Chapter 3 #2
The nobleman assessed me for several long seconds. “You really had no experience with them before that?” Skepticism sharpened his tone.
I shrugged. “I’ve read about them.”
He sputtered. “How, might I ask? Considering books about dragons—well, save the fictional tales—are reserved for bonded riders.” His posture, the small pinch between his eyes, told me I needed to impress him with my answer or he might dismiss me.
For some reason, I didn’t think a lie, however artfully crafted, would suffice.
With a long inhale, I confessed, “When the library in Belleville burned five years ago, I…might have taken a few books from the wreckage.” The only people who knew that were my mother and Evie.
Bennett didn’t even know, but this man had seen firsthand that I knew more about dragons than most bottomsiders.
He didn’t seem the type to turn me in for knowing too much, but I couldn’t be certain.
I didn’t tell him that I’d taken the books that had been in the locked sections of the library, the rooms no one but the godborn could enter.
He could probably figure that part out on his own.
Fairfax’s shoulders began to shake, and a moment later, the sound of his quiet chuckling grew into a loud cackle.
“Say, you must have been quick about it. The authorities had the whole thing roped off before they’d even finished putting out the flames.
” He paused, as if waiting for me to elaborate.
I didn’t, but I placed one hand on the balcony railing, then flipped it palm up, where the scars shone.
His choked guffaw told me that he understood.
From somewhere to our left, nine dragons shot from an opening in the wall and flew in a figure eight pattern, their saddles affixed with long, thin banners, each a different color, that looked no bigger than ribbons from here.
My heart leaped at the sight of their riders, tucked low over the necks of their dragons.
The crowd below erupted in a thunderous roar.
It was all I could do to keep my mouth from hanging open. These dragons were acrobats, and their riders had to be strong to stay so secure in the saddles, even with the straps holding their legs in place.
Fairfax promised to continue our chat after the race and excused himself to take his seat among his other guests. I quickly gathered pieces of cheese and fruit on a plate and perched on one of the gilded chairs, barely able to contain myself, knees bouncing and heart racing.
After a few minutes of watching these dragons perform, a man in old-fashioned tails and a top hat stood at the edge of another balcony directly in the apex of the arena’s curve. His hands lifted at his sides, and the crowd fell silent.
“Welcome to the two-hundredth annual King’s Race.
It is my honor to announce that the queen is in attendance today.
” He lifted his hand toward the largest box on the opposite side of the arena.
A woman in white gloves and a hat waved elegantly at the crowd.
She was greeted with cheers, mostly, but a few deep voices sounded their disapproval.
The queen lowered her arm and the announcer continued, “Today, glory will be attained. Today, history will be made.” After the applause died down, he shouted, “Let the race begin!” His voice carried over the arena, which exploded in a roar like a river breaking through a dam.
Energy pulsed in the air, tripling my heartbeat.
The racers released the ribbons from their saddles, and the fabric snaked and writhed as each piece fell to the arena floor.
The riders looped around the vast arena, wings beating and tails whipping.
They were beautiful in motion, every movement graceful and full of power.
My plate clanked as I set it down with trembling fingers.
The nine dragons assembled in a single line, not horizontally, but vertically, beside a tall white column just on the other side of the balcony’s railing.
The breeze from their wingbeats as they hovered in place pushed my hair from my face.
The glint of sun on their scales dazzled my eyes.
I felt close enough to reach out and touch them.
The man in tails lifted a small pistol high in the air.
The leather saddles, equipped with straps that secured the riders in place, squeaked as the racers adjusted themselves, legs bent, bodies pressed low to the backs of their dragons.
I could see the determination on their faces, the tension in their white knuckles.
A smile lit my face.
Then the gun rang out and the dragons shot from the starting line. I leaped to my feet to watch as they flew down the length of the arena, but no one else on the balcony stood. I forced myself to sit back down, leaning as far forward as I could.
The racers followed the curve of the arena and soon were back in view.
I gasped at the sight. The dragons flew over and under each other in a mad tangle, vying for the top position.
I’d read about this, but watching it was far more stressful.
The highest position was the favored one, as the racer could shoot downward and gain a little momentum from gravity.
But the top spot in the vertical race was only valuable if the racer maintained it until the final lap, where the winning dragon could drop like a bullet toward the finish line, cutting off his opponents.
The racers blasted past the balcony, a rush of air washing over us.
Eight laps would be over in a matter of minutes. I could hardly breathe.
My legs bounced and my fists tapped against my lap as the dragons completed their second lap.
By now, Covington’s golden-scaled dragon, Thuron, was in the lead, flying above the rest like he owned that space.
He was regal in flight, each wingbeat so well timed it looked like he was dancing rather than racing.
But the dragon beneath him, one belonging to a man named Count Elmore, I recalled from the little booklet, was giving him a run for his money, flying so close I feared the beasts would collide.
After the second lap, the count’s dragon scrambled into the highest position.
The crowd roared, and several of the nobles in the queen’s box shouted curses.
My fingers tapped against my lips. Three laps.
Four. A trumpet blared, marking the halfway point.
“Go ahead,” Lord Fairfax said, lifting his arm toward the balcony railing. I shot forward, leaning over the railing to watch the racers bank into the turn at the far end of the arena.
The turns were amazing to watch. Wings spread wide, tipped almost directly at the ground, the dragons sailed around the curve, each one falling slightly as gravity pulled them down.
All but one.
Thuron timed his turn well, banking not down but up as he hit the curve. When the dragons leveled out, beating their wings furiously to gain speed and height, he’d moved up to the top position again.
I tapped my fist on the railing, hoping the count’s dragon could still pull off a win. Covington’s dragons always won. It was high time someone else was crowned champion.
By the seventh lap, a green dragon who’d been behind was putting on speed and closing on Thuron, and my heart was exploding in my chest.
Duke Covington’s dragon let out a guttural growl as the racers entered the eighth and final lap.
He beat his wings to lift away from the dragon fighting for speed beneath him.
The first turn was finished. One more to go.
Then he dropped from the top position like a pistol aimed at the ground.
He gained so much speed he left the other dragons behind. One length. Two.
By the final turn, Thuron had no one near enough to catch up.
The duke’s dragon blazed past the finish line right before my eyes, the wind in his wake pulling my hair across my face seconds before the count’s dragon blasted by.
Cheers erupted from the stands. People below waved little flags over their heads, signaling which rider they supported. Most of the flags were crimson and gold.
Fairfax joined me at the balcony railing once more. He stood with hands clasped at his waist, almost like he was bored. “What did you think?”
“That was incredible!”
He peered over at me. “Ah, but was it?”
Confused by his words, I turned to watch the other nobles file out of the box, smiles on their faces, a slight hurry to their steps.
“Is that it?” I asked, heart still thundering.
Over his shoulder, Fairfax watched them go. “Oh. They’ll be back before the next race. Excited to collect their winnings, I imagine.”
“They bet on Thuron,” I said, matter-of-factly.
He nodded. “Just like the duke wanted.”
I tensed. “Are you saying…the races are…?”
“Fixed. Yes.” Fairfax moved back toward the center of the balcony, picking up the small booklet I’d perused. “I’ve recently come to terms with the fact that if I wish to change anything, I’ve got to do it from here, you know? Right here.” He held the book up. “Hit them where it hurts, you see.”
I didn’t see. Not at all. “Hit whom, sir?”
“This!” He dropped the booklet on the table with a soft whop. “This whole thing”—he flicked his hand in the air—“has got to change.”
“Dragon racing?”
“Yes!” he boomed. All the staff had left the balcony as well. We were alone.
I flinched, but he didn’t notice as he walked to pour himself another drink.
“It’s about time someone did something about it. I know I’m not the only one who’s figured it out.”
“That the races are fixed?”