“The hatchlings,” I add. Nity might be able to fly, escape. Zilar, Electrum, and Oria can’t yet.
He blows out a breath. “Damn. Sorry, kid.”
“You’re also forgetting that I already know Farren’s feelings. She doesn’t like me.” I don’t use the wordhatebecause I believe I’ve been elevated fromcan’t standtotolerable. Maybe even, dare I say, a friend.
He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about—”
Farren suddenly appears, tumbling toward us, still wearing that gorgeous dress. My body goes rigid. What did she hear?
“James,” she calls. Not Murphy. James, said flat and frantic. “Your father is here.”
It’s the last thing I expect. The rush of nerves discussing Farren cools instantly. It almost feels like thinking about my happiness conjured his presence because not a moment later he’s turning the corner, approaching us. Dark suit as always, silver threaded.
While always fashionable, my father in a clothing shop is not only rare, it’s unprecedented. He has a personal shopper and crafter for himself. Like I practically confessed earlier to Farren and the rest, he doesn’t do gifts. I still don’t dare to ask why he’s here.
I don’t expect he’ll ask me either. In fact, I don’t expect much of anything from him. So, when he looks at me and says, “Mr. Whimbley spotted you in town. Said your cast was off. You didn’t tell me,” I’m not surprised he only focuses on my body and what it can do as his “champion.” My mom’s concealment of this truth is blown to bits in one instance. I didn’t even try to hide my arm, so used to the cast’s absence.
“Only recently,” I lie.
“That’s good news. There’s a tournament in three days. You’ll compete.”
“I haven’t been training all summer,” I exclaim. Farren, in my peripheral, shakes her head, the slightest sign of disagreement. Jeffrey seems confused but stays silent.
“Important investors and metal buyers will be in attendance. As well as a Revers scout. Therefore, you’ll race.” My father evaluates me, trying to diagnose if I’m not ready or if I’m lying to him. I can’t tell which. After all these years, I still can’t predict when he’ll stab me with a cold threat or slice me with a heated smack. We’re in public so the latter is unlikely. Yet, I wouldn’t have even spoken back to him a year ago. I’d nod or say yes, sir. Excuses weren’t to be tolerated. Another reason he’s being so forceful now. It doesn’t matter if I haven’t been training, if it’s at all unsafe. I’ve learned the hard way how little my father thinks of my safety.
“We’d recommend Hort not compete for at least another month,” Farren says, so fearless in the face of my father and she knows, in some small regard, what he’s capable of. I gave her a more complete picture of John Murphy the night I revealed how I broke my arm.
“We?” My father looks at her and I swear he doesn’t even recognize Farren out of the context of the Walsh Sanctuary.
“My father and I.” From what I know, the Walshes have never lied about a medical evaluation before, so my father has no reason to think otherwise. A full smile almost breaks across my face.Farren, you saint for getting Hort out of this.My hidden grin falls at my father’s next words.
“Ride another dragon. Show we can train more than one champion. I don’t need Hort tournament ready until the start of the season. But you’ll be there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In fact, ride Bex. She’s become aggressive to the trainers, won’t eat. I need to know if she’s still useful to us and you’ve proven you can craft her into obedience if necessary.” He turns his sights to Farren. “Any problems with that?” He asks just to quiet us. And we stay silent because neither of us can cite a problem without giving away what happened.
“And if I can’t prove her usefulness?” I ask.
My father’s eyes narrow. “You already know what happens to things I find useless.”
I’m nauseous at the insinuation. But his words aren’t a threat, they’re a promise. And I don’t pretend he’s only discussing Bex. My arm throbs remembering his grip, the force of his crafting encasing me.
“Do you need a spotter?” Farren interjects.
“You can spot,” he answers flatly. Even he has to recognize the girl who saved my life while I followed his instructions to bail out of the sky. God, I wonder how much he hates that she’s a good rider without being trained at the tracks, that she’s the one who saved me.
“Thank you, sir.”
His cold gaze fixes on me. “I’ll see you in two days’ time, then.” He glances Farren’s way before turning to leave. “And you… Try not to be needed.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIXWHEN YOU MUST RACE
JAMES
Iwasn’t lying to Farren when I said I would be happy to never race again. I love flying. I love the feel of the wind, the power. In racing you ignore all that and concentrate on not colliding with another rider, not pushing your dragon too hard while at the same time making them strain for victory.
Hort and I won the championship last year mostly out of luck. I’ve trained Hort not for speed, but maneuverability. When a bad collision of the front three riders occurred right before the finish line, Hort and I swooped in for first place. We won many races because so many riders fail to understand pace, a dragon’s natural rhythm to conserve energy like a hawk gliding along until the killing blow. Like Colm Ditters, they ride hard and fast without any concern for environment, instinct, or dragon safety.
