, but that did not mean Bianca's offer was off the table. After all, I could use a future meat shield in the arena. A joke, of course. A serious joke.

"Attention!" A knight banged his gauntlet against his armory breastplate, the loud chinks of metal ringing out over the conversations. The pledges stopped talking, all heads turning to the front of the mess hall. By the knight's side was an old woman in long brown robes.

"Instructor Austen," Bianca whispered at my questioning glance. "She teaches strategy."

 "You have four weeks until Blood Fest begins," Instructor Austen told the mess hall. "While you train, the Sword Brethren will scout the land around the arena to compile a list of all dragon sightings. Then, on the night before Blood Fest, 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 that dragon – they can send a letter detailing its location for the prize money. So train hard these next few weeks. Your instructors will be watching, and based on our recommendations, your captain will determine which pledge deserves the money the most."

So we were supposed to bust our ass for prize money, 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 that prize money might very well be the difference between bonding with a dragon and leaving with nothing. Or in my case, stepping into the noose.

"Can we use our own money for the auction?" Gordo asked Cassian after Instructor Austen had finished her announcement.

"That would defeat the whole purpose of the ranking system," Cassian replied. "You may only bid what your house sponsor supplies you. All leftovers fund not used in the auction will be returned to Duke Tudor."