Yes! Tamra thought as they approached the curve. The kehok wasn’t slowing. He was running low to the ground, keeping his body steady while his legs pumped—
And then a clatter behind her echoed across the track.
The lion faltered. His head snapped toward the source of the noise, as Raia too glanced across the sands. Reaching the turn, they took it at a mere quarter of the speed as before.
Tamra spun around, glaring, to see who had broken her rider’s concentration. Two men had entered through the black gate and were greeting Lady Evara in the stands. “By the River . . .” She recognized them. Everyone who knew anything about the Becaran Races knew them. “No, no, absolutely not.” I do not have time for this bullshit.
The younger man, who was unmistakably Gette of Carteka, the winner of last year’s Becaran Races, was bowing to Lady Evara, lifting her hand, and kissing the back of it—the same Gette who had beaten Raia in her first qualifier. Beside him was his trainer, Artlar. They’d caused the commotion, leading a slew of their servants into the stable grounds, whom Artlar proceeded to order to unload crates and trunks from a gilded cart. Artlar was a seasoned trainer: a decade older than Tamra with a claim to training multiple grand champions over the years. He’d never ridden in the races himself, but he was still famous across all of Becar. He was tall, well-muscled, with a thick beard that covered a web of scars from his early training days—it had been many years since Artlar had suffered any injury from a kehok.
Tamra marched toward them. She tried to erase the memories that spilled into her mind: the final championship race, as her rider lay dead in the sands, the blood of other riders and racers pooling around him, as this rider ran his racer through them. Its hooves had pummeled the soft bodies. Blood had splashed with each strike of its hooves, and the rider had not slowed. He had slammed through the finish and then exalted in his win.
She hadn’t wanted pity, either during or after the race. But what he’d done was worse.
He had run through their bodies. He hadn’t known they were already dead. If they hadn’t been, he would have been reviled and fined, just as Tamra had been, but since they were, he received not even a slap on the wrist as he was awarded his prize. Later, when asked—she’d heard the reports of his boasting—he said the weak deserved to fall.
She wanted to wipe that smarmy smile off his face.
She gained control of herself by the time she reached the stands. As the Lady with the Sword as her witness, she wasn’t going to smile at these bastards, but she was going to resist the urge to spit in their faces. “You’ve interrupted our practice.” It came out like a snarl.
“Your rider has some trouble taking that racer through the turns,” Artlar said, with a nod toward Raia. His voice was friendly, even jolly, and loud without trying to be loud, as if he’d never learned how to lower his voice so it didn’t boom. “Not to worry. Gette will have him at top speed.”
“Raia is his rider,” Tamra snapped. “I shouldn’t need to tell you how important it is that she is the only one who rides him, especially this close to the next race. The tighter their bond, the stronger the control.”
“Which is why we have no time to waste.” Artlar smacked Tamra’s shoulder as if they were buddies. He is not my buddy, Tamra thought. He then turned to his protege. “Gette, fetch your gear! I want you to take that monstrosity for a spin before his muscles cool off and tighten. Let’s see what we’re working with here.”
With her hands on her hips, Tamra blocked Gette. “You aren’t working with our kehok.”
Artlar glanced at Lady Evara. “Deeply sorry you weren’t informed, but yes, we are. Special request from the emperor-to-be. He wants the finest to train his fastest.”
Tamra shot a look at Lady Evara. She had a fixed smile plastered on her lips. She’s furious, Tamra thought. And that made her think that Artlar was telling the truth.
Aur’s balls. This can’t be happening. We’ve worked for this! We earned this! If the black lion were to race, then Raia should be his rider. Out on the track, Raia was working on the turn, pretending their practice hadn’t been