Page 115 of This Dark Descent
One mile. Two. Ahead, a pair of horses raced. Atara shot past them to a whirl of curses and shouts, gaining on Alren Zalaire and Dezaena Fyas.
Beyond them, Kelbra Manor loomed, Arabella Wakelin’s silver stallion bearing down on the finish line.
“Run, Atara,” she breathed, giving the horse her head.
Somehow, Atara found more strength to push with. Her hooves skimmed the earth, her breath coming in heavy gasps. Even a horse enchanted for endurance couldn’t fly forever.
Just a little farther.
Atara went to the right of the two, hugging the space between the nearest horse and a tangle of rosebushes. Alren did a double take. He shouted something, dropping his reins to lash out a hand to knock her from her seat, but she ducked flat to Atara’s neck. It nearly cost her balance, but they pulled in front of Alren’s horse.
Arabella looked over at her with wild eyes. A snarl tore across her bloodied face, and she slashed a knife at Mikira.
Mikira raised her hand on instinct to keep it from hitting her neck.
Metal clinked against metal.
Mikira stared at the weapon in her hand. Simple, well made, and entirely hers. Somehow, she held one of her knives again.
Arabella gaped, and Mikira seized the opportunity to strike. She drew a gash across her thigh. Arabella yelped, dropping her weight into her saddle. Her horse misstepped, adjusting for the change, and Atara struck out in front a second before her hooves hit stone.
They galloped into the courtyard and across the finish line to a wild roar. The noise filled her like thunder in her veins until she was screaming too, the past weeks’ fear and frustration bubbling up her throat in a sound lost to the tumult around them. She felt Atara drop to a canter, then a slow trot, but her body moved on reflex, posting up and down with each beat of the golem’s hooves.
She couldn’t feel her hands, couldn’t feel anything beyond that humming.
Pure adrenaline kept her upright as she took Atara around the wide circular drive, the other racers turning in after her. Arabella gave her a grim smile, Alren and Dezaena shouting something she couldn’t hear. Gradually, she became aware of her fingers twisted in the reins, of Atara tossing her head and snorting heavily at the pressing crowd, a performer basking in praise.
All Mikira could do was stare at the radiant faces and clapping hands and try to understand what it meant.
They’d won.
The roar refined into a chant, her family’s name echoing from a hundred pairs of lips.Rusel, Rusel, Rusel.With each cry, Mikira’s heart swelled, and the pure, uncomprehending shock that had descended the moment she crossed the finish line disintegrated. A giddy relief bubbled through her, a grin breaking across her face that felt too small for the emotions coursing through her.
One of the gate crew stepped out to direct her around the house to the back. People craned their necks for a glimpse of her and Atara, waving when her wild gaze slid across them, and tossing roses at Atara’s hooves. Mikira’s jaw ached from smiling so wide, but she couldn’t stop. The noise, the sights—they streamed past her faster than in any race. She couldn’t hold on to any of it, couldn’t settle the rising wave of jumbled emotion in her chest. It seemed impossible that they were here, and yet as they led her to a small alcove where cameras flashed and reporters pressed her for information, it all began to sink in.
It was over.
Rezek’s threats to her family, the rigor of the Illinir, the lies and tricks—all over, it was over.
She wrapped her arms about Atara’s neck, her familiar musky scent an anchor in the tide of cheers. “Thank you,” she whispered, and held tight.
It was then that she remembered the blade. She had to hide it—except it was gone. She stared at her empty, bloody palm, unsettled.
“Mikira!” Ari’s voice rose above the rest. The crowd parted for her, Damien, and Reid as Mikira swung down from the saddle; she flung her arms around Ari.
“It’s over,” Ari whispered, and Mikira sank into her embrace. After everything, they would both have what they’d wanted most. Safety. Security. A future unshadowed by a darker past.
When at last she pulled back, her face was wet with tears she hadn’t felt herself cry, but she smiled through them, even as she caught Reid’s eye. His arms were folded, his gaze half-averted as if he both wanted to look at her and refused to.
There was no room left in Mikira for the lie stretched between them. It was clear by now that he hadn’t told Damien the truth of the ring, and that only made her regret the space between them now all the more. It was over, her family was safe—she would be happy, if only for this moment.
“Thank you,” she mouthed silently, and smiled when Reid turned for Atara.
“I don’t know what everyone’s clamoring about,” he said. “The horse did all the work.”
Atara blew a hot breath of agreement into his face.
“I think everyone did plenty,” Damien replied with a twist of his lips. Even his joy was a tightly constrained thing, though Mikira knew he had to be simmering with satisfaction. With her win, he’d torn something precious away from Rezek, and he would take his time enjoying it.
