CHAPTER THREE #2
My overalls crumpled to the floor, discarded without a second thought as I unhooked the nearby flight suit from its hanger.
The leather was supple and soft, so flexible despite the multitudes of copper wire augments running through it.
The orange colour was bright, fresh and untouched.
I slipped into it, the satin lining gliding easily over my fireproof underclothes.
Gottyk watched me silently from the stall. Perhaps I was projecting, but there was a steady confidence in his expression that I desperately wanted to take for myself. A giddy thrill ran up my spine at what came next.
I opened the glass case that held the armour.
White arcanite light lit it from above and below, casting bright highlights and deep shadows on the aerodynamic pieces of orange metal. Starting with the feet I worked my way up. Each piece was inert until I snapped it into place, connecting them to the protruding augment studs on the flight suit.
Wyvern racing as a teenager had prepared me for so much – strategy, endurance and the skill of flying competitively, but as a lower racing series riders didn’t need such high-specification augments. Luckily I’d seen Thorne do this over and over, watching from the sidelines.
By the time I placed the pauldrons on I was feeling the effects of the suit coming together. Even as I brushed against the armour pieces with my hands the force feedback kicked in, mimicking the touch by vibrating the augment lining inside the flight suit.
The sensitivity was incredible, so I figured I was safe to test the other feature too. I punched my arm with enough force that it should have hurt – the armour absorbed the impact while the suit underneath mimicked a light pat to my arm.
Excitement bubbled up inside me. A long-lost feeling of anticipation began to build.
‘Oh the things I can do in this.’
I took the final piece: the helmet. The crown of a rider’s armour and the key to my plan.
It would give me the anonymity I needed.
It had a smooth, solid faceplate with transparent slits for the eyes that were angled into a frown, all in Kiestral orange.
Inside was an intricate augment system that would help me while flying.
The back was shaped for aerodynamics, mimicking the horns of the Kiestral line of dragons.
The faux horns stuck up at a backward angle, splitting off into a smaller secondary branch.
I placed the helmet on and slid the faceplate down.
The interior lit up as it connected to the rest of the suit.
The lining cooled on my cheeks, already adjusting to a comfortable temperature.
I could hear the faint clicking as the interior visor powered up, getting ready to shift lenses as I needed them.
Using the glass case as a faded mirror, I looked at myself.
Thorne looked back at me. It was unnerving how little difference there was.
The white glow inside the helmet lit the eye slots, hiding my eyes from the outside.
The flight suit and armour bulked out my frame.
The suit itself equalized pressure, filling out the space between my curves – what had been intended for mediating G-force worked in my favour for disguising me as the straight-lined Thorne.
My fingers brushed against the number eighty-two on the helmet. I covered the two, making it look like the racing number I’d flown with during my teens.
‘What do you think?’ I asked Gottyk.
He left the stall and walked around me. Finally he lowered his head to mine. A low rumble reverberated through me – the armour was sensitive enough to pick up his draconic purring.
The helmet visor sharpened. I could see every individual scale on Gottyk as if I was pressing my face right up close. Blinking, I looked up at the aviary doors. They were a brown blur until the visor shifted lenses, letting me pick out the grain of the wood from thirty feet away.
My head swam at the shift. The same feeling I got whenever I’d had to travel by boat. I steadied myself by holding on to Gottyk and stared at my feet. The visor shifted again, bringing everything in range into focus, which included a piece of paper on the ground a few feet away.
It was small, a torn-off corner from a bigger piece. There wasn’t anything written, other than a dotted line of purples, oranges and reds. The tear was clean and there weren’t any creases on the paper itself.
‘I think,’ I said to Gottyk as I braved taking my hands off him and supported myself, ‘the arcanists may have gone overboard with this helmet. If you open your mouth I think I could see yesterday’s breakfast.’
I picked up the paper and crumpled it in my gloved hand, enjoying the feeling of the creases and folds even through the thick leather. I tossed it into the waste cache and swept the rest of the mess Thorne had left on top.
‘One last thing to clean up.’ I brushed past Gottyk and returned to Thorne.
He was still unconscious, though his breathing had evened out. I scooped underneath his shoulders and legs and braced myself to lift. Despite the absurdity of the situation I couldn’t help but smile. Cam wouldn’t be able to say anything about me not training enough if she knew what I was doing.
I carried him to his rider room, laying him out on the bench so he was at least stable when I left. He was scowling even when unconscious. My giddiness began to sour.
I wouldn’t feel guilty for this. He’d brought it on himself. He’d taken every opportunity and abused it. Whether he woke up now or in a few hours, I planned to use the time I had to take these opportunities for myself.
I returned to the aviary and faced the doors with Gottyk. Beyond them were thousands of people we had to fool. If even one of them realized what was going on it would be over.
‘Okay, buddy. Let’s go racing.’ I had nothing left to lose anyway.
My ears filled with the sound of my own blood thumping as we were funnelled towards the atrium. I was covered in armour from head to toe, but had never felt more exposed. I led Gottyk by the reins, using it as something to do rather than needing to tell the dragon where to go.
We’d done this more than a dozen times, but I was usually in my keeper gear with Thorne trailing behind. The pressure of hiding my identity, and hoping no one found the real rider unconscious back in the aviary while I was gone, was a new addition.
A soothing chill flowed over my skin as the augments wicked away the clammy body heat that had been building up all over me. Even my clothes knew I was freaking out.
‘Thorne!’
I flinched as Hector called the name. At first a reflex to Thorne being nearby, but the fear that lingered as Hector looked at me was new.
‘Did you read the notes I left for you?’
My head twitched. Maybe a nod, I couldn’t tell through the panic. Hector seemed placated, at least, if not resigned.
Kiestral team members buzzed around me, staying an arm’s length away and calling out last-minute strategy. All in team code – no one risked leaking plans as all five teams gathered in the atrium.
The sun shone through the gigantic skylight, creating a glowing circle in the centre of the cavernous room while the rest was cast into shadow.
At the edges of the darkness nine more dragons prowled, taut and ready to race.
The elegant Victrolia greens, with their short thin horns and slim builds; the agile Prevere blues that flowed through the sky like living water; the Mirendi whites with enough muscle to stand their ground against any of the others; the Ballenir purples, rumoured to be almost as smart as their riders; and, of course, the Kiestral oranges …
well-balanced in every aspect, perfect for the two legacy riders who’d begun their careers decades ago.
We were all here for the same reason: to draw lots for the start positions.