It was late when Yorbel at last reached the sanctuary of his room in the augur temple. He shed his outer robe, hung his pendant on a hook, and then flopped onto his cot.
“Ow.”
The cot was too stiff to fall onto like that. But he kept lying there anyway, because he never wanted to move again. He felt like a rug that had been washed and beaten, yet was still very, very dirty.
It was not that the day had been physically exhausting—I’d rather have scaled a mountain or crossed the desert, he thought, if I didn’t think either would kill me—but it had been draining in every other way possible. Mentally, emotionally, and—most important—spiritually.
After the kehok’s rider had learned the truth and they’d all agreed to withhold it, Yorbel had spent a full hour being coached by Lady Evara, a morally questionable socialite, on how to be morally questionable. She’d grilled him not only on what he’d say if anyone asked him about the kehok, but also how he’d say it. Apparently the “how” was as important as the “what” when one lied, and he had to pay special attention to eliminating any twitch that would betray his guilt.
It had been an unsettling hour, to say the least.
Afterward, he felt as if his insides were coated in filth that he didn’t think would ever clean off. Plus, he and his clothes smelled faintly of kehok and stable.
As soon as he had enough energy, he was going to drag himself to the baths and soak in water that smelled like nothing but sandalwood and lavender, and then he was going to sleep uninterrupted until the dawn bell and not venture outside the temple for days. He just wanted—
A knock sounded on his door.
“By the River,” he muttered.
Peeling himself up off the cot, he lurched over to the door and opened it. He intended to tell whoever it was that he was indisposed, and unless the temple was burning down around his ears—
It was Gissa.
She was holding a plant and smiling at him. “I heard you were home.”
“Gissa!” He’d thought there was no one he wanted to see. I was wrong. Seeing her was better than a soak in sandalwood-scented water. Looking at her, knowing that if everything went as planned, he was going to spare her from her terrible task, helped more than he would have thought possible.
“May I come in?”
“Of course!” He backed away from the door so she could enter. She set the plant on his table and checked the leaves. “You fixed it.”
“Water it once a week. Just once a week.” She sat on the edge of his cot and then wrinkled her nose. “You may want to consider watering yourself more often.”
“I’ve been traveling.”
“With at least one fragrant companion, or so I’ve heard.”
He sank down onto the cot next to her. He wanted so badly to tell her what he’d found—she should know that she would not have to kill Dar and sully her soul. She could remain pure and still serve the temple and Becar. But he’d made promises.
She had to suffer only until the end of the race season, and then all would be well. Provided everything goes according to plan, he thought. They were placing a lot of hope in the hands of a young girl. Of course, the rider wasn’t alone—she had her trainer. He’d seen the core strength in Tamra Verlas, and he trusted that.
“Hello, Yorbel? You look as if you’re listening to bells playing miles away.”
“Sorry. I am overtired. Yes, you heard correctly—I purchased a kehok to start the emperor-to-be’s racing program.”
“Why, by the sands, would you do such a thing? You didn’t mention the emperor-to-be setting you on this task when I talked to you before you left.”
Ahh, that was true. “It was my own initiative,” he admitted. Also true. “I thought it would be a pleasant distraction for the emperor-to-be. He has been consumed by worries that he’s powerless to alleviate.”
“So you bought him a pet monster? Why not a puppy? Or a kitten?”
“The people seem to enjoy the races,” Yorbel said. “I thought it would give Dar a connection to the people. Frankly, I only wanted to help.”
Gissa laughed. “You are . . . you are who we all should be. Good.”
He almost winced. Good people did not deceive their closest friends, especially when the truth could lift a worry from her shoulders. But he thought of Dar and instead said, “Tell me what I’ve missed here. How fares everyone in the temple? How are you? Have you enjoyed being home?”
“Oh, no, you aren’t changing the subject so easily! You’re the one who went out and had adventures. Tell me about this kehok you found. I admit I have never seen one up close.”
“Most are repugnant—slime, tentacles, jaws, a melding of animals that shouldn’t be associated with one another. In contrast, the beast I purchased for Dar is oddly beautiful, like a statue of a lion made of metal. But because of that, it is even more disturbing, as you look at it and know it shouldn’t exist in the world.” It was horrifying that the late emperor had become a creature that felt so wrong when you looked at it. That should never have been his fate. He should have been reborn as a being that was part of the natural order and granted peace in his next life for the good he’d done as emperor. His glory should have been remembered in murals and statues and pillars proclaiming his achievements.
Gissa patted his arm. “You must be relieved to be home and done with that.” She stood as if preparing to leave. “You look exhausted, and I’m afraid I’ve burdened you further with my curiosity.” She didn’t cross to the door, though.
“Talking with you is never a burden.” He meant that. Simply being with a friend already made him feel lighter. “It’s only that this was a difficult day. I am not suited to the tasks I have assumed, though I suppose one could argue I have only myself to blame.”
She laughed again. It was nice to hear her laugh, so free and uncomplicated by all he knew and wished he didn’t know. “At least you didn’t try to read the kehok. Imagine how you’d feel if you sank your mind into that filth. Dirt can be washed off.” Peering at him, she frowned. She sat down again, closer to him, and placed her hands over his. “Oh, no, you did read the monster. Yorbel, you shouldn’t have. What did you see? Unburden it to me. Perhaps that will restore some measure of lightness to your own soul.”
“I saw so much darkness.”
“And?”
He wanted to tell her all and spill the filth from his own heart. She was right—if he could unburden himself of even a bit of it, he would lighten his load. But that would be unfair to Gissa to ask her to carry his secrets and guilt and pain, especially since she’d have to keep it from the other high augurs. He couldn’t ask that of her. Once this was over and she was free, then she could know all. Instead, he spoke the lie he’d practice with Lady Evara, and felt himself shrivel inside. “This kehok has been through many lives as a monster. His humanity was a distant shadow. He must have lived and died as a man many decades ago. I could not see clearly what horrors he committed that doomed him to his fate, and for that I am grateful. All I know is the pain he caused eats at his soul even now, driving him forward.”
“An ancient monster is its own particular kind of horror.”
“He felt and caused much torment,” Yorbel agreed.
“You must regret looking so deep into the well of depravity,” Gissa said. “Can I assume you will not go plunging your soul into any more kehoks? If the emperor-to-be acquired one such beast, he’ll want more. You won’t be reading all their souls too, will you?”
Yorbel was able to answer this vehemently and honestly. “Absolutely not! I have done all the kehok reading I ever intend to do in my lifetime. There is nothing that could persuade me to stare into that brand of oblivion again.” He didn’t intend to even go near the stables until this was all over. His part in this was done.
Gissa smiled. “Good. I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you, then. Stay safe within these walls, Yorbel. You are exactly the sort of augur Becar needs in difficult times.”
Her sweet vote of confidence felt like an arrow striking his heart. Rising, he walked her to the door and thanked her again for saving his plant and taking on his responsibilities while he was absent. “I believe it will be a long while before I travel again, even outside of this room.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.” Rising up on her tiptoes, she lightly kissed his cheek. “We all missed you and are happy you’re home.”
He closed the door behind her and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the smooth wood. If we win the races, then Gissa’s soul will be safe.
And if we don’t win . . . If they started to lose, if the plan began to unravel, if the secret leaked, if anything at all went wrong . . . then I will tell her—and all the high augurs—the truth.
It’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid, Tamra thought.
Arms crossed, she watched from beside the track as Raia guided the black lion through the turns. The lion built speed on the straightaway. He had so much strength and power in his muscles that he seemed to be reaching out and yanking the earth beneath him, then throwing it behind him. But as he neared the turn, he slowed, only slightly. Any other observer might have missed it, but not Tamra.
She knew it was fear—Raia’s fear, about all this—that was slowing him. “Dig into the turns!” Tamra called. “Embrace them!” The turns could be an asset if you approached them the right away. The lion needed to throw himself into them as if they were a pole they could swing around, but he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do it if his rider held him back. “Use them to power you forward! You want the turns! Turns are your friend!”
Leaning forward, Raia and the kehok raced toward the next turn. This time, they didn’t slow—and the lion lost his grip. His hindquarters whipped out, and Raia screamed as she and the lion skidded sideways and slammed into the wall of the track.
Beside Tamra, Lady Evara gasped.
“She’s fine,” Tamra said, and vaulted over the track wall. She landed in the sands and winced. Shouldn’t have done that, she thought. She half strode and half limped across the track to where Raia was checking over the lion for any injuries.
“He’s not fragile,” Tamra snapped. “And neither are you.”
“What am I doing wrong?” Raia asked.
“You see the turn, and you hold back—you see it as another obstacle to victory, instead of seeing it as a tool you can use. A lot of kehoks lose speed on the turns. If you can gain speed, you’ll leave them choking on your sand.”
“But if we don’t slow—”
“He has to dig in harder on the turns. Plant his paws and push off. Think of a swimmer reaching the end of a pool—how does she switch directions?”
Raia’s eyes widened as she understood. “She bends her knees, twists, and pushes.”
“Exactly what you need to do.” Placing her hands on Raia’s shoulders, she turned her to face the track. Across the sands, Lady Evara was cooling herself with a gilded paper fan. “See the turns as walls you can use. Want the turns, because they’re where you can gain the advantage.”
Raia smiled. “Got it.”
She mounted her racer again and guided him back onto the track. Tamra backed up to the wall and ducked through the gate rather than trying to hop over it. “Do it again! Now!”
Raia and the kehok shot forward.
Yes! Tamra thought as they approached the curve. The kehok wasn’t slowing. He was running low to the ground, keeping his body steady while his legs pumped—
And then a clatter behind her echoed across the track.
The lion faltered. His head snapped toward the source of the noise, as Raia too glanced across the sands. Reaching the turn, they took it at a mere quarter of the speed as before.
Tamra spun around, glaring, to see who had broken her rider’s concentration. Two men had entered through the black gate and were greeting Lady Evara in the stands. “By the River . . .” She recognized them. Everyone who knew anything about the Becaran Races knew them. “No, no, absolutely not.” I do not have time for this bullshit.
The younger man, who was unmistakably Gette of Carteka, the winner of last year’s Becaran Races, was bowing to Lady Evara, lifting her hand, and kissing the back of it—the same Gette who had beaten Raia in her first qualifier. Beside him was his trainer, Artlar. They’d caused the commotion, leading a slew of their servants into the stable grounds, whom Artlar proceeded to order to unload crates and trunks from a gilded cart. Artlar was a seasoned trainer: a decade older than Tamra with a claim to training multiple grand champions over the years. He’d never ridden in the races himself, but he was still famous across all of Becar. He was tall, well-muscled, with a thick beard that covered a web of scars from his early training days—it had been many years since Artlar had suffered any injury from a kehok.
Tamra marched toward them. She tried to erase the memories that spilled into her mind: the final championship race, as her rider lay dead in the sands, the blood of other riders and racers pooling around him, as this rider ran his racer through them. Its hooves had pummeled the soft bodies. Blood had splashed with each strike of its hooves, and the rider had not slowed. He had slammed through the finish and then exalted in his win.
She hadn’t wanted pity, either during or after the race. But what he’d done was worse.
He had run through their bodies. He hadn’t known they were already dead. If they hadn’t been, he would have been reviled and fined, just as Tamra had been, but since they were, he received not even a slap on the wrist as he was awarded his prize. Later, when asked—she’d heard the reports of his boasting—he said the weak deserved to fall.
She wanted to wipe that smarmy smile off his face.
She gained control of herself by the time she reached the stands. As the Lady with the Sword as her witness, she wasn’t going to smile at these bastards, but she was going to resist the urge to spit in their faces. “You’ve interrupted our practice.” It came out like a snarl.
“Your rider has some trouble taking that racer through the turns,” Artlar said, with a nod toward Raia. His voice was friendly, even jolly, and loud without trying to be loud, as if he’d never learned how to lower his voice so it didn’t boom. “Not to worry. Gette will have him at top speed.”
“Raia is his rider,” Tamra snapped. “I shouldn’t need to tell you how important it is that she is the only one who rides him, especially this close to the next race. The tighter their bond, the stronger the control.”
“Which is why we have no time to waste.” Artlar smacked Tamra’s shoulder as if they were buddies. He is not my buddy, Tamra thought. He then turned to his protege. “Gette, fetch your gear! I want you to take that monstrosity for a spin before his muscles cool off and tighten. Let’s see what we’re working with here.”
With her hands on her hips, Tamra blocked Gette. “You aren’t working with our kehok.”
Artlar glanced at Lady Evara. “Deeply sorry you weren’t informed, but yes, we are. Special request from the emperor-to-be. He wants the finest to train his fastest.”
Tamra shot a look at Lady Evara. She had a fixed smile plastered on her lips. She’s furious, Tamra thought. And that made her think that Artlar was telling the truth.
Aur’s balls. This can’t be happening. We’ve worked for this! We earned this! If the black lion were to race, then Raia should be his rider. Out on the track, Raia was working on the turn, pretending their practice hadn’t been interrupted. She was performing the maneuver beautifully, with no idea that it was pointless.
This was going to crush her.
Glaring at Artlar, Tamra felt her hands curl into fists, and Lady Evara gave a slight shake of her head as if to say, Don’t. This wasn’t a battle she could win with words or fists. Not if the emperor-to-be had invited them here.
It made a terrible kind of sense. Prince Dar wanted his brother’s vessel to win. Who better than the men who had won last year? Traditionally, the winning rider would be gifted with a life of luxury and, if he didn’t wish to retire, first pick of any kehok he wanted for next year’s Becaran Races. But a summons from the emperor-to-be . . . Who’d say no to that?
And neither of us can stop them, Tamra thought.
She stood, feeling helpless and hating feeling that way, as Gette pushed past her with a smug smile on his lips. His trainer, Artlar, proceeded to oversee the unpacking of their equipment. She watched them open a black wardrobe filled with leather armorlike uniforms. Gette pulled a tunic over his head and strapped on calf guards. Then one of their servants began unloading a variety of whips ranging from leather straps to whips with spiked balls at the end. She didn’t doubt Gette intended to use them on the kehok, unaware he’d be whipping the late emperor.
“The emperor-to-be won’t approve of that style of training,” Tamra warned him. But would Prince Dar ever know? He was in his palace and would want to keep his distance to avoid raising any suspicion. She felt a terrible helpless anger curling in her stomach—it was cousin to the way she’d felt during that final race last season.
“The emperor-to-be wants results,” Artlar said. Then he winked at her. “Just watch as we deliver them.” He then vaulted over the track wall without wincing and strode across the sands, toward where Raia and the kehok were practicing. He had a weighted club belted to his waist.
Lady Evara leaned closer to Tamra and said in a soft voice, “Will it damage my soul if I hope the kehok eviscerates them?”
Tamra said just as softly, “If it does damage one’s soul, then you and I will be reborn as the same type of beast.”
A ghost of a smile flitted over Lady Evara’s face. “There must be a way we can protest this. Changing a racer’s rider this close to a race is madness. I am here as a race consultant. The emperor-to-be should listen to me.”
Tamra felt a flare of hope. Lady Evara was persuasive. If she could talk to Prince Dar, then maybe he’d change his mind and restore their racer. “You think you can get an audience?” It would need to happen quickly. Every minute Artlar and Gette were here was a minute less of training that Raia—
“Truthfully? No. I have yet to convince even the head servant to grant us rooms in the palace. Apparently, my position in Peron does not translate as well as I’d hoped in the Heart of Becar, and the court at large is unaware we are in the emperor-to-be’s favor. I am an outsider here.”
“Maybe Augur Yorbel . . .”
“If he ever returns.”
She was right. Augur Yorbel had given no indication that he’d return. He’d acted as if once he persuaded the emperor-to-be to keep the secret that his task was done. His last goodbye had felt final, which disappointed Tamra rather more than it should have.
“Though,” Lady Evara added, “perhaps I could send a messenger wight to his temple, saying we require Augur Yorbel’s advice. If we could convince him to see reason, then he could arrange a meeting with Prince Dar. It’s worth a try, at least.” She squeezed out of the viewing seats and hurried toward the gate.
Across the track, Tamra saw Raia step in front of the kehok, blocking him from Artlar. “Uh-oh.” This was not the time for Raia to learn to be brave, not if these men were telling the truth. You did not go against the emperor-to-be’s express wishes. As much as Tamra wanted to kick these men off the training grounds, she was well aware that she didn’t have the power here.
Hurrying across the sands, Tamra saw Raia was shaking. Behind her, the lion was growling—his metal mane was spiked vertically around his snarled face. Calm, she projected at the kehok.
“Raia, this is Trainer Artlar,” Tamra said as she reached them. “His rider, Gette, won the Becaran Races last year, and the emperor-to-be apparently requested they—”
Artlar cut her off with a broad, fake smile. “You’ve been very brave, little girl. I saw you place third in your very first race—that’s excellent! You should feel proud of yourself. I’m sure you have a bright future in racing ahead of you.”
Raia glanced from him to Tamra and back. “Um, thank you?” She glanced across the track at Gette, who was pulling on heavy red leather gloves. “He didn’t mention he was the grand champion.”
“He’s a modest boy,” Artlar said.
“I hadn’t noticed that,” Raia murmured. “Why is he on our training track?”
“Because the emperor-to-be has commanded it, and it’s not for you to question. If you’ll step aside, we’ll take it from here.” He moved closer to the kehok, his shadow falling across the lion so that only the lion’s golden eyes were visible in the patch of darkness.
“He’s unsettled,” Raia warned him. She was shifting from foot to foot, as agitated as the kehok. “You should step back. He doesn’t like to be cornered.”
“Helpful information.” Artlar lunged past her, so fast and large that the kehok was pinned against the wall, and slammed the weighted club into the side of the lion’s face. “The key is to keep him unsettled. Off-balance, so that you are always the one in control.”
“Stop! You’re scaring him!” Raia yelped.
“Trainer Verlas, haven’t you taught your rider yet that these monsters are not like other creatures? You can’t expect them to have the same emotions. You certainly can’t pity them. That’s when accidents happen, when you believe you have a bond with a creature. Such thinking can lead to tragedies.”
Tamra knew he was talking about last year’s tragedy, but she refused to be baited. Last year had been a miscalculation. She’d let herself become blinded by her thirst to win. “A kehok who fears his rider races against him, not with him.”
“Foolishness, born of softness.”
“If you knew me,” Tamra said, “you’d know there’s nothing soft about me.” There had to be a way to stop this. If this kehok ran the races, then Raia had to be the one to ride him, because both Raia and Tamra needed the prize money to secure their futures. Without this opportunity, everything they’d accomplished up to this point was just so much sand.
He snorted. “I know all I need to know about you. And right now I know you’re delaying our work. Gette, this kehok is ready for you!” Again, he slammed the club into the side of the kehok’s face.
The lion fixed his eyes on Raia.
Tamra saw that Raia’s eyes were wet. No crying in front of assholes. She grabbed Raia’s hand and pulled her back with her toward the stands. Lady Evara had vanished, hopefully to send a wight to the temple. “Believing you have control when a kehok is afraid is narrow thinking,” Tamra lectured. “The fastest speeds don’t come from fear. They come from need.” She didn’t know whether she was talking to Artlar, Raia, or herself. Plenty of riders used fear as their primary motivator.
In her day, though, she’d beaten every one of them.
But it’s not my day anymore.
She should have expected this to happen, once they’d learned what, or who, this kehok was. Of course the emperor-to-be wouldn’t want to take any risks with a damaged trainer and an untested rider. This kehok had to win for Emperor Zarin to be reborn. Could she blame him?
“I can’t believe you’re allowing this,” Raia said. “That ‘champion’ has no right. He’s messing with my racer!”
“I’ll find a way to—” She stopped. “Wait, repeat that.”
“He’s with my racer?”
Ordinary kehoks didn’t form any kind of attachment. But this was no ordinary kehok, a fact she was positive the emperor-to-be had not shared with Artlar and Gette. And Raia had spent the past several weeks bonding with the black lion in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe the lion wouldn’t be so easy for them to control.
Maybe Gette would fail.
“Raia, listen to me carefully,” Tamra said, speaking softly so her voice wouldn’t carry across the sands. “We can’t interfere with them—Prince Dar himself invited them here. You have to resist the urge to control the lion in any way. But you can remind him he’s yours.”
“He knows—”
“Look at him and say, ‘You’re my racer, and I’m your rider.’”
Pivoting, Raia didn’t hesitate. “You’re my racer, and I’m your rider!”
The lion let out a roar, and then subsided with a whimper when Gette struck him in the flank with a spiked club. “Trainer Verlas, control your student!” Artlar called.
Tamra flashed a fake smile at Artlar and Gette. “Apologies! Excitable youth. I promise we’ll be an audience from now on.” She plopped herself into Lady Evara’s fancy cushioned chair and propped her feet up on the track wall.
“What now?” Raia whispered.
“Sit with me and watch. Do nothing else.” Tamra patted the chair next to her. She was sweating more than she should be, but it was important to look confident and unconcerned in front of Artlar and Gette. Small victories were still victories.
Reluctantly, Raia sank into the chair.
“Do you want to take bets on how long they’ll last?” She kept her voice light, as if she were certain they’d fail and didn’t have a worry in the world.
“You . . . don’t think they can do it?” Raia asked.
“He’s your racer. Not theirs.” Please, Lady, let me be right. If this kehok was truly different than the others, more intelligent, more . . . She hesitated in thinking the word “loyal.” No matter his lineage, he was still a kehok.
“But he’s a kehok,” Raia said, as if echoing her thoughts. “He’s special, yes, but he doesn’t remember who he—”
Tamra cut her off before she said anything she shouldn’t. “He remembers we promised him his freedom. That’s what he races for. Freedom. He won’t race out of fear. Not your kehok.” I hope, she thought.
Raia blinked at her, and then slowly, tentatively, she began to smile.
Despite all their bluster about being ready, it took Gette and Artlar the better part of an hour before they had the track set up with all their tools and other supplies: several different saddles, an array of whips and weapons, hurdles and hoops for the kehok to jump over and through as it learned obedience. As they prepared, the trainer and rider each took turns coming over to the kehok at seemingly random intervals to terrorize him—hurting him while he was chained to the wall to prove their dominance.
It was difficult not to interfere. But if this was to play out the way she hoped it would, then she had to let them fail entirely on their own. She took calming breaths to try to keep herself lounging in the chair, rather than leaping onto the sands.
“Trainer Verlas, I can’t stand this.” Raia shot to her feet. “Not with a rider like Gette.”
Tamra put her hand on Raia’s wrist. “You must stand this,” she hissed. “You might win this battle, but you’d lose the war.”
She heard a gate open and glanced back to see Lady Evara had returned, with Augur Yorbel. He looked decidedly unhappy to be here. Nudging Raia, Tamra vacated the chairs. She didn’t say a word as they swept past her, but Lady Evara’s gaze lingered on her, questioning.
Tamra nodded. This will work, she thought. I’ve never been wrong about a kehok.
Her thoughts flashed back to last year’s final race, and she firmly pushed the memory away. She was rarely wrong about a kehok.
Adjusting her massive hat—a tower of flowers—Lady Evara took her seat, graciously offering the seat next to her to Augur Yorbel. Tamra couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other. She leaned against the track wall with Raia beside her. Across the sands, she saw Artlar had noticed the arrivals.
“The Great Artlar has an audience now,” Tamra said softly. “He’ll begin.”
She was right.
Only a few minutes after Lady Evara and Augur Yorbel arrived, Artlar unchained the kehok from the wall, while Gette whipped him in the face with one of the spiked whips.
The kehok yelped.
Tamra saw Augur Yorbel start up out of the chair, but Lady Evara held him back, no doubt telling him that the new trainer and rider had been requested by the emperor-to-be.
Lady Evara caught Tamra’s eyes as Augur Yorbel settled back down, and Lady Evara winked at her. It was as clear as if she’d spoken: Let the bastards hang themselves.
Tamra wasn’t certain when she and Lady Evara became partners in all this, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but it was nice to have her on her side. Tamra certainly wouldn’t want to be her enemy.
On the sands, the trainer and rider had affixed a saddle onto the kehok. Tamra recognized the type: it had spikes beneath it, so that with every shift of the rider’s weight, the kehok would receive a jolt of pain, to encourage him to obey the rider’s slightest movement. It was a vicious saddle. She’d never let any of her students use one.
It wasn’t because she was soft—it was because tools can fail. Fear can backfire. The one thing that wouldn’t fail you was a belief in yourself, a solid determination that tied you to the moment.
Gette mounted the lion.
Tamra held her breath. This was it.
Stepping back, the trainer barked an order. Gette wielded a short whip with spikes all along the barrel. He swung it in a circle, building up speed, as he guided the kehok toward the starting line.
The lion turned his head, looking directly at Raia.
“What do I do?” Raia whispered.
Artlar had noticed the kehok’s behavior. He jabbed a finger toward Tamra and Raia, and shouted, “No interference!”
“Understood!” Tamra called back. “This is all you!” To Raia, she advised, “Say nothing. Do nothing. Keep calm.” She hoped she was making the right decision here. She was certain this would work. Mostly certain.
Ninety percent certain.
Eighty-five . . .
And I thought I wasn’t a gambler.
Beside her, Raia was squeezing the edge of the track wall so hard that Tamra thought she’d break it. “They’re hurting him! I can’t do nothing!”
“Then try trusting your kehok.”
Raia gawked at her. “You always say never trust a kehok.”
“I know I say that. And it’s true, if you’re trusting them to be something they’re not. But you should trust your kehok to be what he is.” She thought of how he’d run off the track the first time he and Raia had raced together. “Remember what you said to him when we first met? You said, ‘The only way you’ll win races is if I’m your rider.’”
Raia nodded.
“Trust him to remember too.”
On the track, Artlar shouted, “Go!”
The lion took off fast, as fast as he’d ever run for Raia. Shouting, Gette whipped him, and the lion ran harder, faster, barreling toward the turn without slowing.
In that instant, Tamra doubted everything she’d believed and said. She’d been wrong. He was going to run for them. He wasn’t—
And then the kehok veered sharply left, to the wall where Gette and Artlar had set up the array of weapons. He smashed full speed into the stand, and weapons flew off the wall, clattering to the ground and flying up to hit his rider.
Gette flew backward off the lion, crashing hard onto his back on the racetrack.
“Stop!” Artlar commanded.
But the lion didn’t pay any attention to Artlar’s order or to the downed rider. Instead, he pivoted and ran straight at the trainer. Artlar readied his club, and the kehok leaped toward him and then sailed over his head toward the stable.
The lion ran through the door, disappearing inside.
Groaning, Gette got to his feet. He was bleeding from his forehead.
He finally had his first scar.
Lady Evara was laughing.
“Raia, do you think you could show these gentlemen how it’s done?” Tamra asked calmly. She felt like melting into a puddle of relief, but she didn’t allow that to show.
“Yes, Trainer Verlas.” She sprinted to the stables.
A moment later, the lion padded out of the stable. Raia had removed the saddle, as well as every single one of his chains and shackles, and was riding him bareback toward the track with no restraints and no weapons. Tamra nearly yelped—she’d just meant for Raia to ride him. Removing every chain was taking a large risk.
On the other hand, she was making a very clear statement.
Raia rode the lion in a slow, stately circle around the track, demonstrating her control. The lion’s eyes and her eyes were fixed on Artlar and Gette, who stood frozen in the spot where Gette had fallen.
Very politely and very softly, Raia said to Gette, “Such a shame to see a boy as pretty as you damaged. Someone should have told you you’re not going to win. You’re just not thirsty enough.”
As Raia rode the kehok back into the stable, Tamra thought she’d burst with pride. “Augur Yorbel, could you please inform the emperor-to-be that his prize racer will only run for one rider?”
“I will tell him,” Augur Yorbel said with a sigh.
“Thank you,” Tamra said, and then she smiled at both Artlar and Gette, a wolflike smile that stretched her scar.
This kehok may be a nightmare, but he’s our nightmare.