Page 7 of This Dark Descent
She’d already begun to edge away when Damien said, “I’m glad we ran into you, actually. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“Thank you for your help,” Mikira replied hastily. “But I have business to attend to. Enjoy your night.”
She ducked away through the courtyard, praying they wouldn’t follow, and stilled at the entrance to the ballroom. It was like stepping into another world, one untouched by the rising grain prices and war recruiters hounding desperate refugees. The floor-to-ceiling windows gave way to gold-veined marble floors, servants weaving throughout the party with plates of meat on slices of rich dark bread people like her could no longer afford. A set of charmed pianos stood before a crowd gathered beside the evening’s crown jewel, a Ruby One motorcar imported from Vyna. She’d never seen one in person before.
Every inch of this event had been designed to reflect the Zalaires’ wealth, and the wastefulness of it gnawed at her. These were the people she would have to convince to sponsor her. If she was lucky, she’d find someone from outside one of the noble houses. Someone who had nothing to do with the Kelbras and was willing to take a risk on an unknownracer. Perhaps her father’s name still meant something to these people, who would be all too happy to add his prestige to theirs, another drop of power in their well.
But luck had never been on Mikira’s side.
AN HOUR LATER,Mikira had driven off six potential sponsors. Granted, two of them had been women asking after her “handsome, reclusive father,” and she was pretty sure at least one had just been fishing for Keirian’s autograph, but they’d all fled at her mention of sponsorship. They were all too happy to take what they wanted from her family—so long as they didn’t have to give anything in return.
She rushed through her explanation with the most recent prospect, Lady Kiora, an Iziri woman with brown skin and ochre eyes who worked for House Ruthar. Unlike Houses Kelbra, Dramara, and Vanadahl, it was the only greater house that didn’t support the war effort, and they were known to clash with the Kelbras, which made Mikira hopeful.
“And so then we had to sell the colt from that line—no, sorry, the filly.” How had she even started talking about this? “And after that—”
Lady Kiora lifted her chin, and Mikira immediately stopped talking.
“Let me be sure I understand you correctly,” she said in a low, accented voice. “You want me to sponsor you to run the kingdom’s most difficult competition on an unenchanted horse, which I will provide, despite the fact that you’ve never before raced?”
Mikira winced. When she put it like that, it sounded pretty bad. Mikira was one of the best underground racers in the city, but this woman couldn’t know that.
“I know horses,” she pressed. “Better than anyone. I can win that race.”
Lady Kiora’s rose-painted lips pressed firm. “Knowing horses doesn’t mean you know racing, even if you are Keirian’s daughter. I can’t help you. Good evening.”
She vanished into the crowd, leaving Mikira staring mournfully at a sea of delicately embroidered dresses and colorful waistcoats. These people were leagues away from her. How many of them had paid the exemption fee to escape the draft? How many knew what it was like to have your life swept out from under you?
Mikira stepped into the path of a gray-haired gentleman she recognized as a long-ago patron of her father’s. “Mr. Fellington. My name is Mikira Rusel, and I’m looking for a sponsor—”
“Pardon me, young lady, but I’m already sponsoring a rider for this year’s race. Perhaps next time.” He stepped away, but Mikira grabbed his arm.
“They’ve announced all the current pledges,” she said. “They didn’t say your name.”
The color paled from Mr. Fellington’s ruddy face. “Unhand me. This is entirely inappropriate!” His voice cracked, and at the shine of fear in his eyes, her restraint broke.
“It’s not my racing history or my horse at all.” Her grip tightened. “This is because of the Kelbras, isn’t it?”
Mr. Fellington ripped his arm free. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and your hostility—”
Mikira snarled, and he flinched. Then as if suddenly remembering his station, he straightened and lifted a warning finger. “I won’t be spoken to like this by a little girl.” He turned abruptly on his heel, scurrying away.
Mikira watched him go, her fury molten steel in her veins. Then he emerged on the side of the crowd, heading straight for the Zalaire security guards along the perimeter.
“Shit!” She darted into a nearby alcove, falling back against one of the thick columns and pressing her face into her hands.
She wanted to scream.
Oh yeah, that’ll really make someone want to sponsor you. They already think you’re trash, why not be screaming trash?
But what else could she do? Rezek had turned the entire gathering against her, and now she was moments away from being thrown out.
“Perhaps, Miss Rusel, I can help.” Damien Adair emerged into the alcove, Reid a step behind.
Mikira started. “What? Why?”
“Still ungrateful,” Reid remarked, and Mikira scowled in return. His gaze lingered, before he forced it away from her as if jerking free of a sudden snag.
“My family has been looking to sponsor a rider,” Damien replied evenly. “If you’re not interested…” He began to turn away.
