Vespir coughed, eyes stinging as Aufidius passed them with ease. Karina hovered on the wind as Vespir struggled to catch her breath. Behind her, the other three were dots on the horizon. She would not be last in this challenge, but…

Karina would die if she did not win this Race.

How? How do we win?

Her heart sank as the voice of Plotus, the old Pentri handler who’d trained her, replied, You can’t. Your dragon can’t overtake that Hydra. She’s not built for it.

Vespir’s hands trembled. Her original plan might have worked if it weren’t for poor, sweet, stupid Dog. Now Vespir couldn’t nestle between Tyche and Aufidius in the hope of slingshotting ahead. The only way to benefit from the Hydra’s great surge of wings would be if…

Her head whipped up. This would require the most idiotic move possible.

Karina chirped, as if to ask what Vespir was thinking.

That chirp was all she needed. My dragon is going to live.

“Steady, girl.” Vespir unfastened Karina’s harness and bridle with cool hands, and let the damned bit of leather fall to the earth.

Getting the saddle off would be a greater challenge; to accommodate a dragon’s wings, the saddle buckled along the belly in an X formation. Vespir had to scoot back, knees balanced on Karina’s hindquarters, while she reached down and fumbled for the clasp. Vespir’s thighs began to shiver with strain, but finally she felt the saddle give. When it slid off and away, Vespir settled onto her dragon’s back with a sigh.

This would require balance. Karina wasn’t Vespir’s pet to ride. She was her partner. The better half of her heart. Vespir closed her eyes once more, and the Red was instantaneous. They were one person. One soul.

“Okay, girl.” Vespir pressed herself fully against Karina, sliding her arms around the dragon’s neck, slipping her heels down to hook under the dragon’s hindquarters. “Let’s go.”

They stayed well behind Aufidius for much of the next few miles. When the river they’d been tracking began to widen and the horizon shone with gold, it was time to move. Ahead of them, in the distance, Vespir caught sight of a great black banner that spanned the length of several city streets. Enormous golden pillars upheld that banner, marking the finish line.

Dragonspire was near.

Vespir would appreciate the grandeur of the capital once she had survived these next few minutes. Burying her head against Karina’s shoulder, she pictured what she wanted to happen.

The dragon instantly obeyed.

Karina put on a burst of speed, just enough to get out ahead of the Hydra. The wind screamed in Vespir’s ears, and tears bled from her eyes. She had never gone this fast before, and adrenaline spiked through her. They were doing well, but Karina couldn’t keep up that pace forever. They didn’t have to, though. They just had to match…

“Now,” Vespir whispered.

Karina pulled up and slowed a bit to settle just below the Hydra. They were riding parallel with Aufidius, Vespir’s back mere feet beneath the dragon’s talons. She pressed her face against Karina’s neck, smelled the baking-bread scent that was peculiar to her own dragon. Aufidius grumbled above them, but as long as they weren’t touching, hopefully he wouldn’t care.

One minute crawled past. She heard Aufidius snarl: he sensed the intruders beneath him.

Vespir stifled a scream when Aufidius’s talons—each nearly as long as a table—swiped the air a hairbreadth from Karina’s wings. If caught, those talons would slice through them like butter. Just a few more seconds before the descent would begin. Only a few, but it needed to happen now. Now. Now. Now.

Why wasn’t the Hydra banking? Karina was starting to tire. Much longer, and the dragon would spiral out of control. They wouldn’t make it to Dragonspire. They’d crash in the fields.

Please. Please.

Aufidius pedaled his taloned feet once again, and once again he just, just missed them. Vespir knew in her gut that the third time, the Hydra would not miss.

Please.

And then…

Aufidius pitched back, ready for his descent. He banked, and his wings provided a surge of wind.

Vespir clung to Karina as they shot ahead.

Be like an arrow, girl.

No one needed to ask directions to the finish line. All they could do was fall, and hope.

Hyperia gave a bewildered cry as Karina and Vespir shot ahead. Karina folded her wings against her body and hurtled toward the earth, the capital rapidly spreading out beneath them. Vespir cracked her eyes and watched the buildings come into view: the golden towers, the marble arches, the aqueducts cordoning off the edges of the city. Terra-cotta rooftops and piazzas with elaborate fountains. The crowds’ cheers grew louder as she spiraled to the finish line.

Vespir could no longer see; she could only hold on.

Behind her, Aufidius roared. Vespir could hear the creature’s wings flapping hard to catch up. Closer. Closer. She smelled acrid smoke. If that beast tried to roast her now, Karina would not have the power to move out of the way.

The great black silk banner grew nearer. Vespir squeezed herself against Karina, the crowds screamed, the air around her split with roars and—

Vespir raised her head as Karina zoomed past the banner and into the city.

First.

Her dragon spread her wings and slowed. She soared over the crowds’ heads as the others flew in behind. Vespir put a hand over her racing heart and whooped. She could not hear her own voice in the cacophony. Children leaned out of windows and off balconies to fling handfuls of pink and white flower petals into the air. Bands played a triumphant march below as the competitors sped along the main boulevard, soaring toward the heart of the city. Women waved handkerchiefs and tossed bound stalks of dragongrass, which grew on the fabled banks of the imperial river. Vespir pumped her fist, and the crowds roared their approval. She was air, now, air and light. People threw gold and silver coins to sparkle in the air, and Vespir caught one. Shop windows gleamed like fire in the afternoon sun; as they rose, Vespir saw the fabled rooftop gardens, lush with date palms and tamarisk.

Before them the palace of Dragonspire loomed, a one-hundred-foot-tall mountain of gold-and-white marble. The tallest building ever constructed.

Vespir and Karina rose overhead to make for an elegant landing, and from this height she noted that the building looked teardrop-shaped, with a sharp, narrow tip that slowly widened and rounded out. At the teardrop’s point waited guards clad in the imperial black livery, all of them standing in two straight lines to allow the competitors’ dragons to touch down between them.

The tip of the teardrop was the landing strip; the round base held the gardens and pools. The middle consisted of a tiered building, brilliant with gold. At the top tier, someone had built a fifty-foot spire—hence the name Dragonspire. Legend had it the Great Dragon had ordered it built as a beacon to riders everywhere.

Vespir landed, legs trembling as she slid from Karina’s back. She cupped the dragon’s face in her hands and nuzzled her velvet snout.

“Boop.” Vespir giggled as Karina merrily chirped. “Thank you, girl.” Turning, Vespir wobbled down the landing. The priests waited—how they’d arrived before the competitors, Vespir was not certain. Camilla and Petros wore even more magnificent robes now, tangerine silk with gold embroidery at the sleeves and collar, jeweled medallions with the imperial seal around their necks.

Vespir grinned, her cheeks rough and wind-chapped.

The guards stepped aside as Aufidius landed a moment later, and Hyperia dismounted. The Volscia girl stalked toward Vespir, her heeled shoes a brisk slap on the pavement. Oh no.

Vespir considered how to dodge the blow.

Hyperia extended her hand.

“That was the most brilliant bit of flying I have ever seen,” the Volscia girl declared.

Soft with shock, Vespir shook hands.

“Th-thanks.”

Lucian landed next, then Ajax, with Emilia last by a hair. Everybody approached Vespir in awe. Ajax didn’t even seem pissed about losing. The four crowded her, and every one of them whispered congratulations. Every one of them smiled.

Vespir finally turned to the priests. She trembled with happiness, the ruler of the skies.

For the first time, she felt like a damn empress.

“Well?” she asked, beaming.

Camilla smiled in return.

“The Race is forfeit,” she said silkily. “There will be no victor.”