interrupted. She was performing the maneuver beautifully, with no idea that it was pointless.
This was going to crush her.
Glaring at Artlar, Tamra felt her hands curl into fists, and Lady Evara gave a slight shake of her head as if to say, Don’t. This wasn’t a battle she could win with words or fists. Not if the emperor-to-be had invited them here.
It made a terrible kind of sense. Prince Dar wanted his brother’s vessel to win. Who better than the men who had won last year? Traditionally, the winning rider would be gifted with a life of luxury and, if he didn’t wish to retire, first pick of any kehok he wanted for next year’s Becaran Races. But a summons from the emperor-to-be . . . Who’d say no to that?
And neither of us can stop them, Tamra thought.
She stood, feeling helpless and hating feeling that way, as Gette pushed past her with a smug smile on his lips. His trainer, Artlar, proceeded to oversee the unpacking of their equipment. She watched them open a black wardrobe filled with leather armorlike uniforms. Gette pulled a tunic over his head and strapped on calf guards. Then one of their servants began unloading a variety of whips ranging from leather straps to whips with spiked balls at the end. She didn’t doubt Gette intended to use them on the kehok, unaware he’d be whipping the late emperor.
“The emperor-to-be won’t approve of that style of training,” Tamra warned him. But would Prince Dar ever know? He was in his palace and would want to keep his distance to avoid raising any suspicion. She felt a terrible helpless anger curling in her stomach—it was cousin to the way she’d felt during that final race last season.
“The emperor-to-be wants results,” Artlar said. Then he winked at her. “Just watch as we deliver them.” He then vaulted over the track wall without wincing and strode across the sands, toward where Raia and the kehok were practicing. He had a weighted club belted to his waist.
Lady Evara leaned closer to Tamra and said in a soft voice, “Will it damage my soul if I hope the kehok eviscerates them?”
Tamra said just as softly, “If it does damage one’s soul, then you and I will be reborn as the same type of beast.”
A ghost of a smile flitted over Lady Evara’s face. “There must be a way we can protest this. Changing a racer’s rider this close to a race is madness. I am here as a race consultant. The emperor-to-be should listen to me.”
Tamra felt a flare of hope. Lady Evara was persuasive. If she could talk to Prince Dar, then maybe he’d change his mind and restore their racer. “You think you can get an audience?” It would need to happen quickly. Every minute Artlar and Gette were here was a minute less of training that Raia—
“Truthfully? No. I have yet to convince even the head servant to grant us rooms in the palace. Apparently, my position in Peron does not translate as well as I’d hoped in the Heart of Becar, and the court at large is unaware we are in the emperor-to-be’s favor. I am an outsider here.”
“Maybe Augur Yorbel . . .”
“If he ever returns.”
She was right. Augur Yorbel had given no indication that he’d return. He’d acted as if once he persuaded the emperor-to-be to keep the secret that his task was done. His last goodbye had felt final, which disappointed Tamra rather more than it should have.
“Though,” Lady Evara added, “perhaps I could send a messenger wight to his temple, saying we require Augur Yorbel’s advice. If we could convince him to see reason, then he could arrange a meeting with Prince Dar. It’s worth a try, at least.” She squeezed out of the viewing seats and hurried toward the gate.
Across the track, Tamra saw Raia step in front of the kehok, blocking him from Artlar. “Uh-oh.” This was not the time for Raia to learn to be brave, not if these men were telling the truth. You did not go against the emperor-to-be’s express wishes. As much as Tamra wanted to kick these men off the training grounds, she was well aware that she didn’t have the power here.
Hurrying across the sands, Tamra saw Raia was shaking. Behind her, the lion was growling—his metal mane was spiked vertically around his snarled face. Calm, she projected at the kehok.
“Raia, this is Trainer Artlar,” Tamra said as she reached them. “His rider,