Page 68 of Feralheart

They could adjudicate whatever the fuck they wanted.

I’d made it through.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ERADIN

They were going to kill me for surviving.

The crowd roared. Half screamed for my blood, their fists raised. The other half clutched betting slips, their fury just as hot but pointed at different targets. They didn’t care if I lived or died. They cared about their money.

“She didn’t stay mounted,” someone shrieked.

“She completed the course,” another shot back.

The officials huddled on the arena floor, their gestures sharp. One pointed at a scroll. Another kept glancing at the viewing boxes, reading the wind. The third looked ready to shoot magic my way to execute me himself.

I stayed beside Lykor, my palms burning, the trial mark on my hand throbbing in time with my pulse.

I’d broken rules they shared with themselves but never with us. Commons must not be allowed to dismount and survive. We died or we obeyed, and I’d done neither.

They were going to disqualify me. They’d send me back to Shaleside empty-handed while Tolross coughed pink into rags and Father sat at the table mending a belt that would never hold.

Or they’d kill me today, here in the sand stained with Lykor’s blood.

Movement in the royal viewing box caught my eye.

Prince Fenian leaned close to his mother, his hand shielding his mouth. The queen’s expression changed, irritation melting into consideration. She glanced at him before her gaze drilled me. With a purse of her lips, she nodded once.

Fenian returned to his position at the rail. His face went blank again, but his hands white-knuckled the stone.

A lord left the stands and approached the huddle of officials. They spoke, their voices magically muted. The officials grunted, one with a slick smile rising on his face, another releasing a high-pitched cackle. They strode across the arena and exited through a door along one side.

The herald stepped out and strode to the center. She stopped and stiffened, her jaw lifting, her gaze sweeping across the stands.

As I struggled to my feet, silence fell.

Her magically amplified voice raked across every surface. “The trial rules state that a rider and dragon must complete the course. Failure results in disqualification or death.”

She paused. The crowd leaned in, nobles and commons both holding their breath.

“Rider five and her dragon completed the course. There has been no protocol violation.”

Lords and ladies started shouting objections.

The herald raised her hand, cutting them off. “Rider five has been cleared to advance to the Scorching.”

Bellows of rage rang out. A few in the stands cheered—the ones who’d won money betting I’d live. Others snarled and raged, angry I hadn’t died or that I hadn’t been disqualified, which would’ve probably been a death all of its own.

The herald amplified her voice even louder, gouging through the wave of outrage flowing from the stands. “Four commons riders remain. The Scorching will begin in two days, at dawn.” She pivoted on her heel and strode across the sand, disappearing through the door on the side of the arena.

The words made sense individually, but strung together, they didn’t add up.

They were letting me compete.

After I’d broken some unspoken protocol.

After I’d made them watch me challenge the system.