Race the Sands

by Sarah Beth Durst

  She stood for a moment longer in the shadow of a statue.

  She could go to the emperor-to-be. This was precisely the kind of information that would interest him, especially if her instincts were correct and the bribe money was more than Lord Petalo could afford on his own.

  But there was the little matter of the offer itself. It was high enough to make all her problems go away. She did owe it to herself and her future to thoroughly consider all possibilities and ramifications.

  No longer the least bit tired, Lady Evara again drifted and twinkled around the room, searching for another helping of shrimp.

  If she were the type of person her parents—and the augurs and Lord Petalo and anyone else who knew the truth about her—thought she was, then she’d take the gold, preserve her reputation, and secure her future.

  If she wasn’t . . . Well, that’s an interesting question, isn’t it.

  It was a very large amount of gold.

  Five days, six races, and six wins, though more than one was tight enough to make the hair on the back of Tamra’s neck stand up. She kept a close eye on Raia for any signs of exhaustion, but the girl seemed to be floating on the exhilaration of the races. Which was how it should be.

  “Race like it’s new,” Tamra advised her as Raia prepared for the next race. “It has to be a fresh hunger every time.” She then sent her to the starting gate yet again.

  With the races coming so close together now, there wasn’t much for a trainer to do except hope, console, and encourage. She was continuing to make sure Raia slept and ate, and she regularly checked the kehok for any signs of stress or injury.

  It didn’t make it any easier to have no control.

  Taking her spot in the stands, Tamra waited for the start of the next race. She glanced up at the royal box—the emperor-to-be was there, as always, and Lady Evara had woven herself in among the royal courtiers. Tamra hadn’t spoken to her lately and wondered what had been keeping her busy. Probably parties with nobles.

  “Ready! Prepare! Race!” the announcer cried.

  Yanking her mind back into the present, she watched Raia and her racer thunder around the track. She catalogued every stride, thinking of how it could be improved—dig a little deeper there, lean a little into the wind. Raia took the turn flawlessly.

  “She’s really good, Mama,” a familiar voice said beside her.

  Tamra’s breath caught in her throat. She spun around and there was Shalla! Dropping to her knees, Tamra pulled her in tight until she yelped. “How is this possible? How are you here? Are you all right?” Releasing her, Tamra examined her daughter’s face, body, whole self. She’s here!

  Shalla laughed. “I’m good! Nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry so much, Mama.”

  “But . . . you’re here!”

  Then Tamra noticed Yorbel standing behind her with a big, wonderful, goofy smile on his face. “I arranged a transfer. Until the end of the race season, she’ll train at the temple in the Heart of Becar.”

  Tamra, who never cried, felt tears pouring down her face. “Thank you. You are a good man.” She held Shalla close as, down on the track, Raia raced first across the finish line.

  After the race, Raia dumped the lion’s dinner into his dish and then flopped down on the ground next to his cage. She knew she should drag herself to her cot and catch a few hours of sleep—and as soon as Trainer Verlas noticed her lying here, she knew her trainer would prod her into the tent for a proper rest—but for right now, this was fine.

  She hoped that Shalla wouldn’t mind if she greeted her later. She was grateful to her for distracting Trainer Verlas. It was nice to have a few minutes without anyone fussing over her.

  We did it, she thought. She tried to muster up enough energy to feel excited, but she just wanted to collapse on her cot and sleep. They’d won race after race, and it was nearly over. Only one race left: the final championship race. The only one that mattered.

  From the cage, the lion huffed.

  It was an unusual enough sound that she lifted herself off the ground to peer into the cage. He was sniffing at his dinner, and she suddenly realized she hadn’t checked it first. “Wait! Don’t eat it yet,” she told him.

  His head shot up.

  Hauling herself up to her feet, she unlatched the cage.

  “Excuse me, lady?” one of the guards they’d borrowed from the palace said. “But are you sure you should go in there while he’s eating?”

  “He won’t hurt me.” She knew Trainer Verlas would scold her for even thinking that—the second a rider started to trust her racer was the second she opened herself up to disaster. It happened often enough.

  But my lion isn’t like other kehoks.

  “Calm,” she said to the kehok. “I have to make sure it’s safe to eat.” Ever since Lady Evara had reported an attempt to bribe her to poison their racer, Raia had been checking her lion’s food. It was easy enough to do—a drop of medicine. If the meat sizzled, it was bad. No reaction, it was fine. She usually remembered to do it before she put the dinner into the cage.

  The lion growled at her.

  “Back,” she told him.

  He retreated one step.

  “Rider Raia, I must insist.” The guard clamped his hand on her arm. “He isn’t shackled.” She had taken to leaving the lion unchained within the cage—he was secure enough within it, and his muscles needed to be able to stretch after all the racing. Plus, she hated seeing him piled underneath all the iron.

  The lion growled deep in his throat.

  Raia glared at the guard. He was a new one. He must have missed Trainer Verlas’s “don’t mess with my rider” lecture, which she gave to all the guards sent from the palace. “It’s all right.”

  He was sweating. “You can’t risk—”

  As she opened her mouth to tell him to let go of her arm, the lion launched himself against the half-open cage door. She was knocked flat on her back, and her kehok landed directly on top of the guard.

  The guard screamed.

  “No! Stop!” Raia shouted.

  But the lion didn’t move. He stayed on top of the guard, pinning him with his massive paws. She heard a commotion around her as other guards, trainers, and riders came running. One of them struck at her lion with a spiked whip, and her kehok snapped his jaws fast and hard toward the trainer.

  Raia shouted with every bit of strength she had. “Into the cage!”

  Growling and resisting, the lion retreated paw by paw.

  Another guard tried to strike her kehok, but Raia jumped toward the guard and knocked his club to the side. With her focus broken, the lion surged forward, knocking the same guard—the one who had grabbed Raia—back down again.

  Then Trainer Verlas was there. “Back into the cage!”

  Together, Trainer Verlas and Raia focused their will on the lion. He made a whimpering kind of sound, eyed the prone guard, and then walked back into the cage calmly, as if he hadn’t attacked.

  Rushing forward, Raia slammed the cage door shut and latched it.

  “What happened?” Trainer Verlas demanded. She glared at all the onlookers who had gathered. “Show’s over,” she barked at them. “Go back to your tents.”

  They scattered like gazelle.

  “I don’t know,” Raia said. “He—” She turned to point at the guard, but during all the chaos, he’d slipped away and run. She had a terrible thought. A terrible, wonderful thought.

  Turning back to the cage, she unlatched it again.

  “Raia, don’t!” Trainer Verlas barked.

  The lion didn’t budge. Raia grabbed the bowl of meat and pulled it out of the cage. Trainer Verlas shut the door and locked it.

  Hands shaking, Raia pulled the vial with the poison-testing powder out of her tunic pocket. She sprinkled it on the meat. It sizzled the instant it touched.

  Both Raia and Trainer Verlas stared in horror.

  He knew! The lion had known—not only had he avoided the poisoned meat, but he’d targeted the one respo
nsible and found a way to communicate all of that to his rider. “You clever boy,” she murmured. To Trainer Verlas, she said, “The guard, the one he attacked, tried to keep me from testing it.”

  Trainer Verlas snarled to the remaining guards, “Who was he? Where did he go?”

  One of the guards sputtered, “H-h-he was newly assigned. Came with all the correct paperwork—”

  “I suggest you catch him,” Trainer Verlas said, with all the coiled fury of a chained kehok. “And hope the emperor-to-be is lenient about this negligence.”

  Two of the guards immediately sprinted through the crowd, leaving one remaining by the cage. Until they returned, Raia swore she’d stay up and guard the lion. She felt herself begin to shake and didn’t know if it was from fear or rage or pride. He tried to hurt—kill!—my lion! But her lion had been too smart for him. Luckily. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” Raia swore.

  Yorbel and Shalla jogged over to join them. “What happened?” Yorbel demanded.

  In a low voice, Trainer Verlas explained what had occurred. Raia pressed closer to the cage. As far as she could tell, he looked well. He didn’t seem to have eaten any of the poisoned meat. Somehow he knew. And he was trying to tell me. He’d kept his claws retracted when he pounced. He could have savaged that guard before anyone could stop him. But he didn’t.

  “You’re good,” she whispered to him.

  He met her eyes with his beautiful, sad golden ones.

  “Do you know that?” she asked.

  And he, to her shock, nodded his head.

  That’s impossible, she thought. Kehoks couldn’t understand concepts like that. Orders, yes. Verbs. A few nouns. But an idea like “good”? Even though she’d always claimed she had a powerful connection with the black lion, she hadn’t thought it was anything like this. And she definitely didn’t think he was this aware a few weeks ago. She wondered if it was possible that his mind was growing.

  Or that he was remembering who he used to be.

  She wanted to ask him more questions, to see how much he understood about who he was and where he was and what they were trying to do. But there were still too many people around, lingering to see if there was going to be any more drama, gossiping about what they’d seen. She couldn’t let other people know he was different.

  But she could know it in her heart. I’m right about him. I know I am. Somehow a piece of him knew what he was and who he had been, or sensed it. Touching the bronze lion pin on her rider’s uniform, she thought of Prince Dar and wished she had a way to tell him that a part of his brother still lived on.

  At least until the assassins kill him, Raia thought, her hope dashed once again.

  It didn’t even occur to her how close she was to her kehok’s cage—that, if he wanted to, he could have ended her life right then.

  Instead, they both stared out into the night, as if they somehow could see their enemies coming.

  Chapter 25

  Dar hated all the subterfuge. He also hated the musicians he’d hired to obscure his sensitive conversations. Calling today’s contingent of personal guards into his throne room, he paced in front of them. “I have a problem,” he announced.

  The head guard bowed. “We live to serve.”

  “By the River, I hope not. You should serve to live.” He then winced at himself. That was one of those un-emperor-like statements that always made Zarin laugh, right before his brother would caution him never to say that out loud. “Never mind. My problem is that I wish to consult with my racing team about strategy before the final race tomorrow, without fear that someone will overhear and share with my competitors or use that knowledge to help their bets. But spying on me seems to be everyone’s favorite hobby. Any thoughts on how I can have a chat without feeling as if my every word is being sold to the highest bidder?”

  The horrendous music had worked well for a while, but by now most of courtiers had caught onto his trick. A few of them had even showed up holding their own instruments, in the hopes of getting close enough to hear something interesting between the squeaks and squeals. Others simply bribed the musicians.

  “Vigilance,” the guard said. “We will ensure no one comes close enough to overhear.”

  “So you’ve been only halfheartedly guarding me until now?” Dar knew that wasn’t the case, but honestly, if the man was going to make such a unhelpful suggestion . . . The whole idea behind this conversation was to make his guards feel more personally invested. It was, he thought, a different approach than his brother, but he still thought Zarin would have approved. “Any rooms that my predecessors used that are spy-proof?”

  Another guard stepped forward. “Your Excellence, your brother preferred the aviary.”

  “I know that. He liked to visit the river hawk that was once our mother . . .” He trailed off. The aviary was, by his brother’s imperial order, kept empty so Zarin could visit their mother in solitude. Clever, Zarin. He felt a pang—his brother was again helping him, even after death. “An excellent idea. I’ll visit her as well. Please lead the sweep to ensure it is empty—courtiers, servants, everyone. If I learn afterward that I’ve been overheard, I will hold you personally responsible.”

  The guard bowed. “It will be done.”

  Barking at a contingent of guards, she led them marching out of the room. He stood, smiled at the remaining guards, and said, “The races are thrilling, aren’t they? Are you excited for tomorrow’s championship race?”

  At that, the guards began to chatter, sharing their thoughts and predictions. Many confessed they’d bet on his racer. It was a pleasant way to spend the minutes while he waited for the aviary to be prepared and his guests to arrive.

  When a servant signaled that all was ready, he strolled between his talkative guards out of the throne room and through the halls. Drifting out from where she waited by a pillar, Lady Nori matched pace with him.

  He grinned at her. “Sneaky. I didn’t even see you there.”

  “It’s impossible to be alone with you these days.”

  He waved at his guards. “This is hardly alone.”

  “Closer to alone than we are in the stands, watching the races. Besides, if you can’t trust your guards, who can you trust?” But she peeked between them anyway, as if expecting to spot a palace spy, or just one of the court gossips, and then she bowed and said, “Your Excellence, apologies for the interruption.”

  Dar smiled at her. “You don’t need to apologize, and you know I’m not excellent.”

  “I’m glad to see you looking happy.”

  “I’d say ‘hopeful.’ Not happy.” He thought of one thing that would make him happy, but it wouldn’t be fair to Nori to spring that on her. Not when everything was so complicated. He settled on saying, “I’m happier now that you’re here.” Then he winced, because he knew better than to be so honest in court. It was a thing that Zarin was always shaking his head at. You can’t just go saying what you feel, Dar, Zarin used to say. They’ll use it against you, any way they can.

  Nori wrinkled her nose in that way he loved. “I wish I’d cornered you with news that would make you happier.” She lowered her voice. “I have heard rumors about the ambassador of Ranir. It’s said he’s been bribing augurs to delay the search for your late brother’s vessel, and it’s said he has the full resources of the king of Ranir’s treasury to draw from. Far beyond a mere ambassador’s typical funds. It’s also said that the movement of Raniran troops on the border is more than mere ‘military exercises.’”

  “Augurs are immune to bribes,” Dar said. Their treasury was vast—augurs had no need of personal wealth when they had the vast resources of the temples at their disposal—and they were committed, by both training and temperament, to the purity of their souls. “And I am aware of the troop movements.” His generals kept him updated, as well as voicing their increasing frustration at their inability to do anything substantial about the massing army. Without imperial orders, they could do little but increase their standard patrols. He won
dered if it would take an invasion for his generals to agree to break with tradition—and law—and defend Becar. Surely, if the threat grew serious enough, they’d rally, even at risk to themselves. In the meantime, he had a real enemy to find, one already within the palace, not across the desert.

  “Dar . . . I think it’s more than merely flexing their muscles. If Ranir believes we’re weak—”

  He’d heard Ambassador Usan at the Listening—Ranir was an ever-present threat but not an imminent one. There were many more close-to-home dangers for Dar to worry about, such as unrest within the capital city itself. He didn’t deny that Ranir was a threat, but he questioned how much damage one man, far from his home, could do.

  But Nori only meant to help. “Thanks for telling me,” he said.

  She’d taken a risk in talking to him outside the public eye. Until he was crowned emperor, it was a political gamble to be seen as being linked too closely to him. If he failed to be crowned and Lady Nori was known to be loyal to him . . .

  She placed her hand on his. Her hand was soft, uncalloused, and warm. “I just . . . worry about Becar.”

  She said Becar; he heard you. He stared into her eyes, barely noticing that he’d stopped walking. “I have every hope that this waiting period will be over soon.”

  Her stunning smile spread across her face, and she took a step closer to him. “That’s wonderful news! You’ve located your brother’s vessel?”

  He hated lying to her nearly as much as he hated not talking to her. “Not yet. But I have faith that he will be found. There’s a finite number of creatures in Becar, after all. It’s merely a matter of time.”

  Stepping back, Nori withdrew her hand. “Time is something you might not have, if the ambassador is actively working against you to prime Becar for an invasion.”

  Dar went very still, hating himself for the thought that went through his mind. “Nori—are you asking me to step aside?” He kept his voice as soft as possible, but he still heard the nearest guard hiss.