While her sponsored rider and racer continued to win during the day, Lady Evara spent her evenings drifting through the palace, twinkling at everyone. That was her personal term for it: a light laugh, a twinkle in the eye. Every so often, she’d toss out a compliment. “Lovely bracelet, darling.” Or “Your hair looks divine.” Or stop, stare, and then say, “Stunning,” before sweeping on. She’d hear in her wake: That’s the woman who sponsored the emperor-to-be’s racer! She may have picked the winner!
As pleasant as that was to hear, she rarely paused long enough for a full conversation. Until she knew who was interested in her, she was careful not to appear interested in anyone.
It was a delightful game. Be accessible, but not too accessible. Aloof, but not too aloof. Charming without seeming insincere. Superficial without seeming inconsequential. And she was good at it, which was proof that, no matter what her darling parents had thought, she could be good at something. It helped that the emperor-to-be frequently summoned her for updates on “their” rider and racer—their mood, their health, their training regime. He sometimes employed musicians for their conversations and sometimes not, presumably to keep any busybodies from guessing that he was fond of hiding important discussions beneath the cacophony of sound. He’s a clever boy, Lady Evara thought. I do hope he lives to be emperor. She liked the idea that she could do something to help ensure that, even though she hadn’t uncovered anything useful yet.
She was just about to retire for the evening, though the shrimp being served in the statue hall were divine, when she was approached by an impeccably dressed man with a truly stunning mustache. He had tiny jewels clipped to his mustache and had somehow endeavored to make it curl twice before ending in a three-pronged split capped with diamonds.
“Lady Evara.” He bowed. “I am honored.”
“You are a work of art,” she said. “Let me admire you.”
“Sweet lady—” he began.
She laid a finger on his lips and then walked around him in a slow circle, taking in every detail of his outfit, which was at least three layers of silks plus a braided belt that draped from his shoulders, circled his waist, and then vanished within the silks. “All right, you may speak now.”
“It has been brought to my attention that, despite your beauty and your many charms, you do not belong among us.” This shocking statement was delivered in a soft voice that sounded better suited to reciting lyrics from love songs.
“Excuse me?”
“If my sources are correct, my sweet lady, you are within months of losing your ancestral home, your title, and your reputation, due to an unfortunate clause in your parents’ will that prevents you from accessing your inheritance.”
She would not let him have the satisfaction of seeing he’d rattled her. “Your manners, unlike your mustache, are deplorable. You must have mistaken me for someone else.” Sources? What sources? Her parents’ will was a private matter, known only to her and the augurs who handled such matters, and they were honor-bound to silence.
He bowed again. “Please believe me, my lady, I have not said these things to embarrass you. I am, in fact, in the happy position to help you reverse your fortunes. For that is, indeed, why you have come to court, is it not?”
That was so very close to being true, it was disconcerting. Do not lie to yourself, she told herself sternly. That is precisely why I came. Self-delusion had been her parents’ flaw, not hers. In that, she and her rider, Raia, were alike. However he knew, the truth was the truth. “Speak on.”
“I am very fond of the Becaran Races. So fond that I have sponsored my own racer and am investing heavily in the fate of several other riders and racers. I believed I had accounted for all variables, but then your rider and racer appeared on the scene . . . and it has thrown a shadow of concern onto all of my careful plans.”
A servant bearing a platter of puffed pastries passed by them. The man declined to take one, but Lady Evara made a show of selecting the perfectly puffed pastry, to buy herself a moment to think.
The man’s story could be the truth. It was plausible. He certainly knew the truth about her own situation, however he obtained it. My dear mother and father, of course, she thought. The augurs who knew the truth would have been discreet, but she had no proof that her parents hadn’t whispered their little inheritance plan into the ear of a “trusted” friend. Her mustached acquaintance had probably begun researching her when Raia and her racer began winning. Bribe the right people, and you could learn anything about anyone. If the leak wasn’t her parents, a servant could have overheard sensitive information and shared it for the right price. Their loyalty would have naturally diminished after she was forced to dismiss them. She tried to hide how much that thought dismayed her. She’d always tried to be kind to them.
She bit into her pastry, and discussed the state of the weather and vague statements about the inconvenience of unrest in the street until the servant was far enough away. When there were no more nearby ears, Lady Evara said, “To the point, then. What are you proposing?”
“If your racer were to come down with an illness, say a permanent illness, I would stand to profit greatly, and I would ensure that you were to profit equally greatly.”
“You want me to poison my own racer?” This man was lacking in subtlety, so she used none. If their positions were reversed, she would have been much more careful in how she led into this request. Maybe begin with a few innocent conversations, feeling her target out before exposing her plan. Amateur, she thought. “Such an action, if detected, could lead to expulsion from the races for life. The race committee frowns on tampering with race results.”
“Expose me, and I will expose the fragility of your finances and the . . . ahem . . . state of your soul,” the man said quickly. “I am in a position to do so. I am Lord Petalo, cousin to Lady Nori of Griault, whose star is on the rise, and my word carries weight.”
Ah, so it was to be blackmail. She was glad she hadn’t retired to her rooms earlier. She wondered if Lord Petalo was motivated by greed, or if it was more sinister—he might not care as much about his chosen kehok’s winning as he did about the emperor-to-be’s kehok’s dying. “I would need to know your definition of ‘profit greatly.’”
Lord Petalo leaned forward and whispered a sum in her ear, making it look as if he were whispering a flirtatious compliment.
She played along, with a twinkling laugh and a loud, “Oh my!”
In truth, the sum he named was worthy of an “oh my.” It would restore her family fortune. She could not imagine what kind of bets this man could be placing that would result in that kind of payoff for her and still leave a profit for himself. But was he truly that rich?
Well, he was not the only one who could research a peer. She didn’t doubt that with the assistance of the emperor-to-be, she could discover whether this man did in fact have the finances to make her such an offer. Or if he had another, wealthier backer behind his request.
“How can I refuse such a very generous offer?” Lady Evara said, fanning herself as if she were swooning at his attention. “But while the reward is substantial, so are the risks. I must wait for an opportunity to present itself.”
“Of course. Please know if you were to succeed, it would fill my heart with joy, and both our vaults with gold.” Bowing, he excused himself.
She stood for a moment longer in the shadow of a statue.
She could go to the emperor-to-be. This was precisely the kind of information that would interest him, especially if her instincts were correct and the bribe money was more than Lord Petalo could afford on his own.
But there was the little matter of the offer itself. It was high enough to make all her problems go away. She did owe it to herself and her future to thoroughly consider all possibilities and ramifications.
No longer the least bit tired, Lady Evara again drifted and twinkled around the room, searching for another helping of shrimp.
If she were the type of person her parents—and the augurs and Lord Petalo and anyone else who knew the truth about her—thought she was, then she’d take the gold, preserve her reputation, and secure her future.
If she wasn’t . . . Well, that’s an interesting question, isn’t it.
It was a very large amount of gold.
Five days, six races, and six wins, though more than one was tight enough to make the hair on the back of Tamra’s neck stand up. She kept a close eye on Raia for any signs of exhaustion, but the girl seemed to be floating on the exhilaration of the races. Which was how it should be.
“Race like it’s new,” Tamra advised her as Raia prepared for the next race. “It has to be a fresh hunger every time.” She then sent her to the starting gate yet again.
With the races coming so close together now, there wasn’t much for a trainer to do except hope, console, and encourage. She was continuing to make sure Raia slept and ate, and she regularly checked the kehok for any signs of stress or injury.
It didn’t make it any easier to have no control.
Taking her spot in the stands, Tamra waited for the start of the next race. She glanced up at the royal box—the emperor-to-be was there, as always, and Lady Evara had woven herself in among the royal courtiers. Tamra hadn’t spoken to her lately and wondered what had been keeping her busy. Probably parties with nobles.
“Ready! Prepare! Race!” the announcer cried.
Yanking her mind back into the present, she watched Raia and her racer thunder around the track. She catalogued every stride, thinking of how it could be improved—dig a little deeper there, lean a little into the wind. Raia took the turn flawlessly.
“She’s really good, Mama,” a familiar voice said beside her.
Tamra’s breath caught in her throat. She spun around and there was Shalla! Dropping to her knees, Tamra pulled her in tight until she yelped. “How is this possible? How are you here? Are you all right?” Releasing her, Tamra examined her daughter’s face, body, whole self. She’s here!
Shalla laughed. “I’m good! Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry so much, Mama.”
“But . . . you’re here!”
Then Tamra noticed Yorbel standing behind her with a big, wonderful, goofy smile on his face. “I arranged a transfer. Until the end of the race season, she’ll train at the temple in the Heart of Becar.”
Tamra, who never cried, felt tears pouring down her face. “Thank you. You are a good man.” She held Shalla close as, down on the track, Raia raced first across the finish line.
After the race, Raia dumped the lion’s dinner into his dish and then flopped down on the ground next to his cage. She knew she should drag herself to her cot and catch a few hours of sleep—and as soon as Trainer Verlas noticed her lying here, she knew her trainer would prod her into the tent for a proper rest—but for right now, this was fine.
She hoped that Shalla wouldn’t mind if she greeted her later. She was grateful to her for distracting Trainer Verlas. It was nice to have a few minutes without anyone fussing over her.
We did it, she thought. She tried to muster up enough energy to feel excited, but she just wanted to collapse on her cot and sleep. They’d won race after race, and it was nearly over. Only one race left: the final championship race. The only one that mattered.
From the cage, the lion huffed.
It was an unusual enough sound that she lifted herself off the ground to peer into the cage. He was sniffing at his dinner, and she suddenly realized she hadn’t checked it first. “Wait! Don’t eat it yet,” she told him.
His head shot up.
Hauling herself up to her feet, she unlatched the cage.
“Excuse me, lady?” one of the guards they’d borrowed from the palace said. “But are you sure you should go in there while he’s eating?”
“He won’t hurt me.” She knew Trainer Verlas would scold her for even thinking that—the second a rider started to trust her racer was the second she opened herself up to disaster. It happened often enough.
But my lion isn’t like other kehoks.
“Calm,” she said to the kehok. “I have to make sure it’s safe to eat.” Ever since Lady Evara had reported an attempt to bribe her to poison their racer, Raia had been checking her lion’s food. It was easy enough to do—a drop of medicine. If the meat sizzled, it was bad. No reaction, it was fine. She usually remembered to do it before she put the dinner into the cage.
The lion growled at her.
“Back,” she told him.
He retreated one step.
“Rider Raia, I must insist.” The guard clamped his hand on her arm. “He isn’t shackled.” She had taken to leaving the lion unchained within the cage—he was secure enough within it, and his muscles needed to be able to stretch after all the racing. Plus, she hated seeing him piled underneath all the iron.
The lion growled deep in his throat.
Raia glared at the guard. He was a new one. He must have missed Trainer Verlas’s “don’t mess with my rider” lecture, which she gave to all the guards sent from the palace. “It’s all right.”
He was sweating. “You can’t risk—”
As she opened her mouth to tell him to let go of her arm, the lion launched himself against the half-open cage door. She was knocked flat on her back, and her kehok landed directly on top of the guard.
The guard screamed.
“No! Stop!” Raia shouted.
But the lion didn’t move. He stayed on top of the guard, pinning him with his massive paws. She heard a commotion around her as other guards, trainers, and riders came running. One of them struck at her lion with a spiked whip, and her kehok snapped his jaws fast and hard toward the trainer.
Raia shouted with every bit of strength she had. “Into the cage!”
Growling and resisting, the lion retreated paw by paw.
Another guard tried to strike her kehok, but Raia jumped toward the guard and knocked his club to the side. With her focus broken, the lion surged forward, knocking the same guard—the one who had grabbed Raia—back down again.
Then Trainer Verlas was there. “Back into the cage!”
Together, Trainer Verlas and Raia focused their will on the lion. He made a whimpering kind of sound, eyed the prone guard, and then walked back into the cage calmly, as if he hadn’t attacked.
Rushing forward, Raia slammed the cage door shut and latched it.
“What happened?” Trainer Verlas demanded. She glared at all the onlookers who had gathered. “Show’s over,” she barked at them. “Go back to your tents.”
They scattered like gazelle.
“I don’t know,” Raia said. “He—” She turned to point at the guard, but during all the chaos, he’d slipped away and run. She had a terrible thought. A terrible, wonderful thought.
Turning back to the cage, she unlatched it again.
“Raia, don’t!” Trainer Verlas barked.
The lion didn’t budge. Raia grabbed the bowl of meat and pulled it out of the cage. Trainer Verlas shut the door and locked it.
Hands shaking, Raia pulled the vial with the poison-testing powder out of her tunic pocket. She sprinkled it on the meat. It sizzled the instant it touched.
Both Raia and Trainer Verlas stared in horror.
He knew! The lion had known—not only had he avoided the poisoned meat, but he’d targeted the one responsible and found a way to communicate all of that to his rider. “You clever boy,” she murmured. To Trainer Verlas, she said, “The guard, the one he attacked, tried to keep me from testing it.”
Trainer Verlas snarled to the remaining guards, “Who was he? Where did he go?”
One of the guards sputtered, “H-h-he was newly assigned. Came with all the correct paperwork—”
“I suggest you catch him,” Trainer Verlas said, with all the coiled fury of a chained kehok. “And hope the emperor-to-be is lenient about this negligence.”
Two of the guards immediately sprinted through the crowd, leaving one remaining by the cage. Until they returned, Raia swore she’d stay up and guard the lion. She felt herself begin to shake and didn’t know if it was from fear or rage or pride. He tried to hurt—kill!—my lion! But her lion had been too smart for him. Luckily. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Raia swore.
Yorbel and Shalla jogged over to join them. “What happened?” Yorbel demanded.
In a low voice, Trainer Verlas explained what had occurred. Raia pressed closer to the cage. As far as she could tell, he looked well. He didn’t seem to have eaten any of the poisoned meat. Somehow he knew. And he was trying to tell me. He’d kept his claws retracted when he pounced. He could have savaged that guard before anyone could stop him. But he didn’t.
“You’re good,” she whispered to him.
He met her eyes with his beautiful, sad golden ones.
“Do you know that?” she asked.
And he, to her shock, nodded his head.
That’s impossible, she thought. Kehoks couldn’t understand concepts like that. Orders, yes. Verbs. A few nouns. But an idea like “good”? Even though she’d always claimed she had a powerful connection with the black lion, she hadn’t thought it was anything like this. And she definitely didn’t think he was this aware a few weeks ago. She wondered if it was possible that his mind was growing.
Or that he was remembering who he used to be.
She wanted to ask him more questions, to see how much he understood about who he was and where he was and what they were trying to do. But there were still too many people around, lingering to see if there was going to be any more drama, gossiping about what they’d seen. She couldn’t let other people know he was different.
But she could know it in her heart. I’m right about him. I know I am. Somehow a piece of him knew what he was and who he had been, or sensed it. Touching the bronze lion pin on her rider’s uniform, she thought of Prince Dar and wished she had a way to tell him that a part of his brother still lived on.
At least until the assassins kill him, Raia thought, her hope dashed once again.
It didn’t even occur to her how close she was to her kehok’s cage—that, if he wanted to, he could have ended her life right then.
Instead, they both stared out into the night, as if they somehow could see their enemies coming.