Race the Sands

by Sarah Beth Durst

  It was a positive sign that she’d been summoned to speak with Prince Dar. She hoped the diamond hat would project the right image—that he needed her more than she needed him, which was abundantly not true. She had spent the last of her gold on the three servants who had traveled to the Heart of Becar with her. Once they’d reached the capital, she’d quietly and discreetly let them go after only a day, with promises of good references to ensure their silence on her financial situation—because, even though they didn’t know the exact cause of her ruin, they did know she couldn’t have kept them on. So far, no one had noticed. But that wouldn’t last forever.

  Checking the mirror one final time, Lady Evara allowed herself to be led into the palace. Only years of practice enabled her to avoid gawking at the wonders inside:

  A waterfall that cascaded down a fifty-foot copper wall.

  Pillars intricately carved to look as if they were lace.

  Statues so lifelike they were indistinguishable from the courtiers who milled among them. And courtiers who were themselves works of art, their faces painted to resemble animals and their clothes merely a display case for elaborate jewel-encrusted necklaces, bracelets, and anklets. She felt positively drab beside them, and Lady Evara never felt drab.

  By the time she reached the emperor-to-be’s sitting room, she wished she had chosen to wear all her hats at once. That would have made an impression, though perhaps not the one she wanted to make.

  Do not let them intimidate you, she told herself firmly. You have value.

  She didn’t believe that, of course, not when evidence said otherwise. But it helped to think it.

  The guards announced her, and she swept inside. “Your Excellence—” she began.

  Lounging on his throne, the emperor-to-be held up one hand. He addressed a ragtag collection of musicians who looked as though they’d been scooped up off the street. A few were drummers, with homemade-looking drums made from spare pots, and the rest were carrying various horns. “I’m looking for musicians who can rally the people in celebration. Give me your most rousing music!”

  As the musicians launched into the worst cacophony she’d ever heard, the emperor-to-be beamed wider and wider. He gestured for Lady Evara to join him.

  She longed to jam her fingers in her ear, but she settled for wincing every time one of the horn musicians squeaked a note that should have been impossible for the human ear to hear. The emperor-to-be beckoned her closer.

  “What do you think of the music?” he shouted.

  “It’s very . . . enthusiastic,” she shouted back.

  He beckoned her closer, and she climbed up onto the dais so she was standing in front of the emperor-to-be. She immediately knelt so she couldn’t tower over him—it was the obvious response to such an awkward situation.

  He leaned closer. She expected him to comment again on the music, but instead he said, “I have an enemy, and I believe it may be someone in the palace, specifically an aristocrat or diplomat with access to a deep treasury, which unfortunately does not narrow the list of suspects as much as I would like. I need someone with no current alliances to anyone in the Heart of Becar to lure my enemy into revealing him- or herself, and I believe you are the perfect person for that job.”

  She blinked at him, but she had not survived as long as she had, fooling the rest of the aristocracy into believing she still belonged with them, without learning how to react quickly. “I am your loyal subject.”

  “Excellent. As my adviser to my new racing team, I will require you to report to me frequently on their progress. See to it that you are seen coming and going by as many as possible. If my enemy has any brains at all, they’ll try to use you. I want you to report any attempts to bribe or subvert.”

  “You want me to be your spy.” This was a delightful turn of events. A chance to help the emperor-to-be, to be useful to the empire itself. Her parents certainly never expected her to have an opportunity like this. “Out of curiosity, what makes you think I can be trusted?”

  “Because you have already proven I can trust you,” he said simply.

  Oh, of course, she thought. She had been keeping the secret of the late emperor’s vessel. She hadn’t thought of that as a show of loyalty to the emperor-to-be as much as a necessity to avoid catastrophe, but she supposed it could work as both. “I will do my best, Your Excellence.”

  “My coffers will be open to you, as necessary.”

  Well, that was excellent news. She wondered what qualified as “necessary.”

  As the horrendous horn music began to die down, the emperor-to-be abruptly shifted the conversation. “What kind of gift do you think would please my kehok rider? I wish to show both my thanks and encouragement as she prepares for the next races.”

  Lady Evara realized the subject change was due to the fact they could be overheard as the music lessened, but he still sounded genuine. “I believe she would like a gift that expresses your belief in her ability to win. A small token. Anything large, and she would feel it as additional pressure.”

  “Good advice. A pin perhaps, that she can wear on her riding armor?”

  “A perfect idea.” A pin would show everyone that Raia had the emperor-to-be’s confidence, without seeming like a courtship gift. Unless it was a courtship gift? She eyed the emperor-to-be and then dismissed the thought. She knew the court rumors about him and Lady Nori. Everyone expected him to propose once he was crowned. “Would Your Excellence like me to assist in choosing one?”

  “Indeed, I would be grateful.” He raised his voice to a guard behind her. “Could you please escort Lady Evara to the royal jeweler? She will arrange a commission for my rider, on my behalf.”

  Very pleased with this interesting opportunity, Lady Evara bowed again to the emperor-to-be and followed the palace guard, making sure to smile at as many aristocrats as she could as she flounced by. Playing spy is going to be fun.

  And lucrative.

  And even better, it was a lovely chance to prove her family wrong. She belonged among the jewels of the empire, and no one was going to take this life from her—even, or especially, the dead.

  Chapter 22

  Tamra oversaw the move from the royal stable to the official racetrack campground. She ignored Lady Evara’s complaints about the primitiveness of the quarters compared to the palace where she was certain the emperor-to-be would see they were treated with exquisite meals and luxurious beds. When her griping finally got to be too much, Tamra told her, “It’s better for Raia and me to be here. But you should stay in the palace, as our liaison to our sponsor.”

  Lady Evara had loved that idea so much that she’d double-kissed Tamra’s cheeks, and then left Tamra blessedly alone to finish settling in; she had sent Raia to the stable to check over the kehok while she unloaded their supplies into the tent.

  Stretching sheets over the cot, Tamra thought about Shalla. She hoped she was happy, that the augurs were being kind to her, that she didn’t miss home too much, that she wasn’t worrying about anything. Tamra had been sending her little messages via wight—just notes describing things she’d seen in the capital, telling her that training was going well, saying she loved her and was proud of her no matter what—but Shalla hadn’t written back. Tamra wondered if the augurs were preventing Shalla from responding. She didn’t even know if they were delivering her notes. It would be just like them not to, she thought. They’d say it was interfering with her studies. She considered whether or not she could ask Augur Yorbel to intervene, insist that Shalla be allowed to see her notes and write back to them. Maybe she’d ask the next time she saw him.

  The tent flap ruffled behind her as Raia poked her head in. “Trainer Verlas?”

  She finished smoothing the sheet. “Has he been fed? Fresh water?”

  “Yes, but . . . are you sure he’ll be safe?”

  “You worry more than a mother hen,” Tamra said. “The kehoks are locked up to keep us safe from them. The monsters aren’t in any danger. You’ll see him in the
morning.”

  “It’s just . . . I don’t like the latch on the stall. It didn’t seem secure enough.”

  Everything here was top-notch, rigorously maintained and inspected before every racing season, but still she approved of Raia’s concern. “How about I double-check? Would that make you feel better?”

  Raia brightened, reminding Tamra of Shalla after she chased a nightmare away. “Yes, please. Thank you, Trainer Verlas.”

  Tamra noticed Raia was fiddling nervously with the pin Lady Evara had given her on behalf of the emperor-to-be. Affixed to her rider’s uniform, the pin was an exquisite bronze lion, and Tamra wasn’t certain if it was meant to be a mark of the prince’s favor or a warning against failure. She said nothing about it, though.

  It’s natural she’s tense, Tamra thought. She was carrying the weight of an empire on her back. Tamra remembered how anxious she’d felt during her own racing seasons—and I was only carrying the weight of my own ambition. “Get some sleep if you can. I’ll be back soon.”

  She pushed open the tent flap and stepped out into the night. Fires were lit in pits beside some tents, and trainers and racers were still scurrying around, preparing for 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 the corner of her eye, she saw the guards staring at her, their weapons ready but hesitating to strike at the racers—it was worth their jobs if they damaged any racers unnecessarily.

  “Back!” she commanded. She felt fury surging through her, and she directed every drop of it at them. “Get back!”

  Cowed, all three scuttled backward.

  “Into your stalls!”

  Heads down, they scooted backward. They retreated into their stalls while she continued to bear pressure on their minds. She was implacable, pinning them inside their stalls as if they were bugs pinned under her thumb.

  To the guards, she ordered, “Shackle them.”

  The guards obeyed, rushing into the stalls and securing the shackles while she held the three kehoks down with the strength of her mind. When all three were secure, they shut the doors, and she turned back to the black lion.

  He was unharmed, thank the Lady.

  One of the guards ventured, “That was incredible, Trainer . . .”

  “Verlas,” another guard said. “That’s Trainer Verlas.”

  “You held three kehoks at once! Three that weren’t even your racers!”

  All the guards started gushing at once.

  Tamra just felt tired. She held up a hand. “Screws and a screwdriver? So we can fix the latches and ensure this doesn’t happen again?” She eyed the latches of the other stalls. “And you should check all the latches.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” One of the guards scurried out of the stable in search of tools, while the others began checking the latches on the stalls. She propped up the door of the lion’s stall. The kehoks had broken through the weakened latch, but it was fixable. It was almost as if—

  “Excuse me, who owns the three kehoks who escaped?” she asked.

  The guard checked the labels beside the stalls. “All three are owned by Trainer Limra.”

  Tamra wasn’t familiar with the name, but it was suspicious that all three who attacked were owned by the same trainer. “Is there a shield on the kehok stable?”

  “No, ma’am, only the racetrack.”

  She nodded. So this Trainer Limra could have directed all three of his or her kehoks to attack hers, if he or she knew that the latches were faulty. Tamra didn’t have any proof, of course. But it was an unsettling su
spicion. “I’ll be keeping my kehok by my tent for the duration of the races.”

  “We are deeply sorry this incident occurred,” one of the guards said. “The latches will be fixed, and the incident will be reported to the race council. You can trust that—”

  “I’ll sleep easier if he’s near me,” Tamra said. “But thank you for your quick reactions.” At least the guards tried to protect her lion. With three kehoks targeting him, if she hadn’t been here, he’d have most likely been killed regardless, but at least they’d tried. She unhooked the lion’s shackles, kept her mind fixed on him so he’d behave, and led him out of the stable.

  He walked placidly beside her, like a tame pet.

  She kept a lid on her simmering fury, trying not to think too hard about the suspicion that this was a deliberate attempt at sabotage. Or call it what it really was: attempted murder.

  “Raia?” she called to the tent. “Come help me set up the cage.”

  Raia popped out of the tent, saw the lion, and immediately took his chains, cooing to him while Tamra swung open the cage door. The lion walked in without any resistance, curled up, and lay down in the center of the cage.

  “I’ll guard him,” Tamra said. “You sleep.”

  “Guard him? But . . .”

  “Sleep, Raia. He’s safe now.”

  Raia woke, convinced her lion was in danger, and burst out of the tent.

  “If you don’t go back to sleep,” Trainer Verlas said, “I will tie you to your cot.” She was seated by a campfire, placidly sewing up a rip in her tunic. She barely glanced at Raia. Most of the camp was quiet, with a few lit fires nearby and the clatter of wagon wheels in the distance.

  “Sorry,” Raia mumbled. She reassured herself that her kehok was still in his cage, and then she ducked back in and tried to fall asleep. She woke again. And again. Each time, the kehok was safely in his cage, pacing as if he were trying to guard her, rather than the other way around. Each time, Trainer Verlas sent her back inside as if she were an unruly toddler.

  When dawn came, she gave up on sleep and tossed her blankets off. Her mouth felt full of cobwebs, and her eyelids felt stiff. Her leg muscles ached, which could have been from riding so much lately or from sleeping terribly. This time, she wasn’t going to be sent back.