Page 134 of Feralheart

We landed on another black sand shore that shifted underneath Selira’s talons. The moment her weight settled, she keened. Her wail vibrated through her body.

Kin. Dragons. They were MINE.

The system had forced them into rune-marked tack that made them targets. They’d trained them to suppress every instinct that might’ve kept them alive. Not only that, but they’d also broken them until they forgot how to survive. Then fed them to silver liquid and mist that hunted the very magic used to break them.

All done for an audience. For sport.

No one was thinking about the dead dragons except the one who grieved them.

The trial wasn’t neutral. It didn’t test bonds or skills or worthiness. It was designed to kill, and I suspected it always had been. The system ate everyone it touched, and called it sacred.

What kind of Oracle granted a wish at a cost like this?

I leaned over Selira’s neck and held her as best I could.

They were mine, she said again. They were kin.

Finally, she dropped to the ground and laid her snout on the sand. I slid off her back. My knees unlocked as I hit the ground, and I fell forward, my hands screaming when they hit. Standing up took three tries. On the second one, my thighs cramped so hard I gasped.

I hobbled over to Selira and stroked her wild-dragon stripe. Scratched at her jaw hinge until her inner keening waned. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had to offer.

Lyndie and Reece stood off to the side, staring at the lake, their faces tight with grief. The nobles suppressed us, but none of us were eager to celebrate their death.

A horn sounded, and in the lull, an official’s voice boomed across the cavern, magically amplified. “Surviving riders will camp here until the next trial.”

A messenger imp flew past, weaving through the elites, stopping at Lady Severine. She took the message, and the imp left the cavern.

I scanned the area, noting the high walls made up of shiny black stone and the sandy floor. A few faelights peppered the ceiling, generating enough light to see.

Until I wished I couldn’t.

Servants had appeared from somewhere, carrying tents that assembled themselves with spelled poles and enchanted stakes. Bedding rolled out, thick enough to keep the cold away and make the sleeper feel like they rested on a cloud. They lit a huge fire and cooked an entire haunch of meat over flames that burned blue and smokeless. Packets simmering in the coals released the sweet scent of vegetables, roots, and herbs.

The place where Lyndie, Reece, and I stood was like comparing the queen’s castle to the worst of Shaleside.

We had our packs holding spare clothes. Dried food and biscuits, plus the extra items Fenian had stuffed into my bag. No tents. No lush bedding. And certainly no fire with a meal roasting.

Lyndie’s gaze remained on the elite camp. Her shoulders slumped, and she jerked her head around, focusing on where we could set up our supplies.

I slipped my bag off my back and sat, laying it in my lap, loosening the top. Peering inside, I hoped I’d find something wonderful I hadn’t packed. A tent, maybe. Plush bedding.

My snort rang out.

“We don’t need that shit,” I said. “We’re commons and commons are strong.”

“You’re right.” Lyndie dropped down to sit beside me, Reece taking the place across from us a moment later.

I shared, and we ate quickly, washing the food down with water. They didn’t ask why I had extra, and I didn’t offer comment.

My belly groaned over the delicious smells wafting across the small canyon, but this meal was as good as anything we had at home.

When we’d finished, we placed our bags nearby and stretched out side by side, staring at the roof of the cavern.

Reece lifted his arm and traced the skin where the scarf had rested. He caught me watching and dropped his arm back to his side.

“We should sleep.” Lyndie’s voice had lost its bright edge. “Tomorrow’s going to be worse.”

“You don’t know that,” Reece said. “Maybe this was the worst, designed to kill off the weak.”