The Testing
Aila waited, anxiety churning in her belly. Her thin sleeves did little to protect her from the morning chill. A small fire blazed in the center of the tent, but she was too far away to feel its warmth. Most of the girls around her were better dressed than she was. It was customary to wear your finest clothes for the Testing. Which she had. But she’d always been more concerned with stealing food than fine dresses. What would a street orphan need with finely embroidered dresses and fur shawls? Even trying to sell items like that would have gotten her arrested. No one would believe that a dirty, underfed girl had come by those things honestly. So her finest clothes were an old, threadbare dress that had been her best friend Alia’s before the Testing last year.
Keeping her focus on the tester as he moved down the line, she whispered a prayer to herself, pleading to the Goddess. She had to be chosen. Alia had been chosen by the Dragons last year at the Testing. They had taken her to the mountains, where all the Dragonborn lived. As they did with all the girls who were chosen. She hadn’t seen or heard from her since. She would have laughed at Aila for praying. She’d always made fun of her faith in the Goddess; claiming it a waste to make an offering at the temple, especially given how little food they had. Aila had insisted anyway. Her faith was one of the only legacies she had of her parents. Going to the Goddess’s temple with offerings on feast days were her favorite memories. Her mother would bake the bread into three small loaves, one for each other them to lay at the altar and her father would light the incense sticks while singing softly, his voice rhythmic and deep.
Now it was Aila’s turn for the Testing She’d turned eighteen two days before, making her barely old enough for it this year. She would be chosen, she had to be. What else was there for her? Alia was her only friend. The only person in the world who cared about her. There was nothing for her in this terrible city now that Alia was gone.
The dragon tester, a man greying at his temples and wearing a robe of black threaded with gold at the hems and collars, pricked each girl's finger and then brought the blood to his lips, tasting it. Each time he winced, shaking his head and each time the girl let out a sigh of relief and ran out of the tent. Most girls didn’t want to be chosen. Aila didn’t blame them. For them it meant leaving their families and homes, to never see everyone they loved again. Dragon-chosen girls never came back. But Aila didn’t have a home. The tester moved to the next girl in line. One more test and then it would be Aila’s turn. Anticipation and fear swelled inside her, making her want to fidget nervously, but she forced herself to hold still. She didn’t want the tester thinking badly of her.
This happened on the first day of every year. Girls who had turned eighteen the previous year were gathered, their blood tasted. What the Dragonborn were looking for in the blood, no one really knew. Only two or three girls were chosen each year. The King allowed it in exchange for the Dragonborn's help to fight the Wargs in the north. It was a small price to pay, the King said, to keep our borders safe. He claimed that the girls went to live in the east mountains, the ancestral home of the Dragonborn. Most people that Aila knew believed that the Dragonborn killed and ate the girls they took. When Alia had been taken, she had decided to believe the King. The other alternative was too horrible to think about.
The tester walked up to her, having dismissed the other girl and held his hand out impatiently. Holding her breath, Aila placed her hand in his. His hand was rough and leathery against her skin. She kept her eyes fixed on his face rather than the small knife in his other hand. Aila winced slightly as the knife pricked her finger. The pain became nothing as the tester brought the blood — her blood— to his mouth. Seconds stretched as she waited for his decision.
He opened his eyes. . . and smiled. And she knew. . . knew she’d been accepted. She, like Alia, had what they wanted in her blood.
“What is your name, child?” he asked.
“Aila.” She said, her voice trembling despite wanting this. She was going to the mountains. She would see Alia!
He nodded and gestured for her to follow one of the Dragonborn behind him. The younger one led her out of the King’s tent and into the freezing morning air. Snow crunch under her boots as she looked out at the city for the last time. The city hadn’t been kind to her; it had taken her parents from her. But it had also given her Alia.
The Dragonborn stepped up to her and held out his arms, gesturing for her to step closer. Unsure what he wanted her to do, she took a step toward him. He reached out and quickly swept her into his arms.
Aila gasped. That was the last thing she’d expected him to do. She looked up at him, about to protest when she noticed he’d unfurled his wings. They stretched out behind him, curved and glistening. His wings were the most beautiful color purple she’d ever seen. They filled her view as he moved them back and forth. The air rushed around her face and, looking down, she realized that he’d lifted them into the sky.
Muffling a scream, Aila wrapped her arms around the dragon, but she didn’t close her eyes. She wanted to watch as the world shifted around her, the ground beneath them changed from city to pasture to farmland.
Hours passed as they flew. The air grew increasingly frigid as they approached the mountains. The dragon was the only thing that kept Aila from freezing. Her coat and boots did little to keep the cold out. He was warm and firm against her; his grip never slacking as he carried her. She closed her eyes and listened to the wind and the beat of his heart as her life began anew.
