“Congratulations.” She rode past him, pulling the cart with her racer and rider behind her. A few of the other students and trainers waved at her, acknowledging her once again, the way they used to before last year’s disaster. Sitting up straighter, she commanded the rhino-croc to trot faster, prouder.
By the entrance to the campsite, she saw the wounded being patched up by the track doctors. She met the eyes of her former student Fetran, who had failed to finish and was having his shoulder bandaged. He looked miserable.
Demonstrating her professionalism, she did not say anything snide. But she gloated privately as they headed home.
Seeing no need to rush, Tamra enjoyed the journey. At the peak of the heat, they rested at a watering hole, and continued on in the pink dusk. They reached the stable just as the first stars were scattered across the sky.
She loaded the rhino-croc into his stall while Raia maneuvered the black lion out of the cage. Together, they secured the locks and double-checked all the chains. “Can I give him extra feed?” Raia asked.
“Absolutely. He earned it.” Tamra was already thinking about what kind of pastry treat she could buy for Raia and Shalla tonight. She was looking forward to telling Shalla all about the race and hearing about whatever she’d learned in her studies during their absence. “I’ll stow the cart.”
Leaving Raia in the stable, Tamra hauled the cart back to the shed. She noted that the other trainers and their students had already returned and left—they must have rushed back from the racetrack after their own mix of victories and disappointments. But Tamra didn’t regret the slow return. All of them needed the reprieve. Already she was planning out the next training sequence—they’d have a week before the next race to squeeze in as much training as possible. Next race, now that Raia had a taste for it, they were going to win first.
She heard a noise behind her. “That was quick. Did you clean the saddle?”
“I apologize for the intrusion,” a man said.
Tamra spun around, and then hissed as pain spasmed up her leg. In the doorway to the shed, a stranger in plain gray robes blocked the light from the torches outside. He was bald with a beard, and his eyes were a soft gray. He reminded her, oddly, of a just-washed blanket. Everything about him was crisp and soft at the same time, and he was a calming kind of good-looking. “Can I help you?”
He inclined his head in a slight bow. “Perhaps. I am Augur Yorbel.” Reaching into his robes, he drew out a pendant. It glittered in the torchlight. “Are you Trainer Tamra Verlas?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Shalla! What’s happened? Is she all right?”
He looked perplexed.
“My daughter! That’s why you’re here—” She broke off, studying him. “That’s not why you’re here? You’re not one of my daughter’s teachers from the Peron temple?”
“I am not,” he said apologetically. “I am—”
She heard shouting from outside, in the direction of the stables. It sounded like an argument, which was not a great idea around the kehoks—it riled them up, and she needed the black lion to rest. Whatever this augur wanted, so long as it wasn’t about Shalla, he’d have to wait. Stalking past him, she headed outside. “Excuse me.”
He trailed after her.
She saw two strangers in front of the stable, while Raia cowered in the doorway. The pair of strangers, a man and a woman, were shouting at Raia.
“Are they with you?” she asked the augur.
“No, they are not. In fact, they—”
Tamra picked up her pace, ignoring the twinge in her leg. She shoved past the couple to stand in front of her rider, facing her and blocking them. Raia’s cheeks were damp, and her eyes were darting from right to left as if she were a cornered creature. Tamra laid her hands on both of Raia’s shoulders, forcing her to look at her rather than at the man and woman. “Did you finish cleaning the saddle?”
Mutely, she shook her head.
“You need to finish your tasks before you can socialize.” She turned Raia one hundred eighty degrees and gave her a slight shove into the stable. She then pivoted to face the strangers with her hands on her hips. “You’re trespassing on the North Bank Peron Training Grounds. If you’d care to come back during training hours, someone would be happy to give you a tour of the facility and answer all your questions.”