House of Dragons

by Jessica Cluess

  So. These two were training to become magosi. Magical priests of the Dragon Himself.

  What was going to happen to Vespir now? Would she be kicked out of the Trial for her bad attitude? By the blue above, she could only hope.

  Before her captors could do or say anything more, the wooden doors creaked open.

  Vespir stood helpless as a man and a woman appeared before her, each wearing the satin orange robe of the priesthood.

  “Release her,” the woman said, her voice brassy with age.

  Vespir’s arms collapsed at her side. She stumbled over the door’s threshold and into the room.

  The walls were painted the deep orange of sunset. Golden pillars upheld the roof. The floor was colorfully tiled with a mosaic that displayed five different dragons whose combined flames formed a sun. Silken couches congregated around a low table of dark, gleaming wood.

  Vespir collapsed to her knees and stared at the priests’ embroidered slippers. She couldn’t look up. Not due to stasis or anything. She’d just been trained too well.

  “Now,” the woman said. “Who exactly are you?”

  “I’m nobody,” Vespir said. She licked her lips. “I mean, I’m dragon handler to the Pentri family. But I’m nobody.”

  “Why are you here, Nobody?” The woman drew nearer. Vespir caught the scent of ambergris and rose; it must have been a lotion. “Where’s the Pentri heir?”

  Finally, someone understood how strange this was. Vespir trembled. “A mistake. My dragon was called instead of hers.”

  Silence. Then the man spoke for the first time, his voice high and harsh, “There are no mistakes.”

  Out of pure confusion, Vespir looked up. She glimpsed the faces of the priests for one brief moment. The woman had bright black eyes, a foxlike pointed nose, and shoulder-length hair of pure steel gray. The man’s forehead was high, his eyes sunken, his jaw thin, his mouth bracketed by harsh lines.

  They looked old and wary. They’re not gods, Vespir thought.

  Insanity. She bowed her head again. “Excuse me?”

  “Petros means that we did not call you.” The woman sniffed. “And the calling is never wrong.”

  Vespir swallowed. “My lady, maybe something went wrong just this once?”

  “Your Grace,” the priestess corrected. Her voice chilled.

  Footsteps behind her. Vespir guessed the two competitors she’d seen outside had entered. The priestess’s breath hitched.

  “Oh. Now this is decidedly odd,” she muttered, as if to herself. So the priests hadn’t expected these two, either.

  “We agree,” the boy competitor said.

  “Please, noble priestess.” Vespir began to shake; the floor was colder than she’d expected. “Let me leave.”

  “No. I’m sorry.” She sounded very far from sorry. “Petros is right. There are no mistakes.”

  “But you said this was odd.” That was the other girl, the one in the purple dress.

  “That was a personal opinion.” The priestess clucked her tongue. “The Great Dragon does choose in the most…mysterious ways.”

  “A creature that has been dead for one thousand years chooses the imperial candidates?” The girl sounded baffled.

  “Dear child, logic is the enemy of faith,” the priestess said. “As custodians of His sacred temple, we simply do as He demands.”

  Vespir wasn’t the girl to debate logic or faith. She just wanted to get out of here.

  “I’m going, if that’s all right.” She stood, her boots squealing on the floor.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it.” The priestess hmphed. “Not unless you want to be Cut.”

  Vespir blinked. “Cut?”

  The boy and the girl made a noise of surprise and…pity?

  “Oh.” The priestess sighed. “Well, this is something I’ve never had to explain before.” She stepped nearer to Vespir, who kept her eyes fixed on the satin hem of the woman’s robe. “The Cut hearkens back to the dawn of the empire. The Trial was created in order to impartially select a new ruler from the five Houses. However, the losers could become…resentful. Therefore, the Cut was instituted to keep the unsuccessful competitors and their families docile.”

  Vespir swallowed, tasting bile at the back of her throat. “Let me guess. The losers are executed,” she croaked.

  “Perceptive.” The woman sounded patronizing. “Yes, and in a manner of the victor’s choosing.” She gave a wry chuckle. “This is one excellent reason to get along with all fellow competitors; you never know who will decide whether to administer a painless poison or draw and quarter you to death.”

  Vespir didn’t think it was that funny.

  “But the Cut goes one step further,” the priestess continued.

  “How?” Vespir muttered.

  “The losers’ dragons are killed,” Petros drawled. Vespir’s head snapped up. Her mouth fell open. Spots danced in her vision.

  Dragons. Killed. Karina.

  “What?” The room tilted.

  “The dragon is a rider’s soul. Both body and soul must die, you see.”

  “You’re going to kill my dragon?” Vespir swayed on her feet. The night ride, the lack of food, this madness…she couldn’t stand much longer.

  “Cut dragons are the most sacred to the blue above,” Petros continued, as if reading lines from a dull book. “The Great Dragon considers them holy martyrs.”

  As a servant, Vespir had always known she might die on a nobleman’s whim. She lived because they allowed it, same as all peasants. But Karina…a dragon…a beautiful, perfect creature…Vespir met the priest’s eyes.

  “You can’t!” Her scream echoed.

  “Thank you very much, we can.”

  “But.” What could she say to stop this? From the instant Karina had hatched and crawled to her, mewling and nudging against her knee, Vespir had understood how it felt to be complete. “But Karina’s my heart,” she whispered.

  The priests regarded her with calm detachment.

  Who grieved for the heart of a servant, after all?

  * * *

  When she woke, it was dark. Vespir swallowed and sat up, sinking into the softest mattress she’d ever felt. She blinked at her surroundings. A golden lamp swayed from the ceiling, the light warping and flickering over Vespir’s plush bed. The blanket was of fine green silk, the pillows tasseled with gold.

  She vaguely recalled being brought here, feeling numb. The instant Vespir’s head had met the pillow, she’d been dead to the world. She coughed; her mouth felt tacky.

  Vespir was in a rotunda, its columns upholding a round bronze roof. Her bedroom lay open on all sides to the night. White diaphanous curtains, the closest she had to walls, swelled in the breeze. The ocean surged nearby.

  Someone had removed her boots, but she was still dressed in her handler clothes. The rough-spun green shirt itched against her neck. She shut her eyes, her head throbbing.

  What do I do now?

  “Hey.” An unknown voice sounded to her left, startling her.

  Vespir found someone small and blond watching her. His eyes glinted in the lamplight, and his smile was jagged. He drowned in a red coat that was far too big for him, its sleeves rolled several times.

  “Guess I’m not the only bastard here after all,” he said.

  Ajax didn’t get why everyone looked depressed. Maybe their lives back home had all been so wonderful that this was a step down, but for him it was the greatest opportunity ever. Granted, the clothes they’d laid out on his bed had been a little on the big side. The priestess, Camilla, explained that they’d tailored everything for the anticipated competitors. Whatever. Ajax hadn’t been able to wear the pants, but the jacket worked fine for now. A little big, but fine. He’d long been denied the red cloaks of the Tiber family and was making up for that in a big way.
r />   And here, another bastard. She couldn’t be anything else.

  But she glared at him. “I’m not a bastard. I’m a servant.” She said it stiffly.

  Ajax snorted. “Oh, excuse me. Didn’t realize you were so fancy.” He crossed his arms as she sat up. Damn, she looked taller than him, too. He’d been measuring himself against the others. “The reception’s about to start. The fifth competitor should be arriving soon.”

  “This late?” The girl rubbed her neck.

  “Yeah, apparently there was a holdup or something, the priestess said? Who knows.” He waited. “Are you coming or not?”

  “Are you always this polite?” Her cheeks flushed as she stared at the floor. “Sorry. My lord.”

  Oh, Ajax could get used to this. “You don’t need to use my official title. Ajax is fine.” He neglected to add that he didn’t really have a title, but this made him look benevolent. A real man of the people.

  “Vespir. I’ll, er, join you,” she mumbled, and sat back on her bed. He shrugged and strolled away, leaving the rotunda to flicker in the darkness like a lantern. In the distance, a line of torches flared, providing guidance for the last competitor’s dragon. Ajax watched the sky, listened to the soothing hush of the waves.

  So far, he’d sized up his competition. He could handle them all. The servant girl looked sick, so one strike against her already. The other girl, Emilia, seemed kind of weird. He couldn’t quite explain it, apart from the hair thing and the fact that she wouldn’t touch anybody, not even to shake hands. And Lucian, well, he was no trouble. Guys that big were often dumb.

  That left this last, mystery competitor as all that might keep Ajax from the dragon throne.

  He craned his neck as the flap of leathery wings sounded in the darkness. A massive shape surged down, thinning the torches’ flames and snuffing some completely. A growl rumbled the earth as the dragon retracted its wings, its scales glittering in the remaining torchlight. Ajax trotted over to see a girl dismount. She walked away from her dragon, not even glancing back as the acolytes ran to take care of it. Her gown shone against the night.

  Nice. A fancy girl. This might be fun.

  “Hey.” Ajax jogged up to her. She stopped and glanced down at him. Aw, damn. She was almost as tall as the big, dumb guy. He couldn’t tell much about her other than that she sparkled, and he got the impression she was ready to leave if he didn’t make himself interesting fast. “Ajax. Of the Tiber.” He puffed out his chest. “Glad you finally made it.”

  “Mmm.” She said it like she was barely humoring him and continued walking. Jerking on his collar, he strode after her. He didn’t want to run, but her legs were long. “You’re the Volscia heir, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The reception’s this way,” he said, trying to look like he was leading her and not the other way around. He slicked back his hair. “You, ah, want to change first?” She looked amazing, but also kind of worn. She had dirt on her cheek.

  “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

  “Yeah. What happened? Your dragon sleep through the call?” He laughed.

  She didn’t.

  In fact, she finally faced him head on, regarding him as she might an insect. Ajax blinked. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She was stunning, golden from head to toe…and covered in dried blood. Blood had geysered onto her front in a dark stain. A splotch of it flaked rust brown on her cheek.

  “You’ve got some blood on you,” he said stupidly.

  “Yes.” Her eyes gleamed. “It’s not mine.” She walked away, leaving the delicate scent of lilacs in her wake. He trekked after her, a grin stretching over his face.

  Oh yeah. This was his only real challenge.

  Emilia had tricks for keeping the destruction at bay. Slow, deep breaths focused her. The sensation of rubbing her thumb and forefinger together calmed her. Her shoulders were so tense that her muscles burned. Above all, she must avoid physical contact. Unfortunately, all of this looked odd when you had dinner with a group of people. Fortunately, shock and exhaustion had claimed everyone’s attention. She’d have to do something truly wild to be noticed tonight.

  She doubted she’d be that lucky for the rest of the Trial.

  But she needed to contain her chaos tonight, of all nights. First impressions were important, and this was an opportunity to study her competition.

  These four other faces at the table—some blank with fear, some stoic, some actually smiling—were all she cared about and took her appetite away. A pity, because the meal looked divine. A roasted peacock on a bed of fresh herbs occupied the center of the table. Oysters gleamed over ice, accompanied by glistening lemon wedges. Honey-drizzled sponge bread, creamy goat cheese, spiced yoghurt, curried fish soup, lamb medallions with coarse salt and rosemary, mounds of olives, and, of course, plump clusters of figs and grapes completed the spread.

  For five years, she’d eaten roasted root vegetables, brown bread, and salted fish. Bland meals for a bland life. This much color and noise, so many smells, so much that was new…

  It overpowered her.

  The competitors sat on silk couches along the table, while Petros and Camilla occupied either end. After everyone settled, Camilla stood and raised a jeweled goblet filled with wine.

  “Few high priests are fortunate enough to witness two successive Emperor’s Trials.” She gave a sharp smile. “Petros and I were not much older than you when we crowned Emperor Erasmus. We’re both thrilled to lend guidance as you undertake the single most important tradition in Etrusia’s long, glorious history.”

  Petros, meanwhile, looked on with the cheer of a cadaver.

  The priestess is the true power. It didn’t require a genius to see, but Emilia filed that away snug in her mental cabinet, where it would remain until she needed it. From her time spent studying the Trial, she knew that the high priest and priestess always oversaw matters. Why always a man and a woman? How were such elite priests selected for their positions? Emilia hungered for answers, but now was not the time.

  “There are four great challenges in the Trial. Undoubtedly, you’ve all grown up hearing of them.” Camilla smiled. “The Hunt. The Game. The Race. The Truth.”

  Emilia thought of her satchel back in her rotunda, its secrets awaiting her perusing eyes.

  “I’ll remind you that every single emperor who has ever been crowned has come in first in at least one challenge. Take them very seriously. But you should also remember that the Great Dragon judges smaller details as well. How you behave toward one another, and how you conduct yourself during the Trial, matters.”

  “Do people ever die during the Trial?” the blond boy, Ajax, asked while chewing.

  “Oh, people die.” Camilla said it easily. “It’s common, but not typical. Thirty percent of the time?” She turned to Petros, who shrugged. “Forty? These are challenges fit for a dragon emperor. Accidents happen. Before I forget, I should remind you that killing one another, while not expressly forbidden, will result in a penalty. I’d recommend against it.”

  Vespir made a hurking noise and lowered her head to her knees.

  “Now, we’re going to leave you all to get better acquainted.” Camilla gestured for Petros to rise. Excellent. Emilia had been afraid the older people would sit with them all night. “We know that the five families don’t encourage much interaction between their children.” True. Emilia and Lucian shared a quick glance. Their fathers’ friendship was rare. Why be friendly with someone whose child might best your own in the great Trial one day? “But you should all support one another. The next emperor or empress is at this table, after all.”

  No one said anything. Apart from Vespir’s labored breathing and the sound of the ocean, it was deadly quiet. Camilla walked toward the door. Petros dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, rose, and moved after her like a silken shadow.

 
The wooden doors slammed as they exited. Immediately, Hyperia stood and took Camilla’s place at the head of the table.

  Ajax cast a glance at the doors. “You’d think they’d be more interested in us.”

  “Odds are we’re being watched right now,” Emilia muttered. Everyone looked at her, and she wilted under their combined gaze. “The Trial has already begun.”

  Lucian grunted his agreement. The focus eased off her. Peering from behind her hair, Emilia surveyed the competition.

  Lucian leaned one elbow against the couch. His thick black hair hung heavy in his eyes. She hadn’t considered how different he appeared without his braid. He took his dagger, speared an apple with a juicy thrust, and began slicing off pieces to eat.

  “Do you want a fork?” Emilia asked. He shook his head without looking at her.

  “You don’t get much use out of them on campaign.” He shrugged. His tone was bitter, an indication something darker and angrier was being left unuttered.

  Ajax regarded Lucian from the corner of his eye. “Impressive knife skills,” the Tiber boy said. So fast she almost couldn’t catch it, he snatched a dagger from his belt and sent it flying with a flick of his wrist. It landed in a leg of peacock, the handle quivering. A perfect throw. Ajax collected his dagger and the leg. Chewing, he waggled his eyebrows. “More impressive,” he said with a grin.

  Lucian gave a heavy sigh. “You and my sister would get along.”

  He wants Lucian to notice him. Emilia tucked all these little details away. It worried her, somewhere deep inside, that she looked at these other people as if they were test subjects to be studied. Shouldn’t she…feel…more than she did?

  This is no time for feeling. She narrowed her eyes. They’re all your enemies.

  The world is your enemy. Five years of brutal isolation had burned that lesson like a brand upon her soul.

  “Hey, don’t you want some meat?” Ajax studied Lucian’s apple. “There might be one or two muscles you haven’t developed.”