The Time Tournament (Order of the Dragon #1)

CHAPTER 36

Killian

“ Mother, Mother, let’s dance.”

“My sweet boy, I’m talking to Raisa now. Why don’t you dance with Rosalynd? She looks a bit lonely.”

“But Mother, I want to dance with you.”

“How about this? You keep Rosalynd company, and I’ll save the last dance for you.”

February 1431

D ancing with Rosalynd took me back to the days when Mom hosted lavish feasts. Rosalynd and I used to pretend we were dancing like the grown-ups.

“Doesn’t this remind you of those feasts at Moltenclaw Keep?” she asked, clearly sharing the same memory.

“It does. I was reminiscing about the same thing.”

“Those were the good old days,” she said, peering into my eyes. Her fragile frame always made me wary of touching her. Especially after that one time when I pushed her too hard, and she began crying. Mother was furious, and I hadn’t realized what I’d done wrong.

Our parents always thought we’d end up together, and maybe Rosalynd did too.

“Do you think those days will ever come back?” she asked as we turned in a circle.

“If only things hadn’t gone too far,” I muttered. “As much as I miss those days, some things should stay the same.”

“You think so? Nothing from those days can be repeated?”

“You’ve been my childhood friend for as long as I can remember. We were making memories before Tarra could even walk.”

“Remember the time you hurt yourself with a sword?” She chuckled. “I had to use my healing abilities on someone besides animals.”

“My scales hadn’t hardened yet, and I needed stitches. It’s still embarrassing. But we were kids then. Life has thrown many challenges our way since then. We had no choice but to change.” I saw the look in her eyes—the hope for something more, but that could never happen. Not when we were teenagers and not now. “One thing hasn’t changed—our friendship.” I took her hand in mine and kissed it. “I know that no matter what, you will be the one to take care of me. As a healer and a friend.”

A sad smile sketched on her face, but she didn’t say anything. As the melody ended, I hoped her feelings would fade too.

“Where did Rider Costin say she needed to go?” I asked.

“She said she wanted to talk to someone.”

“It’s best that she doesn’t walk the castle hallways alone at night. There’s already been an incident.”

“Really? But isn’t Laszlo with her?”

“Yes, but dragons only fear their own. I need to go,” I said. “Someday we might get a chance to dance again.”

“Someday,” she said. “I better find Tarra and see how her body is prepared for the games.”

“You do that. I’ll be on the watch for our team, as my duty requires,” I said and began looking for Rider Costin.

I made my way to the arched doors when the dragon shifters sidelining the entire ball emerged from the shadows.

“Commander Killian,” said the elder Viridian, Lord Atlas Ashenwold. “We would like a word with you.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” I asked.

“All the dragon houses.” From behind him appeared two Ceruleans, Cyprian and Smok Wulkanov. “Right this way. The other dragons are already waiting for you. Your father has been informed as well.” He led me to a separate room next to the Hall. The small door frame forced all of us to bend as we passed through.

We entered a dusty, old study. Father was already waiting for us. Everyone was there except Volokh Ashenwold.

“What is this about, Lord Ashenwold?” Father asked.

“I thought it would be wise to have an impromptu dragon council before the big day tomorrow,” Lord Ashenwold said. “A perfect time to discuss internal matters, don’t you think?”

“You’ve avoided council meetings for years, and now you choose to have one today? Unfortunately, without prior approval, your request is denied. It can wait until after the Time Tournament.” Father turned to leave.

“I’m sure as ruler of the Other Realm, you are a busy man, Ulysses. But I believe this matter can’t wait as it concerns the Time Tournament. We don’t want things to escalate like last time, do we?” The ease with which he spoke made me want to punch him.

“The last tournament has been solved with blood. What’s there to discuss?” I asked, moving closer to the white-haired elder. Just because he bore the older Death Mark didn’t make him better than everyone else.

“Commander Valkorian, let me handle this,” Father said, stepping closer.

“You address your son by his title? We are family here, Ulysses, tied by something more than power––dragon blood. Let’s drop honorifics and discuss things cordially.” Lord Ashenwold smiled .

“Then I’ll repeat the question my son asked. What is there to discuss?” Father asked.

“Many matters. You see, we’ve been discussing with Feroz and Zariya how things tend to lean the scales in the opposite direction when one of the main weights is removed.”

“Speak plainly, Viridian,” I demanded.

“Considering the lack of a Mother of the Dragon. My condolences, by the way,” he said, knowing full well it was his son who instigated everything. “We question whether there should be a new way to choose the sovereign house.”

I was one decision away from bashing his head into a wall. Father felt my fury and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It has been a tradition carved in epochs to designate houses by the Mother,” Father said. “This alliance among sky dragons has helped our houses prosper and avoid extinction. How many wars have been annihilated solely by our presence in the air? How many times has the threat from other water and land dragons united us more than brothers? No human will understand the honor and burden of being a sky dragon. And you, as well as the others, surely understand that changing the Dragon Code of Honor will lead to dire consequences, even if we start with one.”

“You speak nicely, but changes happen with time. Dragon Mothers have become a target more than before. Feroz here can confirm,” Lord Ashenwold said.

The words crushed the Cimmerian, who confirmed with a low nod.

“And the Prismatic Lake may take decades to choose again,” Lord Ashenwold continued. Everyone nodded except Father and me.

“The Lake’s choice is not our concern,” I said. “We uphold the traditions of the dragon houses and our royal allies.”

“How can you speak of royalty when your Prince, Vlad II, hasn’t even claimed the throne?” Lord Wulkanov, the elder Cerulean, challenged. “He let his brothers fight while he lounged in Constantinople with the Byzantine Emperor.”

“His Majesty, Sigismund of Luxembourg, anointed him Voivode of Wallachia before hundreds of witnesses. What more can you ask?” Father countered.

“But is he sitting on the throne?” Cyprian Wulkanov asked.

“Once we win the tournament, he will,” I said.

“What an interesting idea,” Lord Ashenwold said. “Why not let the tournament choose the sovereign? Let the strongest rule.”

“Is this an insult?” I asked.

“Not if you win,” Lord Ashenwold said, a wry grin spreading across his face.

“You cannot overturn centuries of tradition with one game. Changes of this magnitude don’t happen like this,” Father insisted.

“What if we vote?” the Cerulean elder asked.

But we all knew they would vote against us.

“Zariya, what do you say?” asked Cyprian, turning to the Aurelian dragon .

“I want this to be done. I want to rest. All of this bores me,” the Aurelian dragon looked unimpressed.

“Worried you’ll die in the tournament and be the end of your kind?” the younger Cerulean cackled.

“How dare you? When you were still simmering in that lake, I was already roaming across the Bulgarian sea.”

“Dragons, dragons. Let’s focus on things that matter,” Lord Ashenwold said, trying to keep the discussion on track. “Would you like to vote for who wins the tournament and governs over the Other Realm?”

“Let’s compromise. What if we organize a dragon council after the tournament and discuss then?” Father asked.

“No, we must vote,” the Viridian elder insisted.

But no one dared to make the first step.

“What about that pretty little rider of yours?” Cyprian Wulkanov drawled.

“Indeed,” Lord Ashenwold agreed, nodding.

“What about her?” I asked.

“Though surely not in your favor, why would you bend the rules and accept a human rider?” Lord Ashenwold said.

“The Pure chose her,” Cyprian said.

Lord Ashenwold gasped. “You used the messengers of Fates to gain an advantage? But isn’t that cheating?”

“Who should speak?” I snarled, baring my fangs.

“Gentlemen and lady, please. Let’s not let our beasts speak for us.” Father stepped between us.

Zariya kept looking at her long nails when she sighed and raised her hand. “Let’s just get this over with. I vote to decide the next sovereign through the tournament. I know I won’t win, so you boys can fight it out.”

“Why do you say you won’t win?” Feroz asked.

“Because she wants to live another day,” Cyprian said with a sneer.

“Shut up, Cyprian. Just because every other woman falls at your feet, doesn’t mean I won’t claw your eyeballs out.”

“Who else would like to vote?” Lord Ashenwold hurried and raised both hands. “As one might expect, my son will vote the same.”

“That goes against the Dragon Code of Honor. Volokh is not here,” I said.

“It doesn’t even matter,” Lord Wulkanov said. “You can count on our votes.” Cyprian and Lord Wulkanov raised their hands.

That was already four against two. The Cimmerian vote didn’t matter, but Father insisted. “Feroz, what do you choose?”

“Despite my vote not making a change, I do not vote against centuries of tradition. They’re in place for a reason,” Feroz said.

“By majority vote, it’s decided: this tournament will determine the next ruler of the Other Realm,” Lord Ashenwold declared.

Father looked at me and quickly pulled me out of the study. “You must prepare Rider Costin and Rider Taddeus. The games will be ruthless. She needs to be ready. Go speak with them now. We can’t predict how they’ll challenge us tomorrow.”

“Yes, Father.” I looked around. Rider Costin wasn’t at the ball. My height let me observe and check every corner, but she was missing, and so was Volokh. Something must have happened.

I left the hall, every sense on high alert for any unusual sounds. The time she yelled my name when that Viridian scum attacked her made my blood boil. For him to lay hands on someone from my house was worse than treason. I walked past the seamstress’s shop. A candle still burned, and the entire chamber looked ransacked. Could it have anything to do with my riders? I increased my pace until I reached her chamber, but she was nowhere to be found.

Even if she wasn’t here, I knew it was her chamber. Her scent still lingered in the air—a pleasant one, I couldn’t deny. I walked around, noticing the folded uniform, morningstar, and helmet. As I moved to the writing desk, even through the darkness, I could see the white of a paper. I lit a candle and checked the letter. Why would she receive a letter here at the Nuremberg castle? And from someone with such poor handwriting? I read it, though not without effort. It turned out to be a poem. By the choice of words, it was clear she wrote it. She wrote a love poem? Hardly. I’ve heard hungry goats bleating better poems than this. What was this teenage damsel mush? Wasn’t she in her twenties? Now she’d become a bard, writing poems for the redhead? On my watch? I might as well hand her a lute and have her entertain the king. Fates knew it would make her more useful. We were heading headfirst toward disaster, and no one cared about it. Except me. And it was my duty to discipline her.

I paced across the room, trying to make sense of the situation. What if the poem was for someone else? It didn’t specify a recipient. Then again, who did she know? It had to be for Rider Taddeus. She always showed him preference. During Harvest Day, I saw how he fussed over her like a puppy. Of course, she liked being coddled. At the ball, she stayed close to him as if he were her knight in shining armor. Women grew on tales of knights slaying the big, bad dragon. But they’d never faced a real dragon. One close encounter with one might sway their opinion.

I heard footsteps that stopped in front of the chamber door. Now, she would get what was coming to her.