“See that guy over there?” Cash asked, gesturing toward a lone terrace close to the first level. I could just make out the silhouette of a person sitting in a singular chair.
I nodded, stepping back toward the railing.
“His Token is sight projection. He airs the entire tournament, so you don’t need to bend over the railing.”
I was relieved and surprised. I’d heard about the Token before. There were projection Tokens for almost all the senses, and sight projection was a fairly common one in Viven, stemming from desire. Because to have the gift meant a one-way ticket into Soffikane, the First Province. Entertainment and pleasures were something that Morianns were envious of, mainly because it was foreign in a world of fighting for scraps to survive.
I still remember eavesdropping on hushed conversations about what a Vivenian play was like—how the streets would be packed for miles, but everyone could see just as easily as the next because of the projections.
It honestly sounded like a myth. The onlyentertainmentin Moriann was watching people get in fights or seeing if a newly exiled Vivenian became desperate enough to eat the berries around the river.
I stared at the projection, completely foregoing looking down now. It was so clear that I swore I was seeing everything better than if I was sitting in the first stand hundreds of feet below.
I started scanning all the drakins through the projection and was surprised to find just as many female riders as male. I had no idea why that shocked me. I knew drakin females existed, I just didn’t think they’d be so common.
I was studying the faces of the men before my gaze snagged onsomething red. A rider was standing off to the side, away from everyone else inside the pit, with blood staining his crotch at an alarming rate.
“What happened to him?” I asked.
Cash let out a deep low chuckle. “Poor bastard couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
I must have looked just as puzzled as I felt because he explained, “Riders can’t fuck anyone until after the Vargothi.”
I was speechless, not quite putting the pieces together, but my mind was imagining?—
Cash took a step closer to me. “They cut off his dick, convict.”
“Because he forced himself on someone?”
He laughed again. “Nah. Poor bastard was in love.”
“That seems rather… harsh,” I said, immediately feeling bad for the guy. I could understand if it wasn’t mutual… Honestly, I’d fantasized about grabbing one of Dahes’ knives and doing the same thing to him ever since he tried to…
“Rules are rules.” Cash shrugged. “King Elion is just. He’ll reward obedience, but fuck up, and you’ll pay the consequences.”
“Why is that a rule though? Why can’t he love someone?”
“It’s not about love. Drakins are bred to breed. Everyone knows they can’t do anything until after they survive the Vargothi. It’s why the end of the tournament turns into a fuck fest. Depending on how old the riders are, some have been waiting a century to get their dicks wet.”
“I still don’t understand why…” my voice trailed off as I kept staring at the guy, watching his face distort in pain as tears pricked his eyes.
“Whoever survives gets categorized into two groups. One for breeding and one for sterilization. Drakins can only reproduce with drakins. Usually all the females who survive the tournament go into the breeding group, unless they need to weed out any family lines. Then, you have the group that gets sterilized, not selected for breeding. They become the frontline of the Drakin Army. Most want to be in that group, because after sterilization, they can be with whoever they want. Elion doesn’t give a fuck, but it has to be after the tournament.”
“So if he waited until after, he could have been with whoever he wanted?”
“Maybe.” Cash shrugged. “But the bastard was impatient, and now even if he survives the tournament, they won’t keep him alive.”
“They’ll kill him?”
“Yeah,” Cash nodded as he walked to grab another drink off the table, and I briefly noticed more people piling into our balcony. “Rules broken against Elion always result in some sort of punishment or death. They’re only keeping him alive for mockery.” He took a sip as he walked back to me. “Stupid bastard didn’t even have to wait that long either. He was only born twenty-eight years ago. Some of the men down there have been waiting a century.”
I shuddered, and Cash must have noticed, because he smirked into his glass as he took another sip. “That’s the harsh life of a rider, convict.”
“So none of them have a choice?” I asked.
“Only one person does. Whoever wins the tournament gets to decide which group they want to be a part of. It’s incentive to make it more ruthless, gets them to train harder. As for everyone else, King Elion picks.”
“And what do most people pick?”
