Thirty Five
Alara
“Welcome to The Interval!” the king announces, the crowd screaming with excitement. “The Interval is not just a small resting period between the official games, but also a much needed competition between the people. Not just the Dragorie, but punishment for the criminals, too.”
I sit stiffly in the royal section as usual, only this time, Niyah, her stepmother and a man I have yet to know the name of, joins us, the crowd looking at us like they can’t believe what they’re seeing.
Niyah and I keep glancing at one another, but I know she doesn’t want to bring much attention to me, despite me being the reason she agreed to come here in the first place. I can’t imagine Halen isn’t curious about it.
There seems to be a contract happening between them, but I realize I didn’t ask Niyah in the tent last night what that means for her.
The crowd boos suddenly, and I look over to see the Dragonbonds being guided by guards into a section of the stands rather than down in the sand.
For some reason, that makes my stomach turn more than if they were down there.
The rest of the clan stayed back in the city for some reason, and that too sets me on edge.
“Oh, how exciting,” Ivara says, eyes bright as she looks at the king across from us in a balcony of sorts.
She sits three seats over to me on the bench, Niyah next to her, the male on the other side.
I look at my sister, the word still feeling strange and she peeks at me, giving me a small smile.
She wears a long-sleeved green dress, white lacing at the edges, while her stepmother wears an emerald green with more white ruffles than I think necessary. I’m dressed in a lighter purple, the neckline too low for my liking.
Niyah holds her bow on her lap, a quiver resting against her leg and I eye it, wondering why she has such a thing with her.
“Begin!” the king bellows, and multiple gates suddenly open.
Men and women, maybe twenty of them, walk through them, hands tied at the front.
I frown as they head to the center, faces drawn with fear.
“Now, you are here for your crimes,” The king begins, standing at the edge of the balcony. “Thieves, murderers, slanderers of the royal family. You break the law of Lothmere and punishment is given.”
The crowd cheers.
“This is another favorite of The Games,” Violetta says, leaning forward to speak to Ivara. “Just wait. Whatever father unleashes will slaughter them all.”
“I bet one will turn on one of the others,” Nathanial says.
“I bet one will stay still and cry,” Savron says.
“Boys,” Ivor sighs.
“It’s only a little fun,” his wife says.
Alexandar says nothing while Niyah’s back stiffens.
“Now, open the gate!” The king claps once.
The clunk of the mechanism can be heard throughout the arena as the gate rises through the silence of anticipation, debris falling below like it hasn’t been opened in a long time.
A rumble sounds, mighty and deadly, and then a claw appears.
I suck in a sharp breath when another comes, followed by the head.
No…
“Is that…” Niyah whispers, awe in her voice.
“It’s true, they have dragons,” Ivara gasps.
A roar sounds, and the people at the center shriek, running to the opposite side of the arena, while one freezes.
“Told you,” Savron says, smugly.
Smoke comes from its muzzled face, its scales shining in the afternoon sun as the dragon moves forward.
It’s the red one I saw in the cavern, the one with the missing ear.
The dragon growls, its wings wrapped in a net to prevent flight, but its gaze locks on the others across the sand.
The Dragonbonds stand in their section opposite from me, all looking down at the dragon.
Another furious growl comes from it, and I swallow roughly when it begins to stalk forward.
“What is the meaning of this?” Rohan barks, and I stand, reaching the half-wall to look down further, only to be grabbed and shoved back into my seat by Declan.
“Watch it,” my sister says, an arrow already pointing at him.
Declan sneers. “She is a prisoner here.”
“She is Elven, show some respect,” she seethes.
“Niyah, be seated,” Ivara scolds.
“Go and stand back in place, Declan,” Alexandar says, and Declan’s eyes go to him.
“Yes, my prince,” he says, a reluctance to his tone as he drops my arm and moves away.
Niyah scoffs and takes a seat once more, this time moving a little closer to me.
My hands shake as the dragon moves closer, the people scattering, screaming for help.
The crowd cheers with the anticipation of blood, their grins sickening.
They have no weapons, no means to defend themselves.
And they couldn’t fight a dragon anyway, and that’s the point.
Are they really criminals, though? Slander of the royal family? What does that even mean?
One gets close to the dragon, a man, pushed by another trying to flee and claws swipe out, cleaving skin open with ease.
“Yes!” Nathanial shouts. “Three hundred coins for me!”
The crowd is silent for a moment as he bleeds out on the ground, and then they cheer, screaming and smiling.
“This here is a young dragon,” the king says as the dragon continues its assault. “The Dragorie are not the only ones to have dragons, so let it be known now, in front of my good people, your king has them too!”
The people go crazy as blood stains the sand while my heart hammers in my chest.
The dragon claws its way through the prisoners below, the Dragonbonds watching on with their masks in place.
Blood soaks the sand, arms torn, legs clawed through. Screams and cries join the cheers, shredded hands a mess of flesh as they try to protect themselves.
When the dragon has swiped at the last one, its claws pinning him to the ground, the crowd suddenly gasps.
My head snaps up at movement across from me, and I gasp quietly when Rohan stands on the half-wall before he jumps down into the sand.
I stand, hands on the wall as I look over it.
What is he doing?!
He walks toward the dragon, who now has turned his attention to him.
“Gods,” I breathe, fear running through me.
The dragon snarls at him, lowering his head.
Rohan stops in the center, and my legs tremble.
“Rohan…”
“What is he doing?” Niyah asks.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, as the king stands.
“What is the meaning of this, Dragorie?” he shouts, guards pointing Nighturn at him.
I look to the Dragonbonds, silently pleading with them to do something, anything, but they just watch on.
Rohan says nothing to Halen, holding his ground as the dragon approaches.
Why won’t they do something?
We all hold our breath as the dragon gets closer, snapping jaws behind metal, fearsome growls spilling from his lips but Rohan holds steady.
He may be young, but he’s still deadly.
“You think you have dragons?” Rohan says to the silence of the crowd, but we know it’s aimed at Halen. “I’m showing you just who the dragons belong to.” He holds out his hand, palm up.
The dragon stops, smoke billowing out of his mouth in a warning that Rohan doesn’t adhere to.
The dragon growls once more, only this time, Rohan growls back.
It doesn’t sound threatening, but it has enough dominance weaved into it that the hairs on my arms raise.
The dragon stops for a moment, eyes Rohan and then, with the breath stalling in my lungs, the dragon lowers his head and places it against Rohan’s raised palm.
The growl he releases next is softer, like a call for help and my heart thumps in my chest.
“Dragons belong to no one, they just know who respects them and who doesn’t,” Rohan says, as he looks back at the other Dragonbonds for a moment. His head turns to the king. “They are not pawns in your stupid games, you cannot claim them.”
“They will be whatever I say they are,” the king smirks. “That’s why this one is in my Enclave and not in your Glade.”
Rohan stills at the mention of The Glade, and then nods to the dragon until it turns, making its way back toward the gate it came through.
“You have no will over a dragon,” Rohan says, looking up at the king. “You will regret ever daring to get near them, never mind stealing them.”
The crowd murmurs at that statement.
“We shall see who regrets what.” The king raises a hand. “Now, seeing as though we already have a volunteer, bring out the wolves!”
Another gate opens, and then without warning, nine snarling wolves are released into the sand aiming for Rohan, who only has his bare hands to protect himself.
“Gods,” I breathe.
“Ugh,” Ivara scoffs, sitting back down.
“He’ll be okay,” Niyah soothes me quietly.
“How?” I choke out.
She looks behind her for a moment. “I just know.”
“Let the wolves put you back in your place!” the king announces, and the crowd whistles and cheers, eager for the fight. The Dragonbonds across from me try to join, but guards are threatening them with Nighturn, keeping them in place.
“Didn’t you know?” Rohan says suddenly, turning to face the snarling pack. “Wolves are scared of dragons.”
The king laughs. “And you aren’t one.”
“No, I’m not,” Rohan agrees as an axe suddenly appears at his side seemingly out of nowhere. “But I may as well be.”
He looks up toward the royal section, eyes connecting with mine for a moment, and then he swings the axe at the first wolf to come at him, splitting its jaw in two. But what’s more astonishing, is the red, young dragon that left, suddenly comes back out of the gate and helps him.