The Dragon Games

The Amphitheater

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 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 the roars of approving crowds. There would be no such cheering for me. No one would know I bonded with the wyvern until I spoke to Cassian first. I turned around to tell Rainfall to leave, only to find nothing but 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 second entrance was nearly 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.

"You know how deceitful those clues can be," 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 group of pledges were powerful enough to draw in a wyvern, it's this year's cohort. When was the last time we had one House heir competing, let alone two?"

"Well if anyone could bond with the wyvern, no doubt it would be the Balthasar – hey!" the first knight snapped, his eyes narrowing on my face. "This entrance is for pledges only! Go back to the other peasants."

"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 face pulled into a nasty grin. He nudged his fellow knight. "Ah, it's the raider."

I shouldered past him to grab the doors. They smirked as I struggled to open the heavy wood. I had to lean back and use my body weight just to inch it open.

"Never in a thousand years did I think you would 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 know what's hit you."

With one last tug, I pulled the door open. Then I strode into the darkness of the tunnel.

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 second knight hollered, so I would hear. "A drake?"

As I walked deeper into the tunnel and closer into the light, the cheers grew louder and louder. To my shock, once I was inside the arena, I realised the knights blocking the commoner's entrance had told the truth.

People crowded the stands by the thousand, the old and young, poor and wealthy alike. Some wedged between seats or sat on laps and railings. Without a doubt, it was the most attended Blood Fest in decades. My blood ran cold. Bloody hell. This was for the wyvern.

All four squads also gathered on the floor of the amphitheater to cheer on their arriving teammates. No squad was more ecstatic than squad Tudor. For once, we were not the losers of Blood Fest. That title belonged to squad Windsor. Of all the squads, their pledges had brought back the least amount of dragons – by a landslide.

Meanwhile, squad Balthasar's status remained unchanged. They brought back the most amount of dragons and the biggest. When their pledges arrived, they took at least three laps around the amphitheater, drawing wild cheers.

Then they dismounted, the newer dragons getting to stay on the arena floor for a few minutes before flying off to make room for new arrivals. Their riders remained to gather in a circle around Edmond.

He stood on a chair as he recounted a story – the bloody capture and murder of the 'foul raider, Regan Black.' Immediately, I turned around, trying to reach squad Tudor unnoticed. No such luck. Whilst 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. "Six time's a charm."

He strode forward, and all the Balthasars automatically parted to clear a path – all but the captain of the squad. The captain refused to give ground, pointing to the thousands of watching eyes. "Would it be wise to hurt another pledge in front of–"

Edmond flicked his hand, sending his captain flying. Then a cold, invisible hand wrapped around my throat. Suddenly I was yanked within an inch of Edmond's face.

He was so fixated on me, that he did not notice the Balthasars panicking behind them. They tilted their head back, gaping at the sky, their mouths dropping open, their eyes wide as moons.

"I planned to draw this out, nice and slow," Edmond hissed. His Divine crept along my skin, trying to find the right angle to snap my neck with one blow. "But I suppose–"

I swung, catching Edmond on the side of the face. The hand on my neck disappeared, and I hit the ground flat on my back, the breath knocked out of me. Edmond had kept his footing, eating the punch with nothing but a trickle of blood running down his nose to show for it.

His nostrils flared, and he strode for me again – only for a blur of white to land between us. A gust of wind sent him reeling back. He righted his balance, just in time to see Rainfall open its jaws and roar, revealing rows of sharp, glistening teeth.