Page 7 of A City of Flames

I shake the thought off as I swipe the goblet from the floor. Its heavy weight warms beneath my clammy hands, as does the cool metal of my dagger in the other. With a turn of my feet, I sprint into motion—gusts of smoke blend like shadows coating cloudless skies until I reach the other side of the village.

The dragon lands onto the stone grounds, dust flies up, and I throw my arms in front of me as a shield. With the dragon’s back turned, I lower them, watching it screech and spout its fire across the area while venators dodge. I stand a distance away as its spiked tail slams across a venators abdomen. The propelling force sends them thumping against wooden carts.

My hand trembles, and the fierce memory of my father comes back. I was a fearful child, frozen in place, but after that day, I made myself a promise I would not fear again. I would not leave defeated by a dragon. I narrow my eyes, clutching the goblet tightly and square my shoulders, alert... no longer trembling.

“Hey!” A man yells. The rough cut of his voice gets me swiveling my head to the side only to frown when I see it’s the venator who had been staring at me yesterday. “Get out of here!” He waves one hand, his copper hair wildly unkempt as he dons a long sharp sword.

My face shows no hint of submission as I raise my dagger skyward and aim it towards the dragon.

From the corner of my eye, I can see the venator approaching. Still, I inhale sharply, now focusing on the glistening black scales rounding the dragon’s neck and throw the blade. It rotates through the air before lodging itself onto the side. The dragon doesn’t cry out in pain, nor does it react. I don’t want it to. I just want its attention. A dragon’s skin is far too thick for simple hunting knives such as mine.

With a slow turn, its slim muzzle bares rows of sharp teeth, a rumble deep within the dragon echoes through the village. Yet its thundering steps don’t deter me as my gaze connects with those bright flaming eyes. The dark slit in the middle takes me all in like it’s waiting, analyzing what kind of victim is next.

Without taking another second, I lift my hand with the gold goblet firmly held underneath. Puffs of air emit from the dragons’ nostrils, blowing back golden waves of my hair. Its eyes land on the goblet, but it doesn’t stay there as it focuses on me again, and the strangest thing occurs.

Just like all those years ago when the dragon that killed my father stared straight at me like I was the one mesmerizing thing, this dragon purrs, cowering its head at my mercy.

* * *

I drop the goblet, letting it clatter over the cobbled ground. The sound doesn’t affect the dragon as it slithers closer. I tilt my head, staring at the intricate scales and the two black horns, which still glimmer even when its broad shoulders block any source of light from the sun. An unnatural urge courses through me as I slowly lift my hand towards the lowered muzzle.

My fingers delicately pause, wary as to what I’m doing though I do not find it foreign. It wants to be touched, tranquilized, but just as I’m about to reach, a whipping sound of chains wrap around the dragon’s snout—a bola weapon.

The dragon thrashes and growls, but more heavy chains come at the legs, arms, and wings, knocking it down onto the ground. I jump back as more dust flies upward and watch speechless as venators hold it firmly in place, giving each other orders to bring the cage carriage in.

They’re not killing it?

Why aren’t they—

A female venator suddenly grips onto my upper arm, shaking me as if trying to get me to focus on her instead. “Are you insane? You could have been killed—”

“Sana.” That same rough voice.

The venator, who I assume is Sana, lets go of my arm and looks up. Her sharp features soften into admiration before I spin, coming face to face with that dark plated armor fitted on a muscular chest. A strong scent of cedar and sweet spices comes through as my eyes trace upward. No doubt it was the venator from yesterday who also happened to yell at me mere minutes ago.

His lips are nothing but a straight line as he beholds me with such power and authority. I don’t shy away from him as I look into his forest eyes, the way freckles darken against his ivory skin. For a venator, I imagined scars to coat his face, perhaps a crooked nose even, but this man seems to defy all odds as a perfectly narrow nose graces his face.

He gestures his head towards Sana, and her footsteps sound as she walks away. As he sheathes his sword behind him, twin to another blade, I gaze at both hilts wrapped in fine leather while an ornate red diamond sits on top. A difference to my run-down daggers. “What’s your name?” A keen interest in his voice.

Yet I ignore the question, asking, “What are you going to do with it?” My heart thrums at a vicious speed as venators haul the dragon onto a large prison carriage and the cries of children still loom in the distance. I can’t understand how not only have I witnessed another dragon nine years later, but I also don’t feel the anger of wanting to end its life when I should?

“Well, we don’t always kill them,” he says with intrigue masking his features as he studies me. “Certain dragons we catch; we use them for venator trials or arena fights.”

I don’t respond to that. My father never told me much of his life as a venator, neither did he want us moving to the city even if he had the money to do so. But whenever he’d visit us—sometimes months later—we’d always be informed of the tests a venator faced before they’d swear in as warriors. If they passed, that is.

“Now.” The venator cocks his head, eyes boring into me as wisps of copper hair fall across his face. “Your name?”

I lift my chin, showing no expression except severity. “If I say my name, will I get thrown into the dungeons for helping you venators?”

He chuckles deep and hoarse, though I don’t find anything amusing. “You won’t... but in theory, I have to ask how you managed to do that?”

“I—” I look back to where I had stood a few feet away from the dragon, no longer in sight. “I don’t know,” I say, frowning as my eyes slide back to the venator. He stares at me in thought as if prying any further would accomplish nothing, especially when I had no answers myself.

“Lorcan,” he says after a minute or two, extending a hand out to me. “Halen.”

Flicking my brows up, I survey how despite his face holding no scars, his hand is marred with them. He doesn’t hide them the way I do with mine, he doesn’t even seem to pay attention to them.

Hesitantly I take his hand in my gloved one and shake—a bit too aggressive on his part. The widened eyes give way, but I don’t say anything other than, “Naralía Ambrose.”

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