Page 59 of This Dark Descent
He would not forgive her.
Her thoughts hounded her as Atara jostled for position at the starting line, which rested at the crest of the sloping Ashfield Street. Tall, sooty buildings knocked shoulders along the wide boulevard, casting long shadows in the late afternoon sun.
A section of the Pendron District had been cordoned off to form a square-shaped course laden with behavior enchantments. Unlike the first race, which pitted the environment against them, this one would turn them against themselves, something that unsettled Mikira far more than any living fire or spiked pit.
The scents of sweet dough and frying meat only made her nervous stomach twist tighter. She tried to ignore the press of eyes, the curious whispers, the shouts of excited children so at odds with the waiting danger. She could only hope their plan worked. If her reputation had spread at the ball and the other racers focused on each other, she could fly right by them all.
A beautiful bay mare stepped up beside her, its rider clad in a deep forest green and white racing shirt, the colors of House Ruthar.
“This ought to be fun.” Quinn’s Rach mask glinted in the sunlight. “I always love having my own worst fears and most unruly emotions turned against me, don’t you?”
Mikira groaned. “What part of ‘I don’t want to ally with you’ didn’t you understand?”
“The part where you clearly haven’t thought it through. Who wouldn’t want a face like this on their side?” She set her chin against the back of her hand and fluttered her eyelashes.
A flush warmed Mikira’s cheeks, completely ruining several acerbic retorts. It was just as well. She could deny it all she wanted, but even with the half mask, Mikira could tell Quinn was gorgeous, from the sheen of her long braid to the warmth of her golden-brown skin. Even that little freckle just above her lip—Nooo no no no!Mikira reeled back to herself, her cheeks flaring hotter.
She was saved from Quinn’s laughter—a sound, she couldn’t help noticing, that was like a particularly sonorous bell—by the booming voice of the announcer as she welcomed the crowd. By the time she finished her speech about the rules and Princess Eshlin had accepted the Sendian cleric’s blessing upon the race, Mikira’s nerves had redoubled.
She’d been too nervous to notice the royal viewing platform last time, but now she watched the princess return to her brother’s side, his attention captured by the beautiful woman on his arm while Princess Eshlin surveyed the riders like troops lined up for the kill. Fitting, since she’d servedbriefly in the Eternal War herself, a calculated show of the royal family’s dedication to the cause.
Mikira ran a hand along Atara’s neck, suddenly wishing it was Iri with her. Though her and Atara’s relationship had grown over the last week, it was Iri she knew like her own heart, Iri who settled her nerves and made her feel grounded when the world was spinning out of her control.
Seeming to sense her doubt, Atara’s head curled back, and she fixed one dark, knowing eye on Mikira, as if to ask,Do you trust me?
“I trust you,” she said softly, and meant it.
“To the starting line!” roared the announcer, the last call for riders. The thick scent of horses and sweat turned suffocating as the competitors boxed them in from either side, pressing her and Quinn closer. Atara snapped at the too-close bodies, compelling people to shift away.
Mikira forced herself to breathe, to focus on the details: Arabella Wakelin had her silver stallion at the front of the pack. The last race was the first she’d ever lost, and she’d be looking to prove herself. Mikira would have to stay away from her. Dezaena Fyas sat beside her, tying off their dark curls in a thick braid. They were a still spot in a sea of turbulence, easily ignoring the antagonizing grins Alren Zalaire was flashing their way.
She couldn’t find Gren.
“For Enderlain!” The noise of the crowd faded to a dull roar as she searched the riders. Gren wasn’t at her back, and there were too many competitors to check. “For the Harbingers!”
Focus, she told herself. She couldn’t let him get under her skin.
“For Sendia!” The crowd’s roar drowned out the announcer’s call as the starting bell rang.
The horses surged down the sloping street, and Mikira instantly pulled Atara to the side, slowing. She didn’t want to be anywhere near another racer sooner than necessary, lest Atara’s aggression expose them.
The bulk of the competitors reached the bottom of the slope, wherearrows indicated three different paths. Most of the racers went straight to avoid the loss of speed around the turns. Some turned, probably assuming the straightaway was filled with the most difficult enchantments.
When another large group veered right just before Mikira arrived, she sent Atara left.
The road narrowed to an alley, then cut right. Mikira cursed, her reflex to slow Atara, but their hours of riding together paid off as she remembered the horse’s unnatural agility. Atara took the corner expertly—just in time to see Arabella Wakelin disappear into crimson smoke ahead.
Mikira nearly jerked the reins back but forced herself to think. The entire alley was filled with smoke. There was no getting around it. She could turn around—Atara could make up the time lost to backtracking—but she had a feeling they’d find something similar down each path.
“All right,” she breathed. “Let’s see what they’ve got.”
Atara raced into the smoke. Mikira held her breath and counted. She’d just passed half a minute when her lungs began to burn. With no end to the smoke in sight, she gave in, swallowing a deep lungful of it. It stung like normal smoke, making her cough. Then they broke into open air, a red tinge clinging to her clothes.
The alley bent ahead, turning them back toward the central road. As they emerged onto the main thoroughfare, a big bay horse came barreling perpendicular to them. Mikira managed to turn Atara up the road at the last second, but her leg still slammed into the other rider’s as their horses paralleled.
The woman blinked dazedly at her. She looked down at the reins in her hands, then at her horse as though she had no idea where it’d come from. Both were stained with blue powder.
Atara snapped at her horse, and it shied, dropping into a loping trot. Mikira pulled Atara away before she could attack again, but thankfully, the woman didn’t seem to notice. The last thing Mikira saw before the road curved was the horse slowing to a stop and the woman just… sitting there.
