Page 60 of Veiled Flames
Saxon gestures. “These strong men before you are our dragon riders—all those not currently on patrol.”
Cheers and applause rise from the other seated men, and our group joins in.
Treacher rises alongside Saxon. “To sit alongside these men takes bravery, hard work and talent.” He nods toward the riders. “Not every candidate is destined for success. Many of you will die trying.” Treacher spreads his arms. “May you earn deaths of honor.”
Some men near me straighten their postures, widening their stances, and so I do the same.
“Our ranks of qualified riders have dwindled.” Treacher nods toward the riders, who quickly bow their heads. “As have our number of senior candidates. But if you work hard, someday you may join them. Someday you may earn a place amongst these powerful men at the head of the room. Someday you might earn the right to feed first.”
Listening to Master Treacher, I’m now certain that Tynan isn’t yet a dragon rider like he told my brothers, and certainly implied while we were traveling here. My aversion to him expands. He’s not only an arrogant show off and bully, he brags about things he hasn’t yet achieved
Saxon nods toward the side of the room, and several women, all dressed in blue dresses and white aprons, instantly appear from the shadows—almost as if they came out of the walls. They quickly lay platters of food on the head table.
Soon after, they do the same for the dragon riders’ table, and then for the senior candidates. Our group is still standing. If I had any questions about the hierarchy at camp, they’ve been answered.
“Your trials begin tomorrow at dawn,” Saxon says. “But at this moment, you are free to find a seat—if you can.”
I quickly realize there are more of us than there are places set at the remaining tables, and the men push and shove to get places. Chairs scrape over the floor and plates clatter as our group scrambles for somewhere to sit.
Grabbing Samyull’s hand, I crouch and tug him, and we dive under one table to the far side. There, we claim two of the last available chairs. Egon has claimed the seat opposite me—just my luck.
But before I can fully process that particular misfortune, the serving women arrive to place large platters of food on our table. Everyone eagerly grabs for the food, including the seven or eight unfortunate souls who didn’t get seats or place settings. Those men eat with their hands.
The food is delicious, venison and pheasant, succulent roasted pig, accompanied by creamy potatoes drenched in butter, bright green climber beans and cubes of roasted sweet pumpkin seasoned with exotic spices from Sidonia.
Everyone eagerly shovels food into their mouths, as if we’re all fearful there won’t be enough. Egon piles his plate with a massive mound, more than one belly could possibly hold—even his. But, as soon as a platter empties it’s replaced by a full one, and soon, many of the men are wiping their lips and belching to announce their full bellies.
Eating more quickly than usual, but more slowly than most, I find the meat juicy and seasoned with fresh herbs, and the vegetables fresh and buttery. I don’t know if I’ve ever enjoyed a meal this much. Just when I think I’m about to burst, the women clear our plates to replace them with bowls of steaming pudding, full of sweet dates and cinnamon, and covered with layers of thick caramel syrup and heavy cream.
I’m too tempted to deny my mouth this treat, even if my belly objects. But after three or four bites, I can eat no more.
“You leaving that?” asks Henri, from the other side of Samyull.
Before I can answer, Egon dives over the table, grabs my bowl and starts shoveling my leftover pudding into his mouth. Syrup and cream drip onto his chin, and he wipes it off with the sleeveof his fresh chemise. I hold my tongue. His disgusting table manners are the least of my issues with this man.
My chair is tugged away from the table.
I cry out as it’s tipped back. Then my lips snap shut when I see Prince Tynan smirking above me. At least his bright green eyes are flashing more with mischief than malice. I hope.
He lets the front legs of my chair drop back down, and I stand quickly, turning toward him and glaring.
His smirk continues, as he leans in close. “Are you enjoying your private quarters, Rosshall?”
I pull back, but run into the table, unable to get the distance I want from him. How does he know?
“I thought you could use some privacy.” He smirks.
WasTynanreally responsible for my private chambers? Has he discovered my secret? Does he know who I am?
Fear grabs my chest, but I fight to hide it as he leans in again, his lips moving close to my ear.
“I didn’t do it foryourbenefit,” he says with a hard edge to his voice. “I did it to curry favor with the dragon master, so he can keep drilling your ass.”
I glare at him, trying not to show any emotion beyond ire on my face.
“And since you’re clearly willing,” Tynan says. “Perhaps I’ll take a turn drilling your little ass too.”
Twenty-Two
