with the racers, and the cheers were growing so loud that Raia felt as if they were clogging her skull. Distantly, she heard the race announcer call, “Ready!”
She wasn’t! She needed a few more seconds to pull her focus into—
“Prepare!”
I can’t do this. It’s too much! She felt as if her skin were going to burst and all her fear would pour out of her like smoke, leaving her a shell of nothingness. Beneath her, the lion was growling, shifting his weight as if he wanted to batter the walls.
“Race!”
The stall gates were flung open, and her kehok surged forward with the others.
“Run!” she urged.
She tried to focus on the sand, but this time it felt off. She was too aware of the other racers, of the cheering in the stands. She couldn’t shed the feel of the emperor-to-be’s eyes on her back, judging her as she headed for the first turn.
She felt the lion pull back as they hit the turn, like they used to do. As they rounded the turn, several of the other kehoks jostled in front of them, and Raia and the lion slipped back in the pack.
We are faster than this, she thought.
As they ran toward the second turn, Raia felt something shift inside her. She suddenly stopped thinking about the crowd, the emperor-to-be, and why she had to win. She breathed in the scent of the track, the sweat, the stink of the kehoks. She felt the wind in her face, throwing sand in her face. It stung her eyes. She tasted it on her tongue.
“Own the turn,” she whispered.
Leaning forward, she urged him faster. His paws dug deeper and harder into the sand, and he ran lower. As they approached the turn, she felt herself straining for it, wanting it.
And she felt exactly what Trainer Verlas had been trying to tell her—they claimed the curve for their own, pushing off it like a swimmer in a pool and gaining speed. They shoved past the kehoks ahead of them until there was only one in front: a monster with a hawk’s head and a beetle’s body.
Raia fixed her eyes beyond the other kehok, focusing instead on the finish line.
Only the race. Only the moment. Only the finish line.
They ran, pulling ahead of the hawk-beetle, by one stride, then two. The cheers were like the wind in her ears. They flowed around her. All she felt was the rhythm of the lion’s stride. She raised her gaze up above the finish line, and she saw them: her parents, wedged between the other spectators. For the barest instant, her focus faltered.
The lion’s paws strained toward the finish line—and then, with an inhuman burst of speed, the hawk-beetle shot past her.
Raia and the lion crossed second.
Slowing, she felt as if the world were crashing down around her. She felt the sweat on her skin. Heard the cries of the crowd like a hammer. Leaning forward, she lay against the cold, smooth metal of the lion’s mane.
We lost.
Second.
Tamra breathed in, tasted the mix of sweat and kehok stench, and tried to wrap her mind around the standings that were posted on the flags raised above the tracks. We lost.
We can’t come back from this. Not if we want to be grand champion. After this, Raia and the lion would be placed in the minors, with no chance at running for the charm.
Lady Evara fluttered her fan. “What does this mean? How could this happen?”
“It happens,” Tamra said, keeping her voice steady. She could not let Raia see how bad this was. It would shake her confidence, and then . . . There was no “and then.” This was it.
“Is it over? Is that it?” Lady Evara asked. “We lost, and that’s it? There should be a rematch! Or what if she wins another race? Can she run in another qualifying race? We can bribe someone to erase her first race results, say that this was her first . . .”
Maybe I was wrong, Tamra thought. Maybe we don’t have what it takes. Maybe she should have let Gette race the black lion, fled back to Peron, and . . . She didn’t know what. There wasn’t a backup plan.
She twisted to look up at the royal box, but Prince Dar was too far away for her to see his face. She had no doubt that he’d schooled it into an empty expression—as royal-born, he’d know how to hide his emotions.