lecture. It wasn’t her place to question, unless it was to request a clarification of a lesson. “She wants to live in the present and future. I respected that.”
“Very well.” Augur Clari turned to leave, her robes sweeping like a whisper against the black stone floor.
“Augur Clari, I come with questions,” Shalla tried. “Why do you ask about Raia? She’s a good student, a good housemate, and a good friend.”
For an instant, Shalla thought she’d overstepped and Augur Clari was going to scold her instead of answering. But then Augur Clari said, “Because it appears she has not been a good daughter.”
She opened the door, and Shalla saw there were three people clustered nearby, as if they’d been listening in on their conversation. Using the serenity of the waiting room to boost her inner sight, she studied them: a man and a woman, whose auras looked like triangles intersecting. And a third man, younger and handsome, whose aura looked like crossed arrows so sharp that Shalla recoiled.
Why were these people with ugly souls in the temple? Why had Augur Clari brought them here, to listen to Shalla? And why did they want to know about Raia?
As these questions popped into her mind, her calm shattered, and she lost her sense of their auras. Augur Clari shut the door as the strangers began to badger her with questions about where to find Mama’s training grounds, where the races were, and where they lived.
Surely, Augur Clari won’t give them any more answers, Shalla thought. Her teacher must be able to see their auras. She was skilled enough to naturally read auras, whether she was calm or not. She wouldn’t put Raia in any danger. Or Mama.
Shalla wished she weren’t confined to the temple until Mama returned. She very much wanted to talk to her. And warn her.
Miles away, Tamra breathed in the smell of the racetrack: the thick scents of kehoks, human sweat, beer, roasted pigeon, all mixed with the sweet smells of citrus and jasmine. She’d been told the warring scents were enough to make the faint of heart dizzy, but to her, it smelled like coming home.
Already there were a half-dozen racers and riders on the track, getting a feel for the sand, snarling at one another. Tamra didn’t intend to take Raia and the lion there yet. They’d be better off at the camp, where they could grow accustomed to being in a new location together. The races would start in the morning—Raia had been scheduled for the third heat, while her friends from their training grounds were slotted in heats two, four, and five.
Tamra eyed the competition as they rode by: the usual mix of lizardlike kehoks, plus a jackal, a few felines, and one massive snake. The riders looked young. Every year, they look younger. And nervous. A few were talking to each other, but most were coaxing their kehoks onto the sand. All the monsters wore muzzles and shackles, a requirement before the races. The officials didn’t want any fighting between the racers ahead of time.
She found their campsite. Since she came from one of the lesser training grounds, it wasn’t an ideal spot—too close to the latrines for any real privacy and without any shade. But riders couldn’t expect luxury at the qualifiers. As you progressed through the races, the tracks and the accommodations became nicer, until the finals, when racers were housed in glorious stables and riders had a plush campsite with a view of the palace. She’d even gotten a glimpse of the emperor himself once, or the late emperor to be more accurate, in the Heart of Becar.
Leaving Raia in the cage to continue whatever ridiculous conversation she was having with her monster, Tamra pitched the tent. She then filled the canteens with fresh water from the tanks. As she was hauling them back to their site, she heard a voice she vaguely recognized.
“Found another fool to maul?”
She turned, thinking it was one of the trainers she’d clashed with in a prior season, but to her surprise, it wasn’t. “Fetran. You’re looking well.” Her student, one of the two who had gotten hurt. And now the pipsqueak was sneering at her.
“All Becar is going to know your training methods are for shit when I, after suffering injuries caused by your negligence, come back and win with the guidance of a new trainer.”
It was the longest speech she’d ever heard Fetran make. She wondered who wrote it for him. “Good luck with that,”