Thirty Two
Alara
Declan comes for me a short while later and ports me back to the Enclave without warning.
I thought I would be taken back to the royal section, but I’m down on the sand when my vision returns.
Declan leaves me and walks off toward the stage while I gather myself. Tofa and Beau come rushing toward me.
“Are you alright?” Tofa asks, holding my arm to steady me.
Beau rubs my back. “You look sick.”
I swallow roughly. “Porting is… awful.”
They nod solemnly.
“I’ve never been able to get used to it,” Tofa says.
I look around blinking, shaking my head as my eyes land on the stage.
“What’s going on?” The dragons are on stage, restless at the backs of their Dragonbonds who stand in the tubs… covered in blood.
It drips down their bodies, multiple wounds covering their skin and my stomach drops like a stone.
“We have to help fill the tub.” Tofa’s voice shakes, a tremble to her hands.
Beau squeezes my shoulder. “The one who fills it the highest, wins.”
A member of the Highwing clan stands before Sigrid and takes a knife, cutting into her arm. My hand goes to my mouth at the act, watching more rivulets of blood join her body as Sigrid nods, grimacing and the man bows his head then walks off, making room for another.
I look at the others. Durruk is kneeling in his tub while Karag holds onto the side, mouth pinched into a hard line. Varan wipes blood from his mouth, nodding at a woman.
I finally reach Rohan, and as if feeling my eyes on him, his head snaps in my direction.
He tenses for a moment, scanning my body and then he gives me a nod, letting me know he’s okay but… how can he be okay?
He’s bleeding, everywhere!
Kaldar stands before him now and presses a blade to his side, just under his ribs, forming a cut there and I want to shout at him. Tell him to stop. To get away from him.
But this is the game.
Blood of the Bonded.
“They have to fill the tub with their own blood. The Blood of a Bonded.”
“Yes,” Tofa says quietly, “and if one refuses, a guard cuts their dragons instead.” My head whips to her, and her eyes are sad. “Some have refused, but Durruk’s clan refused the most. His dragon isn’t doing so well.”
I look at Durruk, and then to his dragon at his back. On closer inspection, I realize she’s right. The dragon’s eyes look a little unfocused, and blood pours out of his side in large amounts.
“Gods.”
“Next,” The king bellows, a slimy smile on his face.
I look down the short line and I realize that we are about five away from our turn.
I’m going to have to hurt Rohan, cut into him.
“It’s okay, Rohan can handle it,” Tofa tries to reassure me. “He would rather it be him than a dragon.”
Just like his mother.
“Next!” I jump at the sound of Halen’s voice.
I spot Darcia up on the platform, in front of Karag, and the memory of her hurting me tries to swallow me whole.
The taunts, the shoves, the hits and the bruises.
That night in the snow.
But I still stand tall as she cuts into Karag, and then quickly scurries off like she doesn’t want to be seen.
Rohan’s eyes track her as she leaves the stage and is guided back to clan Firehorn. He looks like he’s about to take a step toward her, but then looks down at the side of the tub, glaring at it.
“Next.”
My head feels fuzzy as the line shortens, a tingling sensation in my fingers.
A member refuses with Durruk, tears tracking down her face as she shakes her head and then without warning, a guard slices his dragon’s front legs at the back, causing it to roar in pain as the legs give way. The stage shakes with the impact of the fall.
Durruk turns, stroking the dragon through the muzzle, body tense as he turns and glares at the woman before she runs off, crying.
“Ha, and the Dragories are meant to be strong? Most of you are whimpering like pathetic babies,” the king laughs, the crowd echoes it. “Next!”
“It’s okay, Alara,” Beau says, and then he’s guided up the steps by a guard and onto the stage.
My gaze doesn't leave Rohan’s and his doesn't leave mine.
Pain flickers in his eyes though when Beau cuts into him. He stands tall, a pillar of strength for clan Blackscale while Doren growls in his muzzle.
“Next.”
My shoulders hunch, and Tofa says something to me, but I’m not listening. She’s on the stage in front of Rohan before I can blink.
She cuts the side of his knee. I see her move, but I can’t look away from the pain he’s in, the pain he’s trying to hide.
Because I see what others don’t.
Because he’s my Rohan, and I feel it.
“Next.”
I’m grabbed, dragged up the steps and before I know it, I’m standing in front of him.
“Let her go,” he rumbles at the guard still holding me in place.
When he pinches my skin, Rohan steps to the edge of the bucket and grabs the guard, smashing his head against the side of the tub before letting go, dropping him to the floor, unconscious.
I watch it all like I’m in a dream, like I’m not even there as the king laughs at his guards expense, the crowd jeering at the show of violence.
“Rohan,” I whisper, eyeing the other guards as they drag the unconscious guard away.
“Don’t get his blood inside the tub, that will be cheating!” The king reminds him as my vision blurs.
“Alara.”
A voice.
“Little Whisperer.”
I blink, chest heaving.
“Look at the stupid elf.”
“Shut your mouth, Karag or you will be next,” Rohan shouts at him, Doren growling.
“You can’t leave your tub.”
“I’m not in here forever,” Rohan reminds him.
“We cannot afford to argue right now,” Sigrid says.
“Yeah, not like we aren’t losing people daily as it is,” Durruk growls. “Or fucking dragons.”
“And probably one of us next if this carries on,” Varan says breathlessly.
“Keep your eyes on me,” Rohan says quietly. “Calm, copy me.”
I nod, watching as he takes deep breaths before releasing them.
“That’s it, good.”
“The last ones!” The king shouts, “Let’s make this one extra special.”
A whimper of fear spills from me and the crowd laughs at our expense.
But they don’t get it.
How can I hurt him?
Hurt my Rohan?
“Hey,” he says gently, and he raises his hands to my cheeks.
The scent of copper nearly makes me throw up, but I breathe through my mouth, raising my hands to his wrist, feeling his warmth seep into me.
“You’re okay.”
I shake my head. “I…”
Something is placed by my side on the stage, a dagger—but that’s not all it is.
“This makes things more interesting, doesn’t it?” the king announces.
“Poison,” I say, when I see the sheen on the end, the green sharp against the gray metal, and Rohan nods, a tick in his jaw.
“I’ll be fine, take it and stab my shoulder.”
I’m already shaking my head.
“Alara, take it and stab me, or Doren gets hurt instead.”
“I don’t… I don’t want either of you to be hurt.”
“Little Whisperer, look at me, really look at me.” I do, blinking back tears. “I will be fine, am I lying?”
“The eyes don’t lie,” I mumble.
“Exactly.”
“And I see the pain you’re in, Rohan.” He tenses, closing his eyes for a moment. “I feel it.”
“Do it now! Or both the dragon and Dragonbond will have five of them!” The king roars when no one makes a move, all of us reluctant to poison them.
“Rather me than the dragon,” Rohan rumbles.
“And rather me than you,” I counter, not thinking straight, not thinking at all as I grab the blade in fear and desperation, bringing it up to my own shoulder.
Rohan’s eyes widen in panic, and before the blade can even make contact with my skin, before I can even blink, he’s grabbing my wrist, turning my hand and stabbing it into his own shoulder.
“Ro-Rohan.” I gasp in alarm, trying and failing to pull my hand back.
“Don’t you ever fucking do that again.” I try to pull away again, to get him to release his grip over my hand on the hilt. But it won’t budge.
“No, no, no.”
Rohan pins me with his glare, and I can feel his anger on my tongue, like there is a spark in the air around us, waiting to ignite.
“You will listen to me and listen to me well, Alara,” Rohan growls, his eyes swirling with fear. “Don’t you ever, and I mean, fucking ever, do that again.”
“But…”
“Vow it.”
“Rohan.”
“Vow it, Little Whisperer.”
I swallow.
“I just couldn’t—”
“We are in The Games, Alara, we cannot falter.” He shakes his head, eyes holding mine. “We have to try not to panic. You can’t just not do it, understand? Lives are at risk, dragons are at risk, and all we can do is minimize the damage by playing by the rules of The Games.”
I just didn’t think. I saw the poison and panicked. The king’s words rattling in my mind.
But he’s right.
I need to do whatever I can to help him, not hinder him. Us. The clan and the dragons.
I won’t be a burden.
I will be stronger.
“I vow it, I’m sorry. I panicked.”
His eyes soften, his chest rising with a deep breath. “Don’t be sorry, Alara. We must do what we can, for all our sakes.”
I nod, and he pulls the dagger out of his shoulder with a sickly squelch, grimacing. “Go and stand with the clan, you’re safe there.”
I go to protest but then I straighten my shoulders.
I will do better, I won’t be a burden.
He breathes heavily, teeth gritted in pain.
“My brave girl,” he breathes. “And you can be brave and be scared at the same time, okay? Remember that.”
I nod.
“Go on,” he tells me gently.
I hurry off, hands shaking. I’m enveloped in a hug by Tofa and Beau as I arrive back at the clan. All of us are shaken up.
“He’ll be fine,” Kaldar says.
“He’s had worse,” Adora chimes in.
“It’s not right though,” I say.
“Of course it isn’t.” Calian comes up behind Tofa, and she tenses. “But he’s our Dragonbond for a reason. He isn’t weak, he is Dragorie.”
The king claps his hands, and we turn to the stage.
“What a spectacle!” The crowd cheers. “Now, let us see who’s won.”
The king walks along the tubs, giving a wide berth with five guards pointing an arrow at each Dragonbond he passes.
The leaders all have their hands fisted, no doubt the poison running through their veins.
How long will it take to disperse? Is it lethal?
A separate guard comes along and he draws a line on each tub with white chalk, which I’m assuming is the height of the… blood inside.