Page 13 of Tailwind

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.

CHAPTER FOUR

Blending in while racing was going to be easy compared to making it to the circuit in disguise. Dozens of people flowed down the tunnels to the launch zones, clustered in their team colours. Usually I was with them, invisibly leading Gottyk along by the reins as Thorne brooded on dragonback. Now I was the one in the saddle and I could feel watchful eyes crawling along my skin.

The Kiestral strategists hustled alongside Gottyk, refining the plans now we knew my launch position. The numbers from the morning briefing had entirely vanished from my memory, making it all useless despite me knowing the code names.

My heart rate picked up as the arcanists checked Gottyk’s augments. I watched, fixated, as their busy hands came close to my legs as they checked the saddle, as if they could tell from the way my feet twitched that I wasn’t Thorne. They kept their eyes down.

Ignoring the team was the best option, as much as I wanted to ask them to explain it all again – to take the numbers they were referring to and turn them into something comprehensible.

My stomach twisted as Bach pulled up alongside us on Rosinder, Gottyk’s sister, slowed by those in front. I couldn’t help but stare at him, level with one another as we rode twin dragons. When I’d stolen the suit I hadn’t considered that it would mean racing my hero.

He looked at me, helmet on but faceplate up, his expression lit by the same white arcanite that filled my own helmet. The sides of his mouth turned down, warping his thick stubble. He looked away and didn’t acknowledge me further for the rest of the long walk to the circuit.

In my head I knew it was because he thought I was Thorne, but my heart still dropped. At Rosinder’s side Josie also looked me up and down, then glanced at Gottyk’s head … then back at me.

There was no way she knew. She was probably noticing that I, Lena the keeper, wasn’t there. My hands began to sweat. There was no way she knew. She’d never paid attention to me before and there was no reason to start now.

All I had to do was hold my head high. I wasn’t Lena anymore, I was a conceited prick who thought – no, knew – that everyone was jealous. That no one was good enough for me to respect. For the first time I thanked Thorne for being the way he was – it was making stealing his dragon, identity and race easier than anticipated.

‘Comms check.’

The straps around my waist went taut as I jumped at Hector’s voice. It had been a long time since I’d had someone on communications inside my helmet. Hector himself would be back in the Kiestral briefing room by now, wearing the paired augment over one ear while poring over sheets of numbers.

I tapped the side of my helmet to open the return comms and grunted. I’d seen and heard plenty of snippets from Thorne’s comms during the public casts. He was even more blunt and terse than he was in person.

Josie and Bach turned left down a wide tunnel, heading off to their launch zone. I continued on, falling into place behind a Prevere blue and Ballenir purple. Ninety-nine was painted on the wing of the blue dragon: Colly Balen. On the purple, number seven: Theo.

My nose wrinkled. Of course he still flew with the number seven. I’d picked eight in my first drake race, so he’d gone one better.

The vibrant blue number stood out on the purple wing among the sponsor logos for ArcLite Power, Lunar Trust Holding and, of course, Swift Soap Hair. Ballenir may have only been competing for five years, but unlike most fresh teams they weren’t strapped for cash. They were also Theo’s home team. He was likely having the time of his life flying for them, getting paid more for a single race than I made in a year as a keeper.

Nerves were no longer a problem. Even just the back of Theo’s head was enough to rile me. His thick dark waves bounced as he joked with Colly beside him. The only way to make him shut up was to have him sit on his hands.

Colly tossed his head back in laughter. He was wearing his helmet, but had the faceplate fully raised. For a rookie going into his sixth ever Volitant race, he was remarkably relaxed. Maybe it was the comfort of knowing it wasn’t his last race.

This was it for me, my one and only chance. Even if I managed to make it through unnoticed, there was still Thorne to deal with when I returned. So I was going to make the most of it. I may not have been able to laugh like Colly, to show my face like Theo or to be as assured as Bach, but I would fly all the same.

The boys turned left next, Colly first and then Theo. I watched them go, safe behind my faceplate. Still, Theo turned and saw me. His pompous smile disappeared. He glanced down at Gottyk, then back to me. It took all of my self-control to not flip him off.

I nudged Gottyk at the next left, turning down a winding tunnel to see the waterfall from a whole new perspective. The giddiness I usually felt watching the rider and dragon launch from here was nowhere to be found.

Moss had likely explained during the briefing how much water-crushing power I was about to feel, but it wouldn’t change the fact that Gottyk and I would be pushed down before we had a chance to fly.

Water thundered past the opening in the side of the cliff, intercepting the light that tried to stream in to cast energetic ripples across the tunnel walls and floor. The noise should have been drowning everything out, but once again the advanced helmet augments kicked in to reduce it.

Gottyk lined up on the lip of the launch zone, his front left foot gripping the edge as I angled him to the right. We’d be shooting downwards the moment the starting flare boomed outside.

‘One minute to launch.’ Hector had lost any hint of nerves from his voice, becoming unnervingly neutral.

I was used to something more uplifting. It may have been five years since I last raced, but a decade of pre-race rituals in the junior series didn’t just disappear.