him had the brown eyes, dark hair, and ritual chin scar of Merida Blood. Rohan swore luridly in recognition, and the Merida laughed.
Sioned had lost sight of him in the forest, but as the horses raced onto the flat plain, she stiffened in shock as a dun stallion slammed into Pashta. Yet Rohan had been prepared for the attack—his fist lashed out in a backhanded blow that swayed the other rider in his saddle. Sioned caught her breath as a whip came up in the man’s hand. It came down across Rohan’s already lacerated back and his blond head jerked in pain. Sioned’s fingers clenched into numbed, bloodless claws. The Fire in her rings spread up through her whole body as if she was suddenly sheathed in flames then leaped forward on the woven sunlight. Her lips moved as she gathered herself to activate an ancient technique Urival had taught her at Stronghold.
Rohan’s back was afire with pain. He turned his head just in time to see the Merida lift a hand, glass knife winking in the sunlight. Rohan couldn’t believe that the man would attempt a throw from horseback at a moving target—then revised his opinion as the knife whizzed a finger’s span past his shoulder.
Pashta picked up speed, not shying in the slightest from the glittering blade that shattered on the stones ahead of him. Rohan, thighs aching with the force of his grip on his horse, let the stallion have his head. Distance between himself and the Merida was what he wanted now, before the next knife could reach its target. This desire coincided precisely with his horse’s passion to conquer the four stallions ahead. They were nearing the track now, and they overtook one horse on the gallop through the opening in the rails. Rohan remembered his groom’s warnings and took the reins in a tighter grip. Pashta responded to minute signals of hands and knees, and cleared the first jump with smooth precision—unlike the horse directly ahead, whose rider had been sloppy. Losing rhythm, the dappled stallion faltered and the rider’s whip could not compel him to speed. Rohan passed him between jumps and flinched as he saw the blood-flecked lather on the animal’s flanks.
Again he dared a look behind him. The Merida was catching up fast. Rohan turned to face the next obstacle, guided Pashta over it. But as the stallion’s hooves plowed into the dirt, Rohan felt dizzy, disoriented. He shook his head, his throat and nostrils clogged with dust, thinking that what he needed was air. But he could not help another glance back over his shoulder.
He saw nothing—but the Merida’s thin lips parted in a high-pitched scream, body straining backward as if to escape some hideous vision, dark eyes stark with terror as his mount crashed into the rails.
Between a hedge jump and a stone wall Rohan passed a tiring horse whose rider wore Syrene turquoise. Sure enough, the stallion’s head whipped around to try for a bite out of Rohan’s thigh. Pashta’s ears flattened and it took all Rohan’s skill to keep the two horses from turning to battle it out. Pashta submitted to Rohan’s orders, stuck his neck out, and ran.
There was only one horse ahead now, clearing the fifth obstacle easily, and as Rohan measured the distance he said into Pashta’s ear, “It’s all right if we don’t catch this one, you know. I can well afford a few emeralds on my own.”
But the stallion had been bred from Chay’s finest studs and mares and he saw only one horse and one jump between himself and victory. Rohan let the reins go slack on the sweating neck after the last fence was cleared. There was only space and the bright hues of the railings and the yellow flag sweeping down like a dragon’s wing—and the other horse half a length behind him.
Sioned unwound her fingers and chafed them against her thighs. The conjuring had been both more and less difficult than she’d feared. Urival had taught her well, but sustaining the fearsome Fire-image of a dragon for only those few essential seconds—and for only one man’s eyes—had drained her of energy. She felt only fierce joy as the enemy toppled from his horse—yet an instant later she cried out with the rest of the crowd as the dun stallion went down.
“No, I didn’t mean—” she whispered, stricken by what she had done. “Oh no, please!” But though the stallion struggled to his feet from the dirt, the rider,