CHAPTER THREE #3
In the centre of the room, directly under the sunbeam, was Abel Gallin, Volitant Chroma Chairman. He held a simple lidded box with a hole in the top.
‘Remember,’ Thorne’s drooping strategist, Hector, spoke to me. ‘Positions one through four: Plan A. Any of the others will be Plan B.’
I nodded. Was it a convincing nod? I wasn’t sure. I wracked my brain for memories of how Thorne moved, whether he was still or twitchy, flipping through all the times I’d seen this happen.
‘Victrolia.’ Abel’s voice bounced off of the golden stone, echoing impressively. The casting orbs mounted on the walls would capture it well, sending it out to every fan watching at home.
Ellas Ruan and Jas Thokan stepped forward. Champion’s choice – whichever rider had finished in first place the season prior was allowed to draw first, followed by their teammate.
The light caught on the gold accents of their armour, bright against the deep green.
The pointed tips of their helmets were shallow and smooth, mimicking the horns of their dragons.
Much like everything else about Victrolia, the suits were understated.
They didn’t need anything flashy for the whole continent to know they were the best.
Ellas, reigning champion, put his hand into the box and pulled out a ball. His pale face didn’t even twitch. His high-cut cheekbones and straight dark brows kept him looking regal and impassive. There was a number on the ball, but nothing I could read from so far away.
My visor shifted, pulling my focus in with a new lens as I read the number the same time as Abel said it aloud. ‘Gap view, P4.’
So Ellas would be starting in fourth place, named for its direct path to the first obstacle of the circuit. Easy work for the champion and his dragon.
My head swam as Ellas moved back, so I searched for something to lock on to.
An all-too-familiar laugh filtered through my helmet, drawing my attention.
Theo stood in his purple armour with bright blue light shining underneath.
His helmet hung by his side as he spoke with Quinn Potts, the tall red head who was three years my senior.
I grunted as I recalled how Theo and I had spent our evenings on the Vaspre family rooftop dissecting Quinn’s flying style in the Wyvern Cup, arguing over whether he preferred to over- or under-twist around corners.
Next to me I felt Hector shift. Even a grunt from Thorne had him twitching.
I needed to get Theo out of sight, or at least out of mind.
Thankfully the rookie, Colly Balen, loomed behind the two riders.
He was the youngest rider in the pack at only eighteen years old, but was also the tallest. His deep brown skin creased as he smiled, his head bobbing with nods as he listened to the older riders.
The kid was all gangly limbs, still holding on to teenage awkwardness.
‘Prevere,’ Abel called out.
I’d missed which position the Victrolia rider Jas Thokan had ended up with. My first race and I wasn’t keeping track of my opponents. My jaw flexed as I bit back a curse.
Quinn and Colly, the Prevere riders, approached next. Their sky-blue armour was framed around the collar by a ruff of white fur, an homage to the frigid Kuramine mountains the team called home. Colly deferred to Quinn to draw first, then he followed suit.
Mirendi were next – the Boll brothers lurched over in their boxy white armour. Aerodynamic spines poked up from their shoulders, elbows and calves. Their helmets remained on and their faceplates were down like mine, unearned ego from being the sons and grandsons of riders from past generations.
‘Maybe get some extra after the race, I don’t want her uncomfortable—’
My head whipped to the sound of Bach’s voice.
The visor lenses shifted, stopping the world from blurring as my eyes darted to him.
He was speaking to Josie, going through requests for his dragon.
His keeper nodded and smiled while holding the reins.
Her eyes flicked to me for a moment, her expression neutral as she looked between me and Gottyk.
‘Kiestral.’
Bach strode to the centre of the room, not even acknowledging me behind him.
I trailed along, trying my best to exude the self-confidence and arrogance of Huwin Thorne.
We may have been the same size, but he always took up more space.
He had a swagger that my trembling limbs weren’t able to replicate, but I managed to at least make it to the centre without anyone accusing me of being Lena Paldon.
Abel read out Bach’s result: ‘Top point, P1.’
My hand delved into the box. Bach had just taken the launch position closest to the starting line.
Three out of the ten launch points were left.
My flight suit did its job and transferred touch through to my hand, letting me easily pick out a ball.
I pulled it out, my heart skittering as I looked down at where I would be starting my first ever Volitant race.
Abel Gallin called out to the watching teams and to the fans watching the cast. ‘Waterfall, P5.’
I blinked a few times, hoping it would change. It didn’t.