Eleven
Rohan
“What a fantastic start to The Games with Climb of Clans!” King Halen shouts, and cheers erupt around the Enclave.
My eyes don’t stray to him, they stay on the bodies left behind on the ground, on Emmy and Leon who landed side by side, their heads turned toward each other, blood pooling beneath them.
I hold Alara closer to my chest, still passed out, no doubt from Nighturn. Her face is paler than normal, and she has a red mark on her cheek, her hair in disarray.
My heart pounds against my ribcage. I press my nose into her hair, my mask on my hip instead of my face.
Let them see me.
Let them fear me.
It takes everything in me to hold in the rumble in my chest that wants to escape. To keep the anger from releasing and walking up onto that stage, going for the king while he walks up and down, smiling as my people bleed upon the sand below him.
I eye the guards scattered around, the arrows notched with Nighturn aimed at us, and grit my teeth.
Coward.
Fucking cowards.
The lot of them.
Halen’s children are up in the stands and I eye them, my stare lingering on Alexandar, who gives me a subtle nod.
I look down at Alara once more and run a finger down her cheek. She leans into my touch even as she sleeps, like it’s what she has always wanted. Needed.
What did I ever do to deserve to meet her, Morana? And why put us on this path?
She certainly didn’t deserve what I’ve given her so far. No. She deserves someone who can give her everything she could ever want and more, but I’m too selfish to let her find someone else. Too greedy for her to even let someone hold her attention in that way.
And yet she deserves to be with her own people, to learn her culture, and to find her family. To be free of the invisible chains around her life.
My chest tightens at the thought.
A whimper comes from her, and I hold her a little tighter, wanting to be as close to her as possible before she wakes up and looks at me with those sad, green eyes again.
Before she wakes up and remembers that she hates me.
“Shh, I have you,” I murmur, and she settles, her body curling into me more.
“Shall we announce the placings?” Halen booms, and I look toward the other clans.
Their faces are drawn and fearful, and I don’t blame them.
Death is littering the sands with our people, and more is to come.
I don’t know where we placed. After we ported, we ended up appearing in our tunnel, guards ready, and we were only brought back into the Enclave when the game had concluded, the cliff in the center now gone.
Now those who entered the game stand in front of their clans, separated by a row of guards behind us, the dragons back in their cages for their own safety, apart from Mercia, Varan’s dragon.
It was the dragon who was being torn apart by the red one, Kaizon. He killed him, and with the way Varan stares at the ground, I know he’s holding back his fury toward Karag, but we don’t know the cause of their fighting. Only how it ended.
“Will he let us take Emmy and Leon back?” Adora asks softly, and Kaldar steps closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers.
“I don’t know,” he replies. “But may Morana guide them to her together.”
I grit my teeth.
“One day, we will be free of this,” I say to them, without taking my eyes off Alara. “I vow it.”
Even if it kills me.
“Now, first place.” Halen says, pointing to the board where the man awaits the results below it. “Clan Firehorn.” I grit my teeth as Karag steps forward, head held high like he’s accomplished something great.
“Asshole,” Sigrid mutters from beside me.
With her living in Daggerfall, I don’t know how she didn’t come first, but looking at the one person she’s left with, it seems death came to her more than the rest of us.
“Five points to Clan Firehorn, one death.” The crowd cheers, a few boos, and the result is written on the board. “Second place. Clan Highwing. Four points, two deaths.”
The man continues to write on the blackboard as the crowd whistles and shouts obscenities toward Sigrid.
They think because she’s a woman that she wouldn’t slit their throats in a heartbeat, but they forget she is Dragorie and they should ask the guards who try to come into her tent at night. They end up being used as fuel for our fires.
“Next, third place, Clan Blackscale. Three Points, three deaths.”
My nostrils flare as I take a step forward
“Clan Rivertail!” Varan steps up next. “Two points, Four deaths, and lastly. Clan Greenclaw, one point, Five deaths.” Durruk walks up next to Karag, shoulders slumping a little.
None of us want to sentence our members to death, but we have no choice here.
Once again, my mind drifts to the day I’ll get my hands on their king.
I’ll make him suffer for what he’s done.
And I won’t feel a single second of regret when I do.
He isn’t a father, he’s a parasite. A disease. A gnat.
“Now, for the selection.” He smiles and the crowd oohs. “Who will survive, who will die?”
I breathe in deeply and then exhale, standing taller and holding Alara close. I can’t look back at my clan, I can’t look at them as their death is chosen.
“It’s been determined that my guards will decide who will die today.” The bloodthirsty crowd cheers, swinging their colored cloths in the air. “Now then let’s—”
Declan runs onto the stage suddenly, whispering in the king’s ear and he frowns, nodding.
“My good people!” He stands, fixing his waistcoat. “I do apologize, the results of the game will need to be postponed.”
The crowd boos, and I frown, wondering what Declan said to him. I look at the other Dragonbonds, their expressions equally confused.
“Now, now, I will make up for it. It won’t be too long, but a matter has arisen and my attention is needed. I wouldn’t be your gracious king if I didn’t get involved with important matters, now would I?”
The crowd cheers and the king waves, walking off stage with his guards.
“I will see you all very soon!” Are his last words as the Enclave guards come to the end of the stage, Nighturn ready.
I adjust my grip on Alara as they gesture for us to leave back through the gate to our tents.
“What could be more important to him than seeing us die?” Adora asks.
“I don’t know.”
“We have some time at least,” Kaldar says, Adora at his side.
I look up to Alexandar who now sits on his own, his siblings long gone.
I hold Alara close as we pass through the gates, making sure all of my clan are through before we walk the long tunnel until we reach the den.
“May Morana guide them, Dragonbond,” Fiona mutters as she comes over, and I nod.
“They went together at least,” Agnis says, eyes wet.
I nod again, unable to speak.
“We’re going to see Olaf,” Kaldar tells me, looking down at Alara, exhaustion lining his body. “Rest up. We all need it after today.”
I leave for my own tent without another word, dodging anyone who wants to speak with me, barely registering their passing blessings for Emmy and Leon as I go.
Reaching my tent, I head inside quickly, placing Alara down on the furs, moving her hair out of her face.
She looks smaller than usual, like she’s withering away and I sit back on my heels. I stare at her, my bloody hand trembling and I bring it up to my face, frowning as I look at it like it isn’t my own.
Nostrils flaring, I curl my fingers into a fist, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, letting the sting from the cuts ground me for a moment.
“May Morana guide them,” I mutter to myself.
And then I place my axe to the side of the furs and curl around Alara, holding her closely, as I watch the tent entrance.
A gasp has me moving on instinct. My eyes flash open, axe now in hand, as I hover over Alara, my eyes scanning the tent.
Sleep clings to me, but as I look around and see no danger, my hand relaxes on my axe slightly.
A quiet breath reaches my ears, and my eyes drop to my Little Whisperer.
Green eyes stare up into my own, and I swallow roughly at the sight of her.
Freckles dotting her nose and cheeks, red hair like fire surrounding her face, hands clasped together upon her chest. Gods, she’s beautiful.
“Rohan?” Her face tightens as she looks around wildly. “I… where am I? What happened?”
I place my axe down and hold myself above her, wanting to be as close as possible before she tells me to get off of her. Before she shuts me out again.
“You were knocked out. Nighturn we suspect.” I look her over. “Are you okay?”
“I…” she frowns, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay.”
Little liar.
She starts to sit up and I move, but only to the side of her, making sure my warmth is near her.
She looks around the tent again, taking it all in.
“Are we at camp?”
“Yes, with the others.”
She nods, rubbing at her cheek that still has a subtle red mark there.
My jaw ticks. “Who hit you?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Your cheek.”
“Oh.” She looks down, picking at her fingers. “I’m okay.”
“That’s not what I asked,” I say quietly.
“That’s what you’re getting.”
Her eyes flick to mine, her resolve strong and I would be proud any other time, but not now, I need to know.
“You promised you would tell me if someone was hurting you.”
She looks away, shoulders slumping.
Guilt rises within me. I don’t want to cause her any distress.
Not after what I’ve done.
“I—”
Fuck. I run a hand down my face before I rise, grabbing a cup and filling it with water from a jug.
“Here.” I hold it out to her, and she takes it, sipping greedily.
She watches me as I move around, gathering a new tunic and pants for her. She needs to get out of that dress. I can tell her breathing is restricted in it, and it’s causing her pain somewhere with the way she winces at small movements.
“There’s a tent further to the back where we can bathe.” I shake my head, my back to her. “Where you will bathe,” I correct myself. “Or we can have a tub brought here.”
She wouldn’t want me anywhere near her right now, so I’ll just stand guard outside, to make sure she’s safe.
Fuck, she won’t even have the soap she loves so much to wash with.
“I’ll show it to you,” I continue, thoughts rampant. “And you can change out of that dress now if you don’t want to wait.”
“Rohan.”