CHAPTER TWO #2
I swallowed the rage and did what Thorne demanded. His pupils were wide, the whites streaked with red at the corners. I wished he would pop a blood vessel and keel over, leaving me and my dragon alone for good.
His nose wrinkled, as if the sight of me disgusted him. ‘Fuck off before I tell Moss to get rid of you.’
Name-dropping the team boss sent a trickle of fear down my spine. Enough to make me slink away in shame.
The polished floor of the aviary did nothing to help me as I rushed from the main thoroughfare to the briefing room.
Not only had Thorne humiliated me, but he’d delayed me too.
By instinct I took the racing line through the sandstone tunnel: brushing the inside corner where two corridors met and speeding up on the exit.
Disappearing into a race, even an imaginary one, was all I could do to steady myself.
Not that it helped me find where I was going. As I took a second left, then a third, I saw a flash of orange disappearing in the opposite direction. The team briefing must be wherever they were going.
Cursing the identical tunnels I sped after my Kiestral teammate, hoping they weren’t one of the ones who’d seen the mess with Thorne.
I followed them to the right and staggered to a stop. He’d reached the briefing room, his hand on the door ready to go in. My heart rate picked up even while still, the same as it did every time I saw him.
He wasn’t just any Kiestral employee. He was Bach Lotiere.
Three-time Volitant Chroma Champion, one-time Volitant Forge Champion and, of course, two-time Volitant Decennial Champion. My personal hero, idol and all-round legend of dragon racing.
I closed my mouth, suddenly aware I wasn’t breathing through my nose. I did a mental check of my limbs too, as they had a tendency to forget what to do when in Bach’s presence.
Acting casual was the safest option, feigning politeness to let Bach enter the room first by lingering by the wall. I avoided Thorne’s attention because he was a piece of shit and I avoided Theo because he wasn’t worth my time. Bach though, I avoided him because I couldn’t bear the disappointment.
Not that Bach could ever disappoint me. I’d spent most of my life poring over his races, publicity casts and career statistics. I was wholly justified in my choice of racing hero. That’s why half the posters in my room were of him and his dragons.
No, I would be the disappointing one. I’d taken plenty of rejection before, both professionally and personally, but there would be no coming back from meeting the greatest rider of all time only for him to find me lacking.
So whenever I was in his proximity I did what I could to be as invisible as possible.
My current problem was that we were the only two people in the corridor and I was waiting right next to the door we both needed to go through.
Bach looked right at me. His eyes, nicknamed ‘the crystal blues’ for the way he could always see ten moves ahead while racing, were trained on me for the first time.
‘Go ahead.’ I gestured to the briefing room while trying not to panic about the awkwardly flat smile I could feel on my face. ‘I’m just admiring the artwork before I go in.’
Anything to make him stop paying attention to me.
The sense of relief I felt as Bach’s eyes left mine was short-lived. Instead, dread flooded me as his light brown brows furrowed. I followed his gaze to the wall next to me. My arm was resting up against a mural of fifty-three, a winning year for Kiestral.
There was no escaping the crystal blues, the serious pale face and unruly blond hair, because they were on the wall too. I was leaning up against a life-size painting of Bach winning his first championship for the team and I’d just told him I’d been admiring it.
I leapt away from the wall like it was dragonfire-hot, stumbling over myself as I did. My lifetime of being an athlete gone in an instant as my feet forgot how to do their job.
‘Sorry,’ I said, both to myself and to Bach while straightening up.
He only lifted his brows and finally went through the door.
I blew out a deep breath, content to wait a moment before following him in. I’d rather be late than go through that again. The door didn’t shut though. He was holding it open for me.
‘Thanks,’ I whispered as I ducked in behind him, mortified.
We immediately parted ways through the door. The wide windowless room was split into two – three rows of heavy wooden desks and uncomfortable chairs for each rider’s team. I slipped into a back seat on the right and slouched low. Bach strode to the front, taking a seat on the left.
‘Quiet.’ Eduard Moss, our collective boss, team leader and the man who Thorne threatened to report me to, waited at the end of the room.
The warm arcanite light strips on the ceiling did their best to make the room feel cosy, especially with the recessed orange ones that cast an ambient glow on the walls.
Still, the head of Kiestral radiated his intimidating aura.
It wasn’t physical – the man was pasty, slight, had grey hair streaked with white and always wore the white team shirt with orange lining to match the embroidered wings on the chest.
No, it was the sharp finish to everything he did.
Moss wasn’t a rider and never had been, but his movements were still precise, his decisions quick and his judgements final.
I’d seen him withstand a tirade from Thorne without flinching.
All he’d done in response was remind Thorne that his contract was up for renewal soon.
Thorne hadn’t exploded at Moss since. Still, the threats of making an issue of me to Moss weren’t hollow.
I sank lower into my chair and scanned the room for Thorne.
On the front row was Hector, his strategist, a constantly beleaguered man whose efforts to communicate with Thorne during the races were all for naught.
Gravity seemed to have twice its effect on him, making his shoulders stooped and head low.
Behind him were the ten or so arcanists – the brains behind the arcanite-powered flight suits, armour and dragon augments. Then Thorne’s buff personal trainer who told everyone Thorne was in his prime. As Thorne’s keeper for a year and a half I had never even seen his trainer in the aviary.
A much skinnier arcanist next to him leaned in. ‘He’s a no-show today?’
The trainer’s broad shoulders shuddered with mirth. ‘I heard he just had a temper tantrum. I’d be surprised if he showed up for the race let alone the briefing.’
What I could see of the arcanist’s face pulled into a grimace.
‘Oh please,’ the trainer continued, finding the whole thing amusing. ‘That’s nothing. Just stay out of his way and you won’t see how bad it gets.’
It wasn’t surprising that he wasn’t there, he was lazy at the best of times and didn’t seem to care about the team at all.
The only benefit in working for him was that I barely saw him outside the aviary.
His trainer was right too – it could get worse.
Unfortunately for me I couldn’t stay out of his way.
‘We’ve not long until the race begins.’ Moss’s mild voice forced everyone to be quiet to hear him. ‘We can’t take risks with half a season left to go and our riders so far apart in points. Let’s make the most of the next six races and get some results.’