“Ready, miss?”
I shook my head, feeling a blush rising that the man likely misread as a lack of funds rather than rage. The man offered me a polite bow and slipped away.
“Wise,” said Lord Fairfax, startling me as he sidled up from behind me. He tilted his head toward the balcony’s edge. His other guests were lined up around the food table. I followed him toward the railing, squinting as the sun struck my face.
Despite the strangeness of being here, of mingling with nobility, I couldn’t fight the excitement rising inside me.
“Did you look at it?” Fairfax asked, turning to glance back at the table holding the booklet. I nodded. “Good. Then perhaps you noticed something.”
“All but two of the dragons either belong to Covington or were bred by him.”
“Didn’t take you long to see it.” He swayed, resting a hand on his stomach. “The strange thing is, everyone sees it, and no one does anything about it.”
My eyes scanned the stone walls of the arena, striped with long banners indicating the noble houses whose dragons would be racing today. Burgundy and silver, blue and yellow, gold and brown. I paused when I spotted the crimson and gold of House Covington.
Fairfax spun toward me. “I want to do something about it.” At my blank stare, he grinned and lifted his brows. “I believe you are just the person I need to prove a point I’ve been trying to make for almost a decade now.” Quieter, he added, “Your actions at the lair earlier prove that you are exactly what I’m looking for. By the way, how exactly did you become so comfortable around dragons, Miss Mireaux?” He took a sip of his drink.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I…have always been fascinated by them and…working at the Covingtons’ lair showed me they are not as frightening as some people think.”
The nobleman assessed me for several long seconds. “You really had no experience with them before that?” Skepticism sharpened his tone.
I shrugged. “I’ve read about them.”
He sputtered. “How, might I ask? Considering books about dragons—well, save the fictional tales—are reserved for bonded riders.” His posture, the small pinch between his eyes, told me I needed to impress him with my answer or he might dismiss me. For some reason, I didn’t think a lie, however artfully crafted, would suffice.
With a long inhale, I confessed, “When the library in Belleville burned five years ago, I…might have taken a few books from the wreckage.” The only people who knew that weremy mother and Evie. Bennett didn’t even know, but this man had seen firsthand that I knew more about dragons than most bottomsiders. He didn’t seem the type to turn me in for knowing too much, but I couldn’t be certain. I didn’t tell him that I’d taken the books that had been in the locked sections of the library, the rooms no one but the godborn could enter. He could probably figure that part out on his own.
Fairfax’s shoulders began to shake, and a moment later, the sound of his quiet chuckling grew into a loud cackle. “Say, you must have been quick about it. The authorities had the whole thing roped off before they’d even finished putting out the flames.” He paused, as if waiting for me to elaborate. I didn’t, but I placed one hand on the balcony railing, then flipped it palm up, where the scars shone.
His choked guffaw told me that he understood.
From somewhere to our left, nine dragons shot from an opening in the wall and flew in a figure eight pattern, their saddles affixed with long, thin banners, each a different color, that looked no bigger than ribbons from here. My heart leaped at the sight of their riders, tucked low over the necks of their dragons. The crowd below erupted in a thunderous roar.
It was all I could do to keep my mouth from hanging open. These dragons were acrobats, and their riders had to be strong to stay so secure in the saddles, even with the straps holding their legs in place.
Fairfax promised to continue our chat after the race and excused himself to take his seat among his other guests. I quickly gathered pieces of cheese and fruit on a plate and perched on one of the gilded chairs, barely able to contain myself, knees bouncing and heart racing.
After a few minutes of watching these dragons perform, a man in old-fashioned tails and a top hat stood at the edge ofanother balcony directly in the apex of the arena’s curve. His hands lifted at his sides, and the crowd fell silent.
“Welcome to the two-hundredth annual King’s Race. It is my honor to announce that the queen is in attendance today.” He lifted his hand toward the largest box on the opposite side of the arena. A woman in white gloves and a hat waved elegantly at the crowd. She was greeted with cheers, mostly, but a few deep voices sounded their disapproval. The queen lowered her arm and the announcer continued, “Today, glory will be attained. Today, history will be made.” After the applause died down, he shouted, “Let the race begin!” His voice carried over the arena, which exploded in a roar like a river breaking through a dam.
Energy pulsed in the air, tripling my heartbeat. The racers released the ribbons from their saddles, and the fabric snaked and writhed as each piece fell to the arena floor. The riders looped around the vast arena, wings beating and tails whipping. They were beautiful in motion, every movement graceful and full of power. My plate clanked as I set it down with trembling fingers.
The nine dragons assembled in a single line, not horizontally, but vertically, beside a tall white column just on the other side of the balcony’s railing. The breeze from their wingbeats as they hovered in place pushed my hair from my face. The glint of sun on their scales dazzled my eyes. I felt close enough to reach out and touch them.
The man in tails lifted a small pistol high in the air. The leather saddles, equipped with straps that secured the riders in place, squeaked as the racers adjusted themselves, legs bent, bodies pressed low to the backs of their dragons. I could see the determination on their faces, the tension in their white knuckles.
A smile lit my face.
Then the gun rang out and the dragons shot from the starting line. I leaped to my feet to watch as they flew down the length ofthe arena, but no one else on the balcony stood. I forced myself to sit back down, leaning as far forward as I could.
The racers followed the curve of the arena and soon were back in view.
I gasped at the sight. The dragons flew over and under each other in a mad tangle, vying for the top position. I’d read about this, but watching it was far more stressful. The highest position was the favored one, as the racer could shoot downward and gain a little momentum from gravity. But the top spot in the vertical race was only valuable if the racer maintained it until the final lap, where the winning dragon could drop like a bullet toward the finish line, cutting off his opponents.
The racers blasted past the balcony, a rush of air washing over us.
Eight laps would be over in a matter of minutes. I could hardly breathe.
