Page 25 of Dragons' Mate
“That’s the part of the sentence you found objectionable?”
His nostrils flare. “It’s a weapon. And it’s decent. So yes, I took it for you. What’s wrong with—”
“Oh for stars’ sake. Can you two stop toying with a shadow?” Cyril gives me and Hauck a reproachful look.
Hauck lifts his hands, palm up in indignant innocence. “What didIdo?”
Shaking his head, Cyril finishes spoiling our fun by handing me an apple from the makeshift pack we’d turned the tablecloth into. “Eat.”
“I’m alright.” I don’t know when food will be available, and don’t want to take from our provisions. My stomach growls.
Eat, Tavias orders, directly into my mind. He puts a bit of bite behind the order, making it echo inside my skull.
Deciding against arguing, I eat the apple—core included. I am hungry. But also, the males are watching every bite as if afraid I’ll starve to death in the next five minutes. Their protectiveness has kicked in with a vengeance, and I’m going to need to pick my battles over the next few days.
Irritating Quinton had been decidedly more amusing.
Despite all the looming terror of the trials, I can’t help being curious about how it would all work. So far as I can tell, the priests of Orion wield a different kind of magic than any of the fae, dragon shifter or not. I guess they must, if they are to be entrusted with keeping the precious elixir and remaining neutral in the dragons’ political affairs.
It is another hour before we come to a full stop and the driver opens the doors. Cyril and Tavias hold me back, not letting me out of the carriage until after Quinton and Hauck step out first, look around and give their nods of approval. The pair then flanks me when I finally exit onto a meadow encircled by dozens of carriages.
The trial grounds are surprisingly beautiful. The nippy air kissing my face is ruffling a carpet of violet irises and golden daffodils that pepper the lush grass. Ahead of us, the riot of unblemished color stretches toward the mountainous forest flanking the field. Great oaks with twisted limbs and gnarled bark watch us like weathered warriors. Farther up the slope, towering firs and pines silhouette the sky with their needle-clad limbs.
On the east side of the field, a massive structure crafted from polished black stone spirals toward the clear blue sky. Sparkling glass worked into its facade catches the light just right, glowing even in the morning hours. It takes me a moment to realize that the reflective orbs aren’t random, but mirror the constellations. A tribute to the Goddess Orion, if there ever was one. This must be the citadel that Ettienne spoke about.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” I tell Cyril, who is closest to me.
“Nor have I.” Given that his attention is fixed firmly on the other competitors exiting their carriages, I don’t think we are talking about the same thing. In fact, all the males in my pack are on alert, scanning each new face as if waiting for one of them to break the semi-circular formation and launch an attack.
I wonder how many of the males here the princes know. We'd been given uniforms to change into, gray trousers and loose tunics, trimmed with a dazzling purple the color of Tavias's amethyst scales. The other packs are dressed the same, save for the trim color, which I think matches the scales of the pack leader.
Geoffrey’s pack is a few groups to the right of us. Their trim is black.
Of the thirty two packs who are now with us on the trial grounds, about half seem to have brought anything along. Some used the tablecloth like we did, others having taken off their tunics to create makeshift bundles. I wonder how many of those standing on the colorful meadow with us will be dead soon.
The priest from the pledge ball strolls to the middle of the field, crushing the flowers beneath his boots. He draws a small mark in the air.
“Competitors, welcome to the trial grounds.” Whatever magic that was, it’s amplifying his voice to an all-encompassing boom.
“Nice trick,” I murmured to Tavais. “Can you do that too?”
No. Pay attention.
“You have all felt your passage through the barrier, which is several miles in all directions from the citadel. You will find visual markers around the perimeter of the grounds to remind you of the boundaries. Should any of the dragons pass beyond the boundary, your mark will dissolve and you will be physically unable to re-enter. Your pack may continue the competition without you. Should any of the humans pass beyond the boundary, the mark will end their life.”
A hand settles on the nape of my neck. Hauck. I’m not sure which of us he is trying to reassure, but I’m grateful for it.
“Your first trial will start tomorrow,” the priest continues. “You will hear three bells half an hour prior. When you do, proceed to the competition arena inside the citadel. Two bells will sound at the fifteen minute mark, and one when one minute remains. Anyone who is not at the arena at the trial's start will be disqualified and escorted beyond the edge of the trial grounds.”
Which for the humans among us means death. Right.
"You may camp wherever you wish until then. Know that the citadel itself is sacred ground. Anyone attempting to harm another competitor outside the arena within the citadel, will be disqualified.”
I notice that he says nothing about harming each other outside the citadel itself.
We take high ground,Tavias’s voice sounds in my head. I’m pretty certain he is talking to Cyril and wonder if he knows I can hear him.As high as we can get with a thirty minute response.
"The first three wagons in the caravan hold supplies you may find useful,” the priest continues benevolently. “Each pack may send one representative to the supply wagons to collect whatever they'd like. The Goddess Orion wishes good fortune to all."
