The Dragon Games

Parlay

As Leon stormed up the stairs, I was a little sickened by how much I wanted to call him back. Despite the cold front I put up, with every breath, I fought my instincts tooth and nail not to leap at the chance for survival. 

Years on the streets — begging, battering, and conning for every scrap of food I could get — hard wired my brain to put survival above all else. Even The Bind and decades of hard labor was better than dead.

The door changed hands, as Leon left the dungeon and the torturer entered. I tried to catch a glimpse as he slowly descended the steps, but it was too dark to see more than a silhouette. 

"So you're willing to die for Samuel Crenshaw?" he said. His voice echoed off the walls, oddly lively for someone in his occupation. Or maybe he was a sadist, and he was lively because of his occupation.

"Ay," I said.

"And you hate being called Crenshaw's pet?"

"Ay."

"And you don't see the irony in that?"

I blinked, taken aback. "No," I snapped.

He stepped into the light, revealing a young face, mid twenties at most. He wore knee-high boots and a leather jacket stitched with two symbols: the king's sigil and an elaborate "T." 

This was no torturer. This was the standard uniform of a dragon rider – a real dragon rider, flying for the king. In my sixteen years, I had never seen a legitimate rider up close, and a grimy dungeon was the last place I expected to break that streak.

"You're not a torturer," I blurt out.

His mouth curved. "Is that who you thought I was?" 

He introduced himself as Cassian Evans, rider of House Tudor, captain of his squad. "I am not your enemy. I'm not asking you to turn on anyone, nor would it benefit you. Even if you gave me Samuel and Drax's locations and knocked out every name off the king's wanted list, the High Court wants you punished for your crimes, and nothing you say will change that fact. Only one thing can save you now. The divine. Using the divine to earn a parlay."

"A parlay?"

"It's an exemption from capital punishment, given to remorseful individuals whose talent outweighs the risk of keeping them alive – like your divine, for example. In other words, you won't have to undergo The Bind or spend any time in hard labor. A parlay is a one-way ticket out of the gallows, a sure bet to save your neck."

I stared at him, my heart pounding against my chest. Was this why Leon had pushed me to accept his deal, so I wouldn't have the chance to hear Cassian's? No way I could be that lucky; there had to be a catch. "What would I have to do?"

He caught my eye, his stare burning into mine. "The blood moon rises."

My stomach dropped to the floor. And there it was. The catch.

"I take it you've heard of the Blood Moon Festival?" Cassian said.

I nodded. Even kingdoms on the other side of the world had heard of the yearly competition to select the next generations of dragon riders.

"What do you know of it?"

"Only Court favorites are given free invitations to compete, like the sons and daughters of the most powerful people in the kingdom," I said. "I can't imagine many criminals with neck tattoos receive them."

"Some competitors are tenth-generation legacies, rich beyond your wildest dreams. Others from less – ahem – savory circumstances, gain entry other ways. Provided the right amount of talent, any background can be overlooked. And once you complete your training, you will receive the full benefits of any rider, provided you spend at least seven years flying – one year for the king for every year you were a raider."

I was desperate to live, find Sammy, and get our life back. Aside from the obvious, I would agree to almost anything over the gallows. But still, I couldn't force a yes from my lips. It was like I needed a dagger pressed against my throat first.

"Is there anything else?" I said.

"What do you mean? Any other requirements?"

"Any other ways I could earn a parlay."

Cassian blinked. That was not the response he was expecting. Most people would jump at the chance to become a dragon rider. Hell, they'd cut off their own hands just for a shot at the fame and glory, and here I was, on death's door, refusing him.

"I'm afraid not. You'll either fly for the king or swing for him." Cassian paused, tilting his head. "I must admit, your response surprised me. I figured you'd leap at the offer, considering it was given for Samuel Crenshaw's sake."

I stopped short, caught off gaurd. "Sammy?"

"Crenshaw once helped Duke Tudor out of a tricky position." Cassian gestured between us. "This is his way of paying a good deed forward."

Now everything made sense. I may have a decent amount of divine, but I was not talented enough for Court to overlook my crimes. No one was that talented.

"Well," Cassian said, pushing himself up with a heavy sigh. "I see you made up your mind. Though it pains me, I will respect your choice and inform Leon at once. I will implore him to pick a less excruciatingly painful execution than the one he has in mind but can promise nothing in terms of results."

I stared at Cassian in shock, and only when he had crossed the dungeon floor did I find my tongue. "Wait!" I shouted, shooting to my feet, only to get jerked back down by the chains. "I'll do it, I'll fly!"

Cassian stopped, his back to me.

I cleared my throat and tried again. This time, in a somewhat sane voice. "I accept."

Cassian turned, his brow raised faintly at my outburst. "What's your real name?"

"Raven. Raven Black."

"Alright, then." Cassian grinned so wide he practically split his face in two. A funny feeling stirred in my chest like I had fallen for a bluff – hook, line, and sinker. "I'll see you shortly, Raven Black."