The Dragon Games

The Ritual

As Leon marched me out of Carlos' tavern and down the street, commoners slipped out of nearby buildings to watch the drama unfold. They traded silent, hateful glances between the two of us, not sure who they hated more. The raider or the knight. 

While both spent a good chunk of their careers wringing the burrow dry, the Sword Brethren was smart about their malpractice. Call theft taxation and people will let themselves be robbed in broad daylight. 

If the Court performed some service for us, that would be one thing, but the burrow's funds never left their reservoir – a fact I was reminded of when I turned the corner. A carriage parked between two shacks, as glamorous as the burrow was shabby, like a donkey standing next to a stallion.

"So when will I be seeing–" I stepped into the carriage only to find the king already seated opposite of me. 

His long brown robes sprawled across one bench, the old, beat up fabric pooling at his boots, which also looked like they had run through a war or two. Every part of his wardrobe prioritized practicality over wealth, except the chunky gold necklace hanging from his neck, layered with charms and foreign symbols. 

Even though they did not move, they glimmered in the light, charged with some kind of unnamable energy. I went rigid at the entrance of the carriage. A king does not unnerve me, but a prophet? I don't mess around with that mystical voodoo crap. 

"Your Highness."

He smiled in a way that made me feel even more uneasy. "Miss Black."

Leon shut the door behind me and joined a young squire boy in the driver's seat. His appearance looked vaguely familiar, but before I could get a good look, Leon cracked his whip, and the horse jolted forward. 

I lurched with it, only for the king to catch my shoulder. I blinked quickly, fighting the urge to swipe where he touched my shoulder, and other acts that would probably get me beheaded for high treason.

"I see you took full advantage of your free leave for summer break," he said. "You had my best trackers running wild across the kingdom, leaving each city in less than two days. Funnily enough, never once by flight."

I sat back down, taking the opposite bench as the king. "I am waiting," I said, speaking slowly to give myself time to come up with an excuse. "For formal instruction before riding the wyvern." 

The necklace under my shirt served as a reminder to stay on the king's good side. Its thin copper chain held the only reason House Balthasar had yet to make a move against me, despite the threat of the wyvern ending up in a rival House. Their soul stone glowed from the hollow of my throat, right where Sammy's charm used to hang.

"How virtuous of you," he says, as if applying such a word to me is amusing. "And speaking of the wyvern, I hear negotiations for its ownership have begun by raven."

"A few. But I have not made up my mind on whether I even want to sell it. I just don't want to alienate anyone before the year is up."

"Really? The Houses sing a different song."

I don't know why I bothered acting coy. The King has spies everywhere, feeding him each sordid detail of the letters — like that I purposely made unreasonable demands, hoping to buy time before making any real decisions. Without a clue of Sammy's location, negotiating the wyvern was like throwing knives in the dark at a moving target.

"Your decision-making process fascinates me. You'll squeeze my Houses for every coin they are worth but give a pickpocket your last coppers for directions to a location that you already know."

I stopped short. Then I whipped to the window, and suddenly recognized the squireboy. The 'dirt poor' street rat whose grubby little hands stole into my pocket had traded his rags for a high-collared shirt and slacks, washed the dirt from his skin, and slicked back his hair.