“For whom,” Sariah corrects.
The guard leads us through more corridors, ascending through the mountain rather than descending. We pass chambers where recruits spar with wooden weapons, their faces locked in concentrated grimaces. In one room, a woman practices with a whip against straw targets, each crack echoing sharply off the walls.
Finally, we reach a heavy oak door reinforced with iron bands. The guard raps once, then pushes it open without waiting for a response.
“The seven you requested.”
He shoves us forward into a room unlike any I've seen in the Ironhold. Bookshelves line the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and scrolls. Maps and diagrams cover a massive table in the center, weighted down with carved stone figurines. The air smells of ink and parchment rather than sweat and fear.
Handler Selen stands at the far end, examining what appears to be a detailed drawing of a dragon's anatomy. She doesn't look up as we enter.
“Wait here,” she says simply.
The guard withdraws, closing the door behind him.
We stand in tense silence, none of us sure whether to speak. Selen finally shifts her gaze and studies each of us in turn,her expression revealing nothing. Then she moves to a side table and uncovers a tray I hadn't noticed.
“Eat some breakfast,” she orders, revealing small portions of dried cheese, barley cakes, cups, and a water pitcher. “Quickly.”
The others move immediately, but I remain standing, still wary. My eyes methodically sweep the room, noting the heavy candlestick that could serve as a bludgeon, the letter opener on the desk that would make a serviceable blade. Two doors—the one we entered through and another, smaller one partially hidden behind a tapestry. High windows, too narrow for escape but potential sources of broken glass if needed.
Selen watches my assessment with that same clinical interest. “You won't need weapons here, Four-Three-Seven.”
“I've found it's better to know where they are, just in case,” I reply, finally reaching for a piece of cheese. The salt hits my tongue, sharp and wonderful, after weeks of bland food.
“Can you read?” Selen asks. Her eyes flick to the books, then back to us.
“Functional,” Nyx replies with a shrug.
“Yes,” Sariah answers, her accent more pronounced. “In three languages.”
“Enough,” Vex says simply.
“Of course,” Nessa replies with the pride of someone who took her city guard education seriously.
“Only the words that'll get me paid or laid,” Lira mutters.
The bald woman answers with a mere nod.
I hesitate. Literacy isn't common in the slums surrounding the city, and advertising it often invited trouble. Thieves who could read were sentenced more harshly—considered calculating rather than desperate.
“Some,” I admit cautiously.
“Good,” Selen replies. “That will make this easier.” She fixes us with that familiar analytical gaze. “You're being transferred to advanced training…” She pauses, as if reconsidering her words. “Or, more advanced, I should say, than if you were to continue with the rest of your contingent.”
“Why?” I ask. The question slips out before I can stop it.
“Because you're wasted on basic combat.” Selen gestures to the door. “The others acclimate to the brutality of the games; to swing weapons, dodge, or die trying. But you already understand that part. Now you need to understand what you're fighting.”
She moves to the large table, beckoning us closer. The map spread across it shows what appears to be the Ironhold's interior—a labyrinthine network of tunnels, chambers, and what look like massive natural caverns.
“The dragons of the Ironhold are not simple beasts,” Selen continues, her finger tracing a path through the largest cavern. “They are weapons of the empire, bred for specific purposes. To survive them, you must understand them.”
“Why us?” Vex asks, her voice low but direct. “There were fifty women in that cellblock.”
Selen's sharp greenish eyes flick to her. “Because you each showed something yesterday beyond mere survival instinct.” Selen traces her finger along the dragon anatomy diagram. “Adaptability. Restraint. Calculation. Qualities some arena masters consider weaknesses, but which I consider to be strengths.”
She rolls out another parchment, revealing a detailed classification of dragons. Their bodies are categorized by type—some lean and serpentine, others heavy and armored. Wing configurations range from bat-like to feathered. Each bears distinctive markings around the head, throat, and tail.
