My legs bounced and my fists tapped against my lap as the dragons completed their second lap. By now, Covington’s golden-scaled dragon, Thuron, was in the lead, flying above the rest like he owned that space. He was regal in flight, each wingbeat so well timed it looked like he was dancing rather than racing.
But the dragon beneath him, one belonging to a man named Count Elmore, I recalled from the little booklet, was giving him a run for his money, flying so close I feared the beasts would collide. After the second lap, the count’s dragon scrambled into the highest position. The crowd roared, and several of the nobles in the queen’s box shouted curses.
My fingers tapped against my lips. Three laps.
Four. A trumpet blared, marking the halfway point.
“Go ahead,” Lord Fairfax said, lifting his arm toward the balcony railing. I shot forward, leaning over the railing to watch the racers bank into the turn at the far end of the arena.
The turns were amazing to watch. Wings spread wide, tipped almost directly at the ground, the dragons sailed around the curve, each one falling slightly as gravity pulled them down.
All but one.
Thuron timed his turn well, banking not down but up as he hit the curve. When the dragons leveled out, beating their wings furiously to gain speed and height, he’d moved up to the top position again.
I tapped my fist on the railing, hoping the count’s dragon could still pull off a win. Covington’s dragonsalwayswon. It was high time someone else was crowned champion.
By the seventh lap, a green dragon who’d been behind was putting on speed and closing on Thuron, and my heart was exploding in my chest.
Duke Covington’s dragon let out a guttural growl as the racers entered the eighth and final lap. He beat his wings to lift away from the dragon fighting for speed beneath him. The first turn was finished. One more to go. Then he dropped from the top position like a pistol aimed at the ground. He gained so much speed he left the other dragons behind. One length. Two.
By the final turn, Thuron had no one near enough to catch up.
The duke’s dragon blazed past the finish line right before my eyes, the wind in his wake pulling my hair across my face seconds before the count’s dragon blasted by.
Cheers erupted from the stands. People below waved little flags over their heads, signaling which rider they supported. Most of the flags were crimson and gold.
Fairfax joined me at the balcony railing once more. He stood with hands clasped at his waist, almost like he was bored. “What did you think?”
“That was incredible!”
He peered over at me. “Ah, but was it?”
Confused by his words, I turned to watch the other nobles file out of the box, smiles on their faces, a slight hurry to their steps.
“Is that it?” I asked, heart still thundering.
Over his shoulder, Fairfax watched them go. “Oh. They’ll be back before the next race. Excited to collect their winnings, I imagine.”
“They bet on Thuron,” I said, matter-of-factly.
He nodded. “Just like the duke wanted.”
I tensed. “Are you saying…the races are…?”
“Fixed. Yes.” Fairfax moved back toward the center of the balcony, picking up the small booklet I’d perused. “I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that if I wish to change anything, I’ve got to do it from here, you know? Right here.” He held the book up. “Hit them where it hurts, you see.”
I didn’t see. Not at all. “Hit whom, sir?”
“This!” He dropped the booklet on the table with a softwhop.“This whole thing”—he flicked his hand in the air—“has got to change.”
“Dragon racing?”
“Yes!” he boomed. All the staff had left the balcony as well. We were alone.
I flinched, but he didn’t notice as he walked to pour himself another drink.
“It’s about time someone did something about it. I know I’m not the only one who’s figured it out.”
