Now I stand on the grounds of my family’s tournament track. The crowds don’t roar—not yet—but the murmuring of thousands coming to watch the first big practice race of the season rumbles through me.
In front of me lies the lake I almost drowned in, crystal blue. The towering stands already half-filled with people exuberant for a good match. And good means exciting. My last race was exciting enough for them. Thefavorite crashing and almost dying. Today, I hope for dullness. Maybe I’ll even throw the race to not catch the Revers scout’s attention. I don’t want to race in college and definitely not professionally. But I also don’t want a recruiter to mark me as a bad rider, making me ineligible for the all-around scholarship.
I drove in with Farren, but she’s already headed to the women’s changing area. I should do the same in my own designated locker rooms, but I’m hesitating.
On the way in Farren asked if I felt ready to be up in the air again. I’d told her I was. I’m not so sure now. I’ve been flying Hort over the rolling cliffs of the sanctuary leisurely for his physical therapy, not at the speed that’s needed during a sprint like this. Plus, today I won’t have Hort to rely on. I’m riding Bex, the dragon that not five weeks ago tried to kill Farren and me. I couldn’t refuse since everyone assumes I had complete control over her. To contradict that means endangering Farren. Because if it wasn’t me silver-crafting, who did?
I tear myself away from the lake, heft the bag filled with my gear over my shoulder, and head in to change.
Colm’s already dressed, bronze plating across his entire chest and arms. Looks like my dad kept his promise and didn’t suspend his flying license for what he did to Hendrix. I checked on the roster outside. He’s flying Thorn, another young silver dragon, who has even less experience and is known to throw frantic cutting wings if frightened. He’s a fine, fast dragon in the right, reassuring hands. Those hands are certainly not Colm’s.
Colm slams his foot into his boot, aggressive even when tying his shoes. “Have you gotten into Farren’s pants yet?” he suddenly asks.
My entire body stills. “What did you just say?”
“You’re living with her, right? Can’t be that hard when you’re right on top of her anyway.”
“Farren and I aren’t like that.” The words so similar to what I said to Jeffrey, yet with Colm I’m irritated beyond measure.
Colm shakes his head. “That’s bleak since you’ve pined after that copper for years.”
It takes everything I have not to hit him. “I don’t like her like that,” I lie through my teeth. It’s a familiar lie. One I’ve been telling for a long time, especially to Colm and the other riders.
“So, you don’t mind if I go for her?” He’s prodding. “After all these years of yelling at any rider who talked about her?”
Because they talked about Farren like she wasn’t even a person. In year eight and onward, pre-race conversation included a lot of ranking of body parts, who and what the guys found attractive, and stories of exaggerated sexual encounters. Everyone soon learned discussing Farren could get under my skin. Half of racing is a mental game of staying calm. Which meant they all tried to exploit the one thing I’d ever risen my voice to defend.
I forced myself to stop reacting to comments, began ignoring her at races too, not even a glance. When those efforts failed, I insulted her in the worst ways I could come up with because I didn’t want anyone messing with her in hopes to throw me off. By now most of my fellow riders had assumed my crush was gone or not real. But not Colm. Not damn Colm Ditters. He’s made it a point to remember exactly how to get into everyone’s head. It’s probably his best skill.
“Just going to ignore the question, Murphy?”
I turn to face him fully, craft my iron locker shut with a slam. “If you like being rejected, go for it.”
He chuckles as he stands, inches taller than me. “I’m not you.”
The words burn into my back as I step out into the daylight of the tournament and toward the stables. Bex’s stall resides in the back. Ever since the incident I’ve been told they’ve kept her isolated more often than not, unsure what to do with her. Earlier, I saw the trainers trying to feed her and it’s obvious she’s grieving Hendrix. No one likes to admit or even think about the damage we inflict on these creatures.
It’s dark, but someone stands at Bex’s stall, reaching a hand through the bars to her forehead. No one should be back here. I run forward, only to crash to a stop when I identify who has the audacity to caress a dangerous dragon—Farren.
“Hey,” she calls.
I startle at the stark difference of today versus my last race. Two months ago, Farren would never have spoken to me, let alone given this friendly acknowledgment. She wears her hair in a short braid, all loose pieces clipped back. She’s draped in brown leather and a copper breastplate like always and immediately I’m drawn to her. Farren wears the outfit of a rider well.
“Convincing her to drop me?” I joke.
“The opposite, actually.” Farren matches my energy. “Lucky you.”
Those last two words burrow in my chest. I don’t feel lucky today. My confidence has seeped out of me so entirely I kind of wonder where my self-assurance in racing ever came from. Plus, Colm’s words still burn. And even worse, I’m all too aware my father could see us together. I know better than to act friendly in public. Another mistake.
“You shouldn’t be talking to me,” I answer, colder than I even mean.
She frowns for a split second before plastering on a more serious countenance. Pretending or hurt I’m unsure. “I just wanted to say that I’ll be there,” she says.
“What?”
“They offered me any spotter station, so I requested patrol.” While most spotters hunker down at different points on the track to watch for trouble, the patrol flies beneath the front-runners, following the flow of the race. Getting this position means she’ll be flying fifty feet beneath me. It’s also the most coveted and difficult spotter position.
“Can you and Daphine fly that fast?”
