14. Fen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FEN
The handler should not have touched Eradin.
Satisfaction settled in my chest as he stared at his splayed fingers in confusion. He was lucky I hadn’t ripped off his fucking hand.
Why had I intervened?
Commons weren’t my concern, and I’d just protected her again.
She should’ve died in the first trial. She rode a retired dragon, and she had no training. She’d loosened the reins, a mistake that would’ve killed almost any other rider. Every variable pointed toward her failing this challenge.
Why had she released the reins?
I’d loosened Aristus’s reins exactly once in my life. Seven months ago, late at night when no one was watching, when the hitch in his breathing had gotten bad enough I’d wondered if the harness was making it worse.
He’d flown differently. Smoother. Like something that had been pulling against him had started to let go.
I’d tightened them again before landing at the aerie. This was the way the bond worked. I hadn’t tried again.
Eradin had done in a trial what I didn’t dare do where anyone could see.
Her gesture suggested trust, but retired dragons didn’t respond to anything like that. They’d had it beaten out of them too many times to remember what it felt like.
But Lykor had responded to her.
Aristus had flown smoother with loosened reins. Lykor had responded the same way. Two dragons, different circumstances, identical result.
I shoved the idea down.
The Unity Bands were sacred. The harnesses had been blessed by priestesses. The entire foundation of our bond with dragons rested on control that had been refined over centuries.
If control was the problem…
It couldn’t be true.
Aristus was sick. That was the issue. Something the healers couldn’t identify.
The alternative was that everything I’d been taught and all I’d done to him for twenty-three years had been making it worse. I couldn’t afford to think that with my mother standing beside me and the entire court watching.
“Impressive,” my mother said. “For commons. The fire maze will sort them out.”
“I believe she’ll make it interesting.”
Mother sniffed. “She?”
“Them. All of them.”
Lord Andra had stood on my mother’s other side, watching the riders die with a bit too much interest for my taste. Making mental notes, perhaps? But my mother’s councilor saw the Scorching as a resource to be managed, not a sacred tradition.
“I hope the next round provides more entertainment than the last,” someone said behind me. Lady Seril or one of her circle. Her voice carried the tone a lady used when discussing a servant who’d forgotten their place. “Six is too many to survive. I hope the fire maze finishes them all.”
I stood with my hands on the rail, my silence close enough to agreement that no one would question it. But my jaw ached. I’d been clenching it too long.
I was supposed to want this race. I’d spent my life preparing for it. Victory wasn’t a goal. It was the point of me. But if Aristus failed, so did I. And if I failed, then what was the point of my existence?
All the training. The careful construction. The crown prince who never broke or doubted or wanted anything he wasn’t supposed to.
If I lost, it would prove I had no foundation underneath.
And if I won—
I’d use the wish to cure Aristus.
The priestesses flowed into the arena, their silver robes catching the light. They formed a circle around the remaining riders and dragons, their hands lifting to teleport them to the second trial. Their chant echoed around me.
Magic gathered in the arena, thick enough to taste. The air pressure shifted, making my ears pop.
Below, Eradin stood among the other survivors. Sand caked her knees. Blood smeared her palms. But she’d gotten to her feet and stayed there, and I couldn’t look away from the stubborn set of her shoulders.
“The maze will be efficient,” my mother said. “At least we’ll have proper fun for the second course.”
My jaw tightened, but I consciously relaxed it.
She noticed, and a frown built on her face.
“The crowd will appreciate the contrast,” I said.
Mother needed to maintain order. She thrived in a world where commons stayed in Shaleside, and elites stayed in viewing boxes, and no one questioned which side of that divide they’d been born on.
I didn’t want to watch another person die for the entertainment of people holding betting slips.
Especially not Eradin.
The teleportation magic built toward its peak, reality fraying at the edges where the spell would tear through to deposit the riders in the next arena.
My hands still gripped the rail. I made myself let go.
The Scorching would begin after the commons trial finished its culling. Elite riders would compete for the Oracle stone’s wish. My victory was assumed by everyone, including my mother.
Forty-one riders had entered the last Scorching.
Three had reached the Oracle.
The records didn’t say what happened after that. An oversight or…?
I’d always assumed they’d celebrated. That one of them had taken their wish and the others had been escorted home with some sort of secondary prize. No one actually talked about them now.
I rolled my shoulders, shaking off the weight that had settled there. An old habit. One that never worked, but I kept doing it anyway.
Eradin would survive the next trial or she wouldn’t.
I’d win the race because that’s what I did.
Below, through the shimmer of teleportation magic, I caught one last glimpse of her face.
She wasn’t looking at the maze entrance or her dragon or the other riders.
She was looking at me.
I leaned forward.
Then the magic took her, and I stood alone at the rail with my hands steady and my mask perfect and no idea why I wanted to follow.