CHAPTER TWO
I stood atop the golden cliffs and basked in the morning sun.
The ground vanished just a few feet away, into the canyon basin that was the iconic start to the Kiestral racecourse.
In just a few hours each of the ten rider-and-dragon pairs would launch themselves into the chaos of the circuit.
From where I was standing I could see the notorious waterfall, pretty in the morning light as it poured into the lake below.
Behind it though was a launch point that had the rider and dragon starting the race nearly blind and deaf.
I felt the bubble of excitement in my chest grow. I’d imagined myself flying here hundreds of times, but it was never as thrilling as the real event. After the mid-season break I was ready to see the dragons racing again. No matter how much I hated Thorne, he couldn’t destroy my love of the sport.
Giant tiered seating towered upwards either side of me, starting to fill up with spectators.
They were overrated. I’d sneaked through to the lip of the basin with Cam almost every year as a kid.
We’d watched in secret, eating the snacks Cam had liberated from the overpriced food stalls.
My smile faltered as the nostalgia soured.
So many of those memories included the person I wanted to forget.
Even as I pushed back through the crowds being herded around the circuit edge, he was hard to avoid thinking about.
The fans were all dressed in team colours, mostly Kiestral orange for our home race, but I could easily spot Victrolia green, Prevere blue and Mirendi white.
I tried to ignore the flashes of purple for Ballenir.
Fans had lined up at the gates that led into the staff-only area to get a glimpse of the riders as they arrived, likely waiting since the crack of dawn to be at the front. A gaggle of them had formed a crowd, leaking past the roped-off area.
Showing up before I did on race days was a sign of true dedication. I knew what it was to be a Volitant fan and didn’t begrudge them a moment to see their favourite riders. Still, I had to go through them to get to Gottyk and start my day.
I zigzagged through the sparse edge of the crowd before having to sharpen my shoulders to make my way towards the entrance. The rest of my day would be spent in the subterranean warrens that made up the team control rooms, aviaries and Volitant casting stations.
‘I can’t believe it’s actually him!’ a young woman in front of me cooed to her friend.
‘Reckon he’ll sign my shirt?’ he replied, breathless before even meeting anyone.
There was a rider in this mess of people. That was why I was having trouble even getting to the entrance. I waded further in. There was no way it was Thorne. He never stopped for fans, yet my stomach still curdled.
The likelihood of it being the other rider I wanted to avoid was slim to none. He didn’t arrive early, which is exactly why I did.
Yet the deeper into the crowd I went, the more purple merchandise I saw. I tilted my head down, just in case. A wave of giggles rippled through the crowd, ruining my resolve that it wasn’t him. I pushed harder towards freedom.
Finally, I broke free from the press of bodies and took a deep breath, relishing the space as I looked up. I hadn’t made it through the crowd at all … I’d found the centre.
‘Here for an autograph, Paldon?’ Theo Vaspre grinned at me, his brown eyes shining with delight as he ended the five-year silent treatment with one crappy joke.
A poker struck the heart of my chest, stirring the dormant embers into a frenzy.
It wasn’t just his words, it was the way he was looking down at me, making those few inches count.
He’d broadened out since the last time we’d spoken.
We weren’t eighteen anymore and his lankiness had vanished along with our teenage years.
The burgeoning embers urged me to say something back. Something funnier, smarter and more cutting. Yet when I looked at his face all I saw was what I’d lost.
My career.
Theo Vaspre’s fans saw the messy black curls, the warm bronze skin that dimpled when he smiled and the expensive clothes he always wore. I saw the effort he took to look effortless. I knew not to trust the smile no matter how genuine it seemed.
My building anger had at least given me the energy to move.
Breaking away from his expectant look I diverted back into the crowd, brushing past the sleeve of his oversized and overpriced white shirt.
He had the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms and enough buttons undone that he may as well not have bothered.
The crowd hemmed in around Theo, slowing my escape. As I found a gap to go through, I felt a tug against my bag.
I whipped around. ‘Let go—’
Theo’s hands were empty, but his face was full of surprise. Our eyes met again, locked together for a moment before we both looked down. A Ballenir bandana hung from his belt and it had caught on a buckle of my bag, the deep purple fabric nearly pierced through by the metal clasp.
I tugged on my bag, trying to yank myself free. Every part of me was screaming to leave. Being attached to Theo was not an option.
‘Hey!’ Theo stepped towards me and held on to my bag, letting the bandana slacken. ‘This silk is from the Kuramines.’
He began to untangle the mess. I whipped my hand away as he brushed against it as if scorched by dragonfire. Despite being a rider, his skin was still smooth and soft.
My mouth opened on instinct, about to mock him for still having the same excessive skincare routine. Then I breathed in the same citrus scent he’d always worn and choked on my words. It was far more subtle now, like he’d finally learned not to douse himself in it.
‘There,’ he said, looking up at me through the loose black curls that fell over his eyes. ‘Now we’re not stuck together anymore.’
The physical tension between us dropped as we detached, yet I’d frozen in place as the past escaped from the mental prison I’d been warden of. Five years of hard work undone in an instant.
I couldn’t bear it.
‘Kiss my ass, Vaspre.’ I shrugged my bag back onto my shoulder and forced my way through the crowd, fans be damned.
People pulled away from me like a receding tide, happy to let me leave so they could get closer to Theo Vaspre and his massive ego. I stormed onwards, leaving the crowd behind.
No longer stuck with me? That was rich coming from him. I was the free one. I was better off without him. I’d let go of him a long time ago. Perhaps I should have said as much. That our decade of friendship wasn’t just dead, but buried and rotted through.
Maybe he’d forgotten that he’d been the one to betray me. Very fitting, now that I knew the type of person he really was. Not a good teammate. Not a loyal friend.
The gloom of the cliffside caverns matched my mood as I entered into race headquarters, leaving the sunshine and fresh air behind. The staff of other Volitant Chroma teams buzzed around me. Their faces were blurry as my mind offered up memories that only made me feel worse.
Meeting Theo for the first time at eight years old, only a few miles away from here at the Junior Drake track, where we’d ridden the small wingless lizards. The same summer sun beating down on us as we shook hands, agreeing with childish earnestness that we would be friends forever.
Lying on the grassy clifftop behind Cam’s house at sixteen, watching the clouds drift by as the grass made our legs itch. Planning on how we’d make sure to be teammates in the coming race season.
The look on his face at eighteen as we dismounted after our final race in the Wyvern Cup. The dimpled smile as he celebrated his win, not caring that he’d used me to get it.
It all came rushing back, caving my chest in and increasing the heat behind my eyes. I rubbed at them, desperate to hold myself together. I rushed forwards and bounced off someone in my path.
‘Watch where you’re going!’ I snapped, pushing my hair out of my face.
My stomach dropped. The angry fire Theo had awakened was doused with fear as I met the hollow eyes of Huwin Thorne.
Thorne was unmoved by my crashing into him, but the crags of his face morphed into a scowl all the same.
‘What did you say?’ Venom dripped from his words and their paralysing effect crept through me.
For one long moment I held his gaze, torn between fight and flight. Both were natural for me. I could punch as well as I could ride a dragon.
Then I saw the colours of the team crews around us, the blues, greens, purples and whites merging together.
I heard the whispers as they passed, their heads on a swivel to watch what happened.
Worst was the few people dressed in the same orange as me – they were the ones who looked away. I deflated.
‘Nothing.’ Heat flushed my cheeks and an acidic pit opened in my stomach, devouring me from the inside out.
‘Get your act together,’ Thorne spat. ‘Stop running around like a child. You’re an embarrassment to the team.’
He grabbed me by the sleeve, as if he would rip the orange right off me.
‘What a waste of space.’ He dropped me again and wiped his hand on his trousers, cleaning me off himself. ‘You simper in the corners of every room you’re in and now you’re trying to mow down riders before the race.’
I looked away, unable to meet his gaze. That was a mistake though, because all I saw instead were the faces of other Kiestral crew. Two strategists hurrying to the team briefing, casting glances behind them until they caught my eye. All of a sudden I was the last thing they wanted to be looking at.
‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’ His shout bounced off the polished floor, making my ears ring.
My hands curled into fists, my right drawing back slightly. I blinked and for the split second my eyes were closed I saw Gottyk’s big brown eyes looking back at me.