Gette, won the Becaran Races last year, and the emperor-to-be apparently requested they—”
Artlar cut her off with a broad, fake smile. “You’ve been very brave, little girl. I saw you place third in your very first race—that’s excellent! You should feel proud of yourself. I’m sure you have a bright future in racing ahead of you.”
Raia glanced from him to Tamra and back. “Um, thank you?” She glanced across the track at Gette, who was pulling on heavy red leather gloves. “He didn’t mention he was the grand champion.”
“He’s a modest boy,” Artlar said.
“I hadn’t noticed that,” Raia murmured. “Why is he on our training track?”
“Because the emperor-to-be has commanded it, and it’s not for you to question. If you’ll step aside, we’ll take it from here.” He moved closer to the kehok, his shadow falling across the lion so that only the lion’s golden eyes were visible in the patch of darkness.
“He’s unsettled,” Raia warned him. She was shifting from foot to foot, as agitated as the kehok. “You should step back. He doesn’t like to be cornered.”
“Helpful information.” Artlar lunged past her, so fast and large that the kehok was pinned against the wall, and slammed the weighted club into the side of the lion’s face. “The key is to keep him unsettled. Off-balance, so that you are always the one in control.”
“Stop! You’re scaring him!” Raia yelped.
“Trainer Verlas, haven’t you taught your rider yet that these monsters are not like other creatures? You can’t expect them to have the same emotions. You certainly can’t pity them. That’s when accidents happen, when you believe you have a bond with a creature. Such thinking can lead to tragedies.”
Tamra knew he was talking about last year’s tragedy, but she refused to be baited. Last year had been a miscalculation. She’d let herself become blinded by her thirst to win. “A kehok who fears his rider races against him, not with him.”
“Foolishness, born of softness.”
“If you knew me,” Tamra said, “you’d know there’s nothing soft about me.” There had to be a way to stop this. If this kehok ran the races, then Raia had to be the one to ride him, because both Raia and Tamra needed the prize money to secure their futures. Without this opportunity, everything they’d accomplished up to this point was just so much sand.
He snorted. “I know all I need to know about you. And right now I know you’re delaying our work. Gette, this kehok is ready for you!” Again, he slammed the club into the side of the kehok’s face.
The lion fixed his eyes on Raia.
Tamra saw that Raia’s eyes were wet. No crying in front of assholes. She grabbed Raia’s hand and pulled her back with her toward the stands. Lady Evara had vanished, hopefully to send a wight to the temple. “Believing you have control when a kehok is afraid is narrow thinking,” Tamra lectured. “The fastest speeds don’t come from fear. They come from need.” She didn’t know whether she was talking to Artlar, Raia, or herself. Plenty of riders used fear as their primary motivator.
In her day, though, she’d beaten every one of them.
But it’s not my day anymore.
She should have expected this to happen, once they’d learned what, or who, this kehok was. Of course the emperor-to-be wouldn’t want to take any risks with a damaged trainer and an untested rider. This kehok had to win for Emperor Zarin to be reborn. Could she blame him?
“I can’t believe you’re allowing this,” Raia said. “That ‘champion’ has no right. He’s messing with my racer!”
“I’ll find a way to—” She stopped. “Wait, repeat that.”
“He’s with my racer?”
Ordinary kehoks didn’t form any kind of attachment. But this was no ordinary kehok, a fact she was positive the emperor-to-be had not shared with Artlar and Gette. And Raia had spent the past several weeks bonding with the black lion in a way that shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe the lion wouldn’t be so easy for them to control.
Maybe Gette would fail.
“Raia, listen to me carefully,” Tamra said, speaking softly so her voice wouldn’t carry across the sands. “We can’t interfere with them—Prince Dar himself invited them here. You have to resist the urge to control the lion in any way. But you can remind him he’s yours.”
“He knows—”
“Look at him and say, ‘You’re my racer, and I’m your rider.’”
Pivoting, Raia didn’t hesitate. “You’re my racer, and I’m your rider!”
The lion let out a roar, and then subsided with a whimper when Gette