The Dragon Games

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Before Blood Fest began, Cassian gave me a sketch of the amphitheater. I pulled it out of my boot and could barely believe it survived my time in the arena, or what a terrible artist Cassian was. His crude drawing did nothing to capture the massive structure towering over the hills, casting a mile-long shadow.

Like everything else the Court built, the amphitheater was grand to the excess: hundreds of archways stacked on top of each other, stretching more than four stories high and half a mile long. Hydra glass was infused into every stone, making the structure gleam under the sun. The top was open, allowing dragons to swoop in from the sky to roars of approval from the crowds. There'd be no such cheering for me. My plan was to sneak in unnoticed, keeping the wyvern a secret until I spoke to Cassian first. I turned around to ask Toh to leave, only to find empty air behind me.

There were two entrances, one for commoners and one for pledges. Huge crowds clogged the commoner's entrance. Knights clanged their swords against their shields, trying to push them back. "There is no more space!" they shouted, but the crowd swallowed up their voices. The knights must be lying. Blood Fest was unquestionably popular, but it had never drawn such a large crowd that every seat was occupied.

The pledge's entrance was empty. A pair of knights guarded two huge wooden doors roughly the size of a drawbridge. They missed my approach, too caught up in their argument. "Everyone knows how deceitful those clues are," the first knight said. "Each line has a thousand different meanings and trap holes to fall into. And even if a wyvern did arrive, who's to say it entered the Blood Moon Festival looking for a rider? Wasn't there a wyvern that haunted the arena for years, picking off the other dragons for sport?"

"Give the pledges some credit," the second protested. "If any cohort was powerful enough to draw in a wyvern, it's this year's. When was the last time we had one House heir competing, let alone two?"

"Well I suppose if anyone could bond with a wyvern, it would be the Balthasar heir – hey!" the first knight snapped, his eyes narrowing on my face. "This entrance is for pledges only! Go back to the other peasants."

My eyes dulled. "I am a pledge." I handed them Cassian's sketch. He had signed his name on the bottom: Cassian Evans, Captain of Squad Tudor.

The first knight's stare dropped to the tattoo on my throat, and his eyes brightened in realization. "Well I'll be damned. It's the raider!"

I shouldered past him to grab the doors. They guards smirked as I struggled to pry open the heavy wood.

"Never in a hundred years did I think you'd show your face without a dragon," the first knight said. "You know this parlay was your last chance, don't you? Leon Bates will fit the noose 'round your neck before you even know what hits you."

With one last tug, I pulled the door open.

The second knight lowered his voice, speaking only to his friend. "Perhaps she bonded with a dragon."

"What sort of dragon would a piece of shite raider like her bond with?" the first knight hollered as I moved into the darkness of the tunnel. "A drake?"

As I walked, the light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter, almost blinding, and the cheers grew louder and louder. Then I stepped through the entrance, and to my shock, I realized the knights blocking the commoner's entrance had told the truth. People crowded the stands by the thousand – men and women, old and young, poor and wealthy alike. They took up any space they could and then some, wedging between seats and sitting on laps and railings. Without a doubt, it was the most attended Blood Fest in decades. My blood ran cold. Bloody hell. Was this all for the wyvern?

The floor of the amphitheater was packed, too, as all four squads gathered to cheer on their arriving teammates, and no squad was happier than Tudor. For once, we were not the losers of Blood Fest. That title belonged to squad Windsor. Of all the squads, they had brought back the least amount of dragons – and pledges.

Meanwhile, squad Balthasar's status remained unchanged. They bonded with the most dragons as well as the most powerful dragons. When their pledges arrived, they took three more laps around the amphitheater than any other squad, drawing wild cheers. Then they dismounted, and while the dragons flew off to make room for new arrivals, the riders gathered in a circle around Edmond.

He was standing on a chair, telling a story – the bloody capture and murder of the foul raider, Raven Black. Immediately, I turned around, trying to reach squad Tudor unnoticed. No such luck. While describing the fourth time his sword ripped through my guts, Edmund's voice guttered out, and his face turned white as a sheet. The group followed his stare, and their faces dropped, too. I was not unaware of my appearance. While no one escaped Blood Fest untouched, blood and mud covered me from head to toe, and my jacket hung from my shoulders in burnt tatters. I looked like I really had been murdered, then crawled up from the grave to haunt the Balthasars.

Already caught, I shrugged my shoulders. "Should have gone for a fifth."

Blood poured into Edmond's cheeks, turning his pale face a vicious red, almost purple. "Very well," he growled. A wild look gleamed in his eyes. After a month in the arena, he was beyond reason. "Five it is."