The Time Tournament (Order of the Dragon #1)

CHAPTER 37

Elena

February 1431

E xhausted from a night of dancing and searching for Eleonóra and her daughter, I kicked off the shoes I’d never wear again and headed to my chamber. The castle still hummed with faint activity, but the party was mostly over. I untied the front lace and breathed a sigh of relief. After years in a leather uniform, the dress felt like torture.

I opened the door to my room and threw the shoes to the side. Strange, I didn’t remember leaving a candle lit. In the candlelight, I saw Killian sitting on the padded chair, glaring at me. My breath caught as I staggered backward.

“Killian, you startled me. What are you doing here?”

He rose slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. I swallowed hard. He walked just as slowly until we were a breath apart.

“Care to explain?” Killian asked, waving a piece of paper in my face.

“Explain what?”

“What you wrote.”

Crap. He found the poem. “Why do you assume it’s mine?” I deflected.

“I found it in your chamber. On your desk. Do you think someone else snuck in and left such incriminating information?”

“How did you even figure out what it said? It’s barely legible.”

“So you admit it’s yours.” He narrowed his eyes.

“What’s it to you?” I raised my chin.

“It’s a love letter, for fuck’s sake. Are you out of your mind?”

“What’s even your problem? What I write in my leisure time is my business.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on with you and Rider Taddeus, but now is not––”

“Laszlo? Who said anything about Laszlo?”

“Isn’t it obvious the letter is for him?” He searched my eyes for answers.

I shifted my eyes to the side. “I refuse to say. ”

“Whether you do or not, it’s damn clear to me.” He raised his voice.

“So?” Anger rose in me like lightning. “Why do you care so much about what I do? And not Tarra?” Oh, no. I almost outed Tarra. I’m such an idiot.

He raised an eyebrow. “What about Tarra?”

“Nothing. She might have someone she’s interested in, you know. I’m just saying.” Phew. I hoped I deflected this one.

“You mean her and that Taddeus girl she brought? That’s been happening for ages. In her case, it would do her good. She’ll have someone to fight for.”

He knew? “How did you figure it out?”

“It was obvious how coldly she took poor Taddeus’s advances. But once the fountain whisperer came into the picture, she was smitten.”

So he knew everything about Tarra and Soraya but couldn’t figure me out?

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s not my job to say something. Plus, I don’t care who she fucks, as long as she’s all in on the game.”

“And you care who I fuck? I mean… who I plan… uh, to fuck?” I stammered.

He took a step closer. “I care because you’re not in the same position as Tarra. Even if we were to lose, she gets to return home. With you, it’s a matter of life or death. Your life or death.” He pointed a finger at me.

“And?”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “And you’re here focusing on love letters instead of the game.”

“You don’t even care so much about me. All you want is to win, win, win.”

“The stakes are even higher now. The other dragon houses have turned this tournament into an election. Even so, is it bad to want to win after all the effort we’ve put into training?”

“I understand what’s at stake now more than ever, Commander,” I said, eyeing the paper. If I were to die, I couldn’t leave the poem with him. I tried to snatch it out of his hand unsuccessfully. “Give me that.” I tried again. “I’ll focus only on the game. Just give me that.”

He wiggled a finger. “Not so easy, Rider. I might use this as leverage in the future.”

Fine, he could have it. He still didn’t know who it was dedicated to. “Suit yourself.” I crossed my arms.

He hesitated for a moment, still pondering if he should open another line of questioning. Not today, warrior from hell. Not today.

“I’m tired, Commander. I should rest for tomorrow’s game.”

“Certainly.” He nodded and left.

I wanted to slam the door into his ass, but it wouldn’t be enough considering how infuriated I was. This man lived in Oblivious Town, and I’d had just about enough.

On the morning of the first game, all the riders jumped on their dragons and flew to the arena. As we approached, the arena eerily resembled a coliseum, though only half of one. A towering dragon statue loomed above the royal seats, its wings spread wide as if guarding the arena. Surrounding the arena was a deep forest, and given its remote location, Sigismund had clearly organized this specifically for us. Yay.

The closer we got, the harder it became to swallow. Each time I tried, it felt like nails scraping my throat. As I struggled to hold the crest reins with clammy hands, I already imagined the absolute carnage I would soon be part of. My heart threatened to escape my chest, and it wasn’t even I who would be fighting today. It would be Laszlo and Killian. At least, that’s what everyone was saying this morning. But I was nervous for Laszlo. Killian? Not so much. He could shove it . What? You don’t need to remind me, self. I can love him and hate him at the same time.

We were welcomed into a building designated for riders and dragon shifters called the armory. There was one on each side of the amphitheater, presumably for the opposing teams. It looked like a locker room, but everything was wooden. Rows of weapons lined the walls of the building. From swords, axes, and arrows, divided only by massive torches. Clearly, these weapons were for display as they looked brand new. On the other wall, Sigismund’s banner was displayed, in case we forget whose decision was to make us fight for our lives. The benches on either side looked brand new as well. They probably used this arena only for dragon tournaments. I didn’t dare feel special, by any means. But it made me realize just how rare this event was.

Tara and Killian went ahead to change into their uniforms before the opening ceremony started. But I couldn’t find my place. What did I get myself into? Everyone here was terrifying, with their own agendas and grand plans for each other’s destruction. My old nail-biting habit had returned in full force.

“Are you ready, Rider?” Laszlo asked.

“Am I ever?” I said, doubt evident in my voice.

“I guess you’re right. No one truly is. But I’m excited to kick some dragon rider butt.”

“But aren’t you afraid? You could get injured—or worse. You know that, right?”

“I know. I just want to fight honorably and not let our legion down.”

“That’s the last thing on my mind,” I said.

“Mates, we need to go,” Tarra said, already in her uniform. Killian, Novak, Kovak, and Lord Valkorian followed after.

We entered the arena, the snow crunching beneath our boots. The other four dragon houses and their riders were already waiting for the opening ceremony. The lowest bleachers were draped in royal green tapestry, bearing the Order of the Dragon insignia and Sigismund’s coat of arms. The entire arena was surrounded by fresh flowers. Flowers in winter? The king spared no expense for entertainment. To ensure we killed each other “safely,” the king posted enough knights to start a war.

In the stands, everyone wore furs and coats, rubbing their palms and struggling to warm up, while I found myself in a sauna. A single bead of sweat trickled down my spine. Nothing like dread to warm you up in the morning.

Trumpets blared, announcing the king’s entrance, with Vlad II and the other royals following. And somewhere, in the far-left corner, Soraya was waving at us. Of course, Tarra waved back. They seemed too carefree, given what was about to happen.

Once the royals placed their comfy butts on their thrones, the Master of Lists announced:

“Lords and ladies, esteemed guests, welcome to the Time Tournament. By the grace of our Holy Emperor, King of Hungary, Sigismund of Luxembourg we gather today to witness a grand display of valor and mastery.”

Everyone clapped as a young lady handed each of the houses a wreath of flowers in their respective colors.

“Listen and listen closely to the rules of the game. Each house must fight with the same number of dragons. If there is only one dragon representing a house, the opposing team will choose one as well. First in the tournament will compete: the Aurelian Dragon House, Zariya Voglen and her rider, and the Crimson Dragon House, Killian Valkorian and his rider. The Cimmerian Dragon House, Feroz Castellano and his rider, will fight the Cerulean Dragon House, Cyprian Wulkanov and his rider.”

They didn’t even bother naming the riders. That seemed inconsiderate, given we were the ones risking our lives.

“Once a winner is chosen from these two battles, they will move forward to the second game. The winner of the second game will fight with our crowned winner, the Viridian Dragon House. Riders and dragons may use all powers at their disposal except magic. Prismwater weapons are allowed. The first rider to fall loses the game.”

The more he talked, the more I wanted to run for the hills. Killian was right. I was a dumbass. Why did Lord Valkorian and Tarra convince me I could do this?

“We can do this, El.” Lazlo patted my shoulder.

And here was another one of those so-called optimists. In reality, his upbeat attitude was probably the smarter choice. Those see-through prophets told me I would die—maybe it was meant for me to die here, for the sake of my team.

“Now we will let our Holy Emperor Sigismund of Luxembourg speak,” the Master of Lists continued.

The king, adorned in fur from head to toe, stood, and everyone clapped until he raised his hand. The power this man wielded with a single gesture was beyond comprehension. “By my command and the graces of heaven, I declare this tournament open. May each rider fight with honor and strength to the best of their ability. May the bravest among you win the glory he deserves.”

Clearly, the king didn’t count me among the likely winners.

“Let the dragon games begin!”

The crowd roared in delight as the king took a seat next to his wife. The Viridian dragon house sat in the front stands while we returned to our armory.

Killian left to change into his privacy cloak while we stayed with Laszlo. I hugged him tightly and said, “Good luck.”

Tarra hugged him as well. “Show them how it’s done. And don’t forget your jars.”

“Never.” He showed them in his satchel. “I have my prismwater sword sheathed here.” He patted the belt on his hips.

Killian emerged, wearing his cloak, and asked, “Are you ready to win, soldier?”

Though it sounded less like a question and more like an order, Laszlo appreciated his words. “Yes, Commander!”