Page 34 of Feralheart

The stack of papers fluttered in the wind. I reached up and tore one down, folding it small enough to fit in my pocket, placing it with the scale that had cooled to nothing.

The commons trial requirements burned themselves into my brain as I walked.

Service waiver. Hazard writ. Next of kin.

I could see Father’s name on that line, the ink bleeding into cheap paper.

My surged up into my throat.

Retired dragons would be assigned to common-born riders. The phrase sat sour. Brittle-boned, half-blind, and likely traumatized from whatever had broken them enough to be “retired.”

Widow makers.

Spectators could place bets.

The fee was due at signature.

Those using a waiver must present a service seal from their overseer. If I wanted to enter, I’d have to beg Nuant or another overseer to grant me permission to risk my life. They’d want a reason. I didn’t have one I could say aloud.

I kept seeing Father closing the window. Telling us about the man across town who hadn’t come back. And I still didn’t know what I’d do about the paper in my pocket.

Silvie’s dye stall sat two lanes over, marked by purple-black stains and the vinegar reek of mordant.

She took one look at me and pointed at her stool. “Sit.”

Hos wound between my ankles, purring after I’d done as she asked.

Her hands moved through my hair, gathering it back. The comb’s teeth scraped my scalp, and my chest loosened.

“You heard about the race,” she said.

“Everyone did.”

“Three commons entered the trial last time.” Her fingers worked through a knot. “Two died in the first trial. Have you heard about the one who made it through?”

“Yes. Orla.” My scalp prickled. “What happened to her?”

“No one knows. She made it into the Scorching but disappeared after the third trial. They said her dragon threw her, though no one saw it happen.” Silvie tied off the braid with a sharp tug. “Her family raised money for the reclamation fee, but there wasn’t a body to bring back.”

My stomach tightened. “Maybe she made it through.”

“And not return home to those she loved?” She scoffed. “She died, just like almost everyone who enters the race.”

“I’m not thinking of entering.”

The scale in my pocket flared against my thigh.

“Fail out of the trial,” she said. “And they’ll dock your wages until they’re paid back. They call it an ingratitude levy for wasting the crown’s time.”

“That’s not in the posting.”

“It wouldn’t be. If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking…” Silvie moved around to my front and tilted my chin up, making me look her in the eye. “Know that Nuant will make you beg. He’ll say no just to watch you ask twice.”

“He will.”

“There’s a second witness type, dragon-hand certified staff. Senior grooms. People who’ve logged fifteen years in the stalls and know what dragon’s breath means. If you could get one of them to sign for you, you wouldn’t need Nuant’s seal.”

I frowned. “That’s not in the posting either.”