I meant the question in seriousness. Daphine is three times the size of any Sprinter competing. Ocean Swoopers are never as fast as their Sprinter counterparts, but flown during races because with their size and power they can airlift a Sprinter. Like how Daphine saved Hort and me.
Farren’s eyes light up like it’s a barb. “I’m going to ignore that.” She glances at Bex before meeting my eyes. “Just know if you fall, I’ll be there.”
I’m such a jerk. She’s reassuring me, providing me a literal safety net so I can be less scared. Even if I don’tfeellucky, I am more than fortunate having her here. “Thanks, Farren.”
“But try not to need me, all right?” It’s the words of my father she keptrepeating two days ago in town, mad at the way he said them. “‘Try not to be needed’? Like I want people to get hurt or drown,” she’d yelled. “Like I plan on it!” Now, she’s twisted them into a joke,ourjoke.
“I’ll try to not need you.” Even if each day this summer has only shown me how impossible that is.
All twelve dragons hover in the air, awaiting the bell. I’m third in line. My pristine record got smudged when I was disqualified for not finishing my last race. I became too accustomed to being first last season because, boxed in on either side, I’m claustrophobic. The snort of a green dragon next to me is loud in my ear. On my other side a red dragon keeps flashing the silver on their neck, an aggressive threat.
Bex swishes her head and the reins jostle in my grip. That’s when I realize I barely have a grip, my hands tremble so much. Bex is smaller, narrower, and even with a standard saddle I feel uneasy. I keep imagining her bucking me any moment. She hates me, her restlessness seems to communicate. Wrong. This is all wrong. I should have stood up to my father, told him I wasn’t ready.
But he wouldn’t have listened. I’ve gotten too used to the Walshes who ask after your well-being—physically and mentally. I got used to a family who cares, and wouldn’t force me back in the air.
The bell erupts in a ringing clatter, always unnaturally earsplitting. While I’m not ready, Bex is—a trained champion through and through. Wind surges around me like a colliding wall and I have to tense every muscle to stay in my saddle. My foot slips out of the stirrup she’s so fast. Damn it. I’ve lost more than time by not training; I’ve lost my focus.
We somehow manage the early lead, the opposite of my usual strategy. I can imagine commentators noting it like it’s some master decision when it’s the opposite. If you’re first, you’re a target, the speed which every other dragon will pace against.
Bex rounds the first corner and I hover off the saddle in order to turn with her, all my weight helping her wings use the centripetal force and sailsmoothly. It feels like she is the one racing and I’m only along for the ride. The lack of control shakes me to my core.
Colm swoops Thorn beneath me, a risky move since there are regulations about how low one can fly before a rider is disqualified, and I’m almost at the limit. I can feel Bex angle her head to check out the rider daring to pass her.
That’s when everything changes. Beneath me Bex’s silver metal unsheathes, not whisking out in fear like I’ve seen hundreds of times from dozens of dragons, but covering her scales like a person might grab a weapon before charging for battle, slow and steady.
She screeches in such deep primal anger Colm twists upward to glower at us. I meet Colm’s eyes for one moment, one single moment. Then Bex’s wings pound the air to regain her lead.
I realize what this is a moment too late. Bex isn’t angry at losing the front position of this race. This is hatred. Bex doesn’t hate me. Or maybe she does, but she hates someone else more—Colm. When she was trying to get to Hendrix weeks ago, she might not have been attacking Farren or me. Because behind us, stood Colm. We forget the intelligence of these creatures. If she hadn’t seen the accident herself, she could probably smell or sense what Colm had done to her baby.
Before I can do anything, Bex dives for Colm and Thorn.
Colm swerves out of the way with a curse. “Murphy, what the hell?”
Bex comes back around. I pull the reins hard, wrenching her jaws away from Colm and avoiding a collision with Thorn, but Bex couldn’t care less for listening or winning this race. She wants blood.
The crowds roar as we fly past, a pillar of people up on their feet. First and second place neck and neck. It’s cheer-worthy. Exciting. People always want someone-could-die-from-this exciting. And they might get just that.
We round the second corner, only one long stretch before the finish line. This is where in a normal race I’d urge Hort for speed. Instead, I’m jerking and praying for Bex to just fly straight. She refuses to pass Thorn and in arrogance Colm refuses to concede his lead. Like a predator, she wants to stalk before the killing blow.
She dives again and I’m yelling now. “Colm, turn. Turn!”
Colm doesn’t listen. On a straightaway, especially the last straightaway, you don’t twist or let up. He can’t comprehend these maneuvers aren’t my doing because he’d do the same scare tactics to get ahead. Dive-bomb me and frighten Hort. But I’m not riding Hort.
Bex’s claws rake Colm’s back, against the bronze armor. Her silver-coated talons cut through like butter, down to the leather underneath, a flash of blood. I yank with all my might and crafting ability. It’s enough to create distance. But Colm’s screams scare his own dragon. Thorn reacts. A metal wing hits Bex in the chest. The hit lurches me backward. Just like that we’re colliding. It’s inevitable. A tangle of talons and wings and metal. Bex tries to hook her talons onto Thorn’s back to steady us, but silver on silver, she doesn’t make purchase.
We all spiral, losing altitude.
“Get off me. Get off me,” Colm hollers.
“Shut up and hold on.”
I let go of the reins and craft. With all my might I push our dragons away from one another. The force is more than I expect, Bex finally allowing me control in order to detach us. I spin downward while Colm whirls upward. I gave him the advantage, distance, and altitude to right himself, maybe even rejoin the race and win.
But when I look up Thorn flies alone, and a lone figure plummets toward the lake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENWHEN YOU HAVE TO SAVE A BOY… AGAIN
FARREN
