tomorrow’s races. Still other tents were closed up tight, their inhabitants already asleep. Above, the stars were mostly blotted out by the smoke from the fires, but she could still see the three stars that formed the sword of the Lady.
Shalla, are you looking up at the stars too?
Tamra breathed in the mix of cooking meat, smoke, and kehok stench, but under it all was the sweet, dry taste of the desert blowing in from beyond the campground. Even though she was so far from home, the familiar scents and sounds and sights of the camp made her feel as if everything were right with the world.
One of the two stable guards at the door recognized her, and she was grateful he didn’t call her the “cursed trainer”—at least not to her face. They waved her through, and she entered.
She was the only one in the stable, aside from the four guards stationed inside. Two were posted by the door and another set at the opposite end. They were there to make sure she didn’t meddle with any kehok but her own.
It was rare, but there had been instances of sabotage in the past. The racing commission dealt with such cases firmly.
The stable was vast, with a high ceiling. Used annually, it was far cleaner than the royal stable had been, even if it lacked the opulent murals and carvings. This was a more utilitarian space: stall after stall, with basins for water, storage for food, and even an emergency area for any hurt riders or racers. Still impressive, though, she thought. It was built to store hundreds.
Their kehok was twenty-third down on the left.
Approaching the stall, Tamra projected the order: Calm. “It’s only me.”
The lion was uneasy, pacing back and forth, rattling the shackles. He hadn’t touched his dinner. He must have picked up on Raia’s nerves.
“You’re racing tomorrow,” she scolded. “You need to sleep tonight.”
He made a low growl in the back of his throat, and she wasn’t sure if that was agreement or a get-out-of-my-face growl. Tamra checked the latch and lock. “Huh.”
Raia was right.
The lock was intact and secure, but the latch itself was missing three of its screws. A solid hit, and the whole mechanism would fall off the door, lock intact but useless. “Guess she’s not just paranoid.”
It was easy to see how no one had noticed—the screws were tucked underneath the latch. If she hadn’t been examining it, she wouldn’t have seen it either. Raia must have noticed that it felt loose, even though it appeared locked. Poor workmanship, Tamra thought. Someone had been careless, or saving money.
It wasn’t a major problem. The kehok was still shackled within his stall—the external lock was an extra precaution in case some trainer or rider forgot to secure the shackles. She should be able to find spare screws in one of the many maintenance sheds around the race grounds.
Heading for the stable door, she asked one of the guards, “Do you know where I can find a screwdriver and some spare screws? A few are missing on our stall’s latch. Incidentally, you might want to check the other latches, in case the same idiot skimped on those.” She’d check herself, but she knew the guards would protest her being so close to other racers.
“Yes, ma’am,” the guard said. “Maintenance shed—”
CRASH.
Tamra spun around.
Three kehoks had wrenched themselves out of their shackles and battered down their stall doors, breaking through what were undoubtedly faulty latches. Yelling, the guards drew weapons and ran toward them. The three kehoks—a bloodred bull, a praying mantis with thick gorilla arms, and a spikey monstrosity—were focused on battering a single stall door.
The black lion’s.
She knew the lion was secure within his stall, which meant he couldn’t fight back. They’d savage him. Kill him. The latch snapped, and Tamra yelled, “Stop!”
Running after the guards, she shouted again, “Stop!” She put every inch of will behind that command and shoved it at the three kehoks just as the guards reached them.
The kehoks froze.
A bit of her mind that wasn’t consumed with rage whispered, This can’t be a coincidence. Three kehoks with loose shackles, targeting one without? They should have gone for the guards, or attacked each other. Or tried a closer stall. But they had targeted the lion.
My kehok.
No one hurts my kehok.
Tamra flung herself between the kehoks and the guards. “Back to your stalls!”
The three attacking kehoks flinched away from her, stumbling over their hooves and paws. She spread her arms wide. Out of