Thirty Two #2
The dragons growl behind their muzzles, claws digging into the wood.
They’re furious and in pain, but they also know their Dragonbond is hurting too.
Once the king has walked the line, shoulders back, an air of victory about him, he sits upon his throne off to the side and waves to the man who will mark the scores on the board.
“First place, Clan Blackscale,” he begins, and my heart hammers. “Second place, Clan Rivertail, third place, clan Firehorn, fourth place, Clan Highwing, and last place, Clan Greenclaw.”
We huddle closer at the announcement, and I’m simultaneously relieved and disgusted in myself that I’m thankful we made it in first place.
“Guards, collection.” The king orders.
Guards from the outer edges rush the clans, grabbing the people they need. There’s a fight of some sort in clan Highwing, and an arrow flies into the fray from the top of the Enclave, a cloud of green rising up before dispersing as other guards manage to drag members from the other clans.
“Resisting is futile, it will add more to the death toll of your clan!” the king reminds us as we all huddle closer.
I swallow as a guard passes us, a young male in tow, around my age.
He doesn’t even falter, his face stoic.
“I hate this.”
“I do too,” Tofa says gently, holding me closer.
“I can’t wait to kill them,” Kaldar says, holding Adora close.
“They will pay for it,” Calian says, eyes on the stage. “We just need to bide our time.”
But for how long?
How many will die?
Who will be left?
The guards place the members before their leader, the dragons growling.
“Now, instead of all that blood going to waste, what better way to go than, shall we say… drowning?” The crowd shouts in agreement as my breath catches. “But better yet, they can do it in their Dragonbond’s own blood.”
We all gasp. No matter the clan, the color, they all shout, outraged and sad, screaming.
“Oh, and one more thing,” the king says, now standing, hands behind his back. “Their leaders will be the ones to do it this time.”
I choke, my eyes going to Rohan, who’s already staring at the king, much like the others.
“You can’t,” Durruk says.
“This shouldn’t be allowed!” Sigrid shouts.
“You do not make the rules here, barbarian.” The king waves a hand, and the bolts at the top aim down, not just at the dragons, but at the clans too.
Silence ensues among the Dragonbonds, and I can’t imagine the weight of this upon their shoulders. On Rohan’s shoulders.
He’s going to have to kill his own? Drown him in his own blood… his dragon’s blood.
I watch Rohan’s lips move, saying something to the man in front of him. He shakes his head, and Rohan nods, hands fisted at his side.
After a moment, the young man kneels before him, leaning over the tub and I can’t stop the tears from coming. I’m not the only one. Tofa sniffles next to me, Beau coming closer and the rest of the clan is silent with a hand on their chest.
Rohan crouches, placing a hand to the back of his head, still talking.
I wonder what he’s saying, I wonder how you can even comfort your clan member who is about to die by their own hand.
Rohan closes his eyes, and I feel the despair wash over me, and my stomach drops like a stone.
I grip Tofa’s hand tighter, barely catching my breath, and then, Rohan places his forehead to his, before he pulls the guy over the edge fully, half of his body in the tub.
Rohan doesn’t look down, and he doesn’t look at me, he just keeps his eyes forward and a coldness settles over me as his eyes harden.
The Games are more than entertainment, more than a cruel game.
They’re made to break the leaders, to break the clans apart. To cause infighting and grief.
And that’s cemented as a male runs to the stage in front of Rohan when the body goes limp, screaming at him, how he killed his brother and he will die for not protecting him like he promised he would when he became clan leader, Kaldar has to drag him away before a guard kills him, too.
Yes, The Games are meant to tear us apart, from the inside out.
“Excellent, now the others.”
One by one, the leaders kill their own clan members, watching them whittle down to harsh lines on a board as cries echo around the Enclave for the dead.
Yet the cheers from the crowd override it.
“May Morana guide you,” Tofa says gently, and I repeat it. The whole clan echoing it.
“That concludes the third game! And with the added poison running through the Dragonbonds’ veins, we shall see who survives for the next one.”
My eyes flash to Rohan. He stares blankly ahead.
“It can be deadly?!” Adora asks in a harsh whisper.
“Seems so,” Kaldar replies.
“He’ll be in pain, but the probability of him surviving it is high.” Dorkin says, a new crack in his glasses. “But we could use any help we can get.”
“I’ll look through the healing herbs we have,” Tofa says, as the guards come toward us, the gate opening to guide us back through the tunnels.
“Will it work?” I ask over the lump in my throat, watching Rohan step out of the tub at a guard’s request, the bottom half of his legs red, the body still slumped over the edge.
“It has to,” is Tofa’s only reply, and yet, it isn’t enough to quell the dread rising like sludge within me.
My eyes lift to the royal section, a jolt going through me as they connect with the one with ears like my own.
“Dorkin,” I say, looking up until the shadow of the tunnels encloses me.
“Yes?”
“I need you to get a message to someone for me.”