17. Eradin
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ERADIN
They were going to kill me for surviving.
The crowd roared. Half screamed for my blood, their fists raised. The other half clutched betting slips, their fury just as hot but pointed at different targets. They didn’t care if I lived or died. They cared about their money.
“She didn’t stay mounted,” someone shrieked.
“She completed the course,” another shot back.
The officials huddled on the arena floor, their gestures sharp. One pointed at a scroll. Another kept glancing at the viewing boxes, reading the wind. The third looked ready to shoot magic my way to execute me himself.
I stayed beside Lykor, my palms burning, the trial mark on my hand throbbing in time with my pulse.
I’d broken rules they shared with themselves but never with us. Commons must not be allowed to dismount and survive. We died or we obeyed, and I’d done neither.
They were going to disqualify me. They’d send me back to Shaleside empty-handed while Tolross coughed pink into rags and Father sat at the table mending a belt that would never hold.
Or they’d kill me today, here in the sand stained with Lykor’s blood.
Movement in the royal viewing box caught my eye.
Prince Fenian leaned close to his mother, his hand shielding his mouth. The queen’s expression changed, irritation melting into consideration. She glanced at him before her gaze drilled me. With a purse of her lips, she nodded once.
Fenian returned to his position at the rail. His face went blank again, but his hands white-knuckled the stone.
A lord left the stands and approached the huddle of officials. They spoke, their voices magically muted. The officials grunted, one with a slick smile rising on his face, another releasing a high-pitched cackle. They strode across the arena and exited through a door along one side.
The herald stepped out and strode to the center. She stopped and stiffened, her jaw lifting, her gaze sweeping across the stands.
As I struggled to my feet, silence fell.
Her magically amplified voice raked across every surface. “The trial rules state that a rider and dragon must complete the course. Failure results in disqualification or death.”
She paused. The crowd leaned in, nobles and commons both holding their breath.
“Rider five and her dragon completed the course. There has been no protocol violation.”
Lords and ladies started shouting objections.
The herald raised her hand, cutting them off. “Rider five has been cleared to advance to the Scorching.”
Bellows of rage rang out. A few in the stands cheered—the ones who’d won money betting I’d live. Others snarled and raged, angry I hadn’t died or that I hadn’t been disqualified, which would’ve probably been a death all of its own.
The herald amplified her voice even louder, gouging through the wave of outrage flowing from the stands. “Four commons riders remain. The Scorching will begin in two days, at dawn.” She pivoted on her heel and strode across the sand, disappearing through the door on the side of the arena.
The words made sense individually, but strung together, they didn’t add up.
They were letting me compete.
After I’d broken some unspoken protocol.
After I’d made them watch me challenge the system.
People like me didn’t get second chances when we broke rules, we got the cage or the pit or we disappeared into the night shift in the mines and never came back.
But they were letting me compete.
And the prince had made it happen.
I’d seen him speak to his mother, seen her expression shift. He’d said something that had changed her mind, and I didn’t know if that made him my savior or something worse.
I couldn’t risk owing him anything.
I found him still standing at the rail. Still watching.
Our eyes met across the sand and smoke and the expanse between commons and crown.
Why?
The question sat in my throat like something I’d swallowed the wrong way. I wanted to look away. Prove I didn’t need his help, his attention, or whatever game this was.
But I didn’t.
We remained in place. Him in silk and ceremony. Me in sand and blood.
Then he turned and disappeared into those pressing forward to collect their bets.
The crowd’s uproar washed over me, half celebration and half fury, nobles arguing about precedent and fairness while retrieval crews waited near the maze entrance with their wagons and shovels.
I’d made it through. I would compete in the race.
My vision swam. I laid my forehead against Lykor’s side to keep from toppling over. The heat radiating up from the ground was nothing compared to the fire in my chest.
I’d just bought myself a few more days of borrowed time.
The thought steadied me enough to breathe.
As for what else happened…
Certainty hummed through my bones. Selira hadn’t asked. She’d already decided.
Commons didn’t bond. Wild dragons didn’t choose.
But the pull in my chest didn’t care about the impossible.
“This way.” A handler appeared, gesturing toward the door where the officials had vanished. Not the one who’d sneered at us before or the one who’d tried to hurt me. This one wore formal livery and looked at us like we were beasts that had learned to walk upright.
“Will we go home to our families?” The gray-bearded man’s voice cracked on the word.
The handler shook his head. “You’re to attend the Scorching Ball.”
We gaped at each other.
“The what?” the red-haired man sputtered.
“The ball. Tonight. You’ve been granted the honor of attending as…participants.”
The way he said it made it clear what we actually were.
Curiosities.
Entertainment.
The blonde woman’s eyes went wide with dismay. “We’ll attend a ball? At the fortress?”
A ball. While Tolross lay at home, listening for footsteps that wouldn’t come. While Father stood at a window I’d never see from here, willing me to walk through a door I couldn’t reach.
The elite got a ball. My family got more worry.
“Just stay out of the way and don’t draw attention.” The handler’s mouth tightened. “You’re riding in the race, which makes you relevant for now.”
A second handler gestured from the arena’s edge.
I made my shaking legs take me forward. Sand clung to my hands and knees, but that was the least of it.
My left boot sole had melted, making each step uneven and torturous.
The burn on my thigh where the scale had seared throbbed with each heartbeat.
My palms looked like someone had drawn on them with red ink, the lines glowing even now.
“What about our dragons?” I looked back at Lykor, still collapsed in the sand, his sides billowing with each breath.
“They’ll be collected and stabled until the race.” The handler’s tone suggested this was obvious.
I walked back and crouched beside Lykor’s head. His gaze tracked me, exhausted but aware.
“Two days,” I whispered, placing my palms on his jaw. Heat stirred in my hands, but I had nothing left to give. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
His breath came out in a long exhale that smelled of smoke-sweet-ash and old pain.
I didn’t know if he understood. I didn’t know if it mattered.
I stood and forced myself to walk away. Leaving him felt like abandoning my mother, choosing survival over staying with someone who’d given everything for me.
I didn’t look up at the crowd. Didn’t check if the prince might still be watching from a new location. The weight of his gray-eyed gaze didn’t matter. Not even if I could still feel it on my spine.
I had to get through a ball. Had to figure out how to win a race I had no business entering. And I had to somehow reach Selira before the bond that shouldn’t exist dragged me off a cliff.
I fell into step with the other survivors.
Mine, Selira had said.
But as I limped after the handler, one thought kept circling.
Selira was wild.
Untamed.
And in two days, I’d have to ride Lykor in a race designed to kill me.
The bond wouldn’t matter if I died before I could reach her.