The Dragon Games

Sparring

As I changed for Instructor Finnegan's class, I caught glimpses of what months of training had done to my body, making me lean and muscular where I used to be scrawny. My first semester at Skydescent had blurred by as a lifetime of survival, combat, and dragon knowledge was crammed down my throat. 

Everything that fell outside those bounds – like holidays and name days – was ignored, and breaks outside of sleeping were virtually nonexistent. I made the mistake of saying I was tired within Cassian's hearing range once. He hit me with a flat look and an even flatter 'welcome to Skydescent.' 

It was one of the most popular phrases at the castle, mainly because it could respond to any situation. Guess what the Balthasar captain said to a request for the morning off after a pledge's grandmother died? I'll give you a hint. 

It wasn't my condolences.

"Are my flats in there?" Bianca hollered from across the chamber. 

Before I could reply, she burst through the privy's door – only to stop dead in her tracks once she got an eyefull of my back, her lips dropping into a 'O'.

"What?" I said innocently, scanning the floor until I found a pair of black sparring shoes. "Do I have something on my face?" 

I offered her the flats, but she just stared and stared, her hands hanging limp at her sides. I frowned, waiting for her to say something, but even jiggling the flats didn't break the spell. The length of silence was getting weird now. Well, weirder. 

"In or out, Bianca," I said.

She accepted her flats and stepped out. As soon as I heard her cross our chamber and shut the door, I scowled and slammed the drawer shut, wood and marble colliding with a satisfying crack. Lately, little has gone in my favor.

As Blood Fest drew closer, the difference between my childhood and everyone else's was becoming crystal clear – especially between me and my roommates. Gordo can beat anyone in our squad with any weapon. 

Bianca is a double threat, excelling in academics and combat. She possesses the natural talent to rise to the top and the work ethic to stay there. And in Instructor Austen's class, Elio has more points than the rest of the squad combined.

Meanwhile, I'd rather stick a rusty quill through my eye than sit through another one of her lessons. I have yet to earn a single point toward the auction, despite the many, many attempts I have been given. A small group of Tudors who fancy themselves intellectuals sit in the back of the class, exchanging glances and smirks every time I was forced to speak. 

Instructor Austen didn't find my slip ups as amusing. When extra readings didn't make me any smarter, she made me dust the scrolls, and when dusting the scrolls didn't make me any smarter, she threatened to send me to the mountain – the standard punishment for disobedient pledges.

Instructor Finnegan's class was the same story. Pledges were expected to walk in with a mastery knowledge of weapons I had never even heard of, and the weapons I excelled at were never used. 

It turns out, Skydescent's not so keen on incorporating rusty shanks and socks stuffed with broken glass into the class syllabus. Go figure.

I pulled my hair into a sloppy high pony tail, then traded my chambers for Skydescent's long halls. A few Stewards rushed past me to get to class, and a large group of Balthasar hung by the windowsills. My eyes dimmed, knowing what was coming. Sure enough –

"I know!" one of the Balthasars jeered. "A hundred bags of gold!"

"No chance," the boy to his right said. "It must have been a whole ship filled with gold. At least."