Often as a writer, you find yourself asking why certain characters act the way they do, especially villains because people are not inherently bad or make wrong decisions. It often stems from either an unmet need or a trauma from their past.
As I was writing The Queen of the Night, book 3 in The Comstock Chronicles, I had the nagging question of why my villain, Darius, acted the way he did. He was cruel, manipulative, and abusive, but he also had moments where he showed some heart, and I needed to know why.
So I delved into his past and came up with the short story originally titled Prisoners of Hadrian, included in the charity anthology, Caught in the Flames.
Since then, I have taken it and made a few minor updates. Series 2, which is taking the name of Prisoners of Hadrian, will be all about what happened to the missing Tellidine dragons, expected to release in 2027.
As such this story got a new name to better reflect the story and its role in the Guardians world.
Please enjoy this excerpt from Dragon Games
Chapter 1 – Escape
Thousands of feet stomped overhead causing the ceiling to drop another pound of powdered dust onto Darius Vermu’s head. He brushed it away before it could stick to his scalp, revealing the tattoo on his forearm—a black letter “D”. The one that marked him as a prisoner of Hadrian—and a dragon.
The gladiator battle happening on the surface had to be ending soon. If it didn’t, he and the rest of the dragons trapped down here would be buried in dirt by morning.
The pungent air of the prison was rife with anxiety this evening. Most of the hundred or so dragons housed here had been part of the Flight who’d traveled with him and his family on their annual migration from Isla Dracona to Tellidus seven months ago.
He should have been married to Fiora Moratis, the Guardian of the Firespark during that time. However, getting attacked by smoke-covered monsters and then trapped under the stadium to be used for human entertainment had cut that dream short.
Perhaps the stadium will collapse today, Darius thought as he flipped a green-and-gold coin in his hand, letting it fall on his palm. As long as he didn’t get clubbed by the falling stone, he might be able to escape. Gold. Point for you.
Roars from the crowd reverberated through the stonework, rattling the torches in their sconces.
We’re not that lucky. Three cells away in the open barred prison stood Auryon, Darius’s cousin, with her blond hair tied back with a leather cord, blue eyes almost glowing in the dimness. An identical coin to the one he’d just flipped flashed in her hand, reflecting the firelight as she tossed and caught it. Gold. Point to me.
Wheeled carts rattled along the uneven stones as the Collectors walked down the ramp into the dank prison, and Darius stuffed his coin away into the hidden pocket on his trousers.
Finally.
The carts and the Collectors flashed in and out of focus in the dim torchlight as they approached the block of cells to collect that morning’s tribute of magic. The atmosphere in the prison shifted from restless waiting to nervous excitement. Darius pushed his dark hair from his forehead praying the others were ready. They’d only get one chance.
You worry too much, Cousin, Aury said.
Darius curled his lip, revealing sharp teeth as he caught her glance, golden eyes flashing. I think you worry too little. Do you realize what will happen if we don’t make it out?
I’m aware, as you have been going through all possible failures since closing your eyes last night.
The scowl on Darius’s face deepened, and he turned away. Sometimes the mind bond he’d created with Aury when they were children was a nuisance. However—and he’d never admit this—after sharing their thoughts for so long, he couldn’t imagine life without it.
Catching the hooded amethyst eyes of his uncle, and Aury’s father, Sergei gave a sharp nod.
A deep breath later, the Collectors stood in front of Darius’s cell. He occupied the first one on the outer perimeter of the prison. A prime spot, with easy access for the guards to bind and flog him for all the trouble he’d caused since arriving seven months ago. And he was about to give them a whole lot more.
The two Collectors, in their blue robes and thick buckskin gloves, approached Darius’s cell. One was tall and skinny and held a roll of parchment with the list of prisoners. The second one was shorter, pushing a cart full of dull white gems that clattered in their cases. A gleam lit Darius’s eye that matched the burning anxiety inside.
The tall one eyed Darius, wary. “You won’t give us any problems today, will you?”
Slater, Darius’s other cousin, stood in the cell opposite, casually pressing his arms against the bars—directly behind the tall Collector, and waited.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Darius said in his silkiest voice.
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Until next time,
