Nat gazed up at the ceiling, a wry smile on her lips. ‘We are going to crush that man into a powder and sprinkle his ashes in the Hallium River.’ She dropped her face and looked directly into Asta’s eyes. ‘Do you hear me, Asta?Crush him.’
Asta smiled and nodded.
Around the ballroom, the guests were starting to find their seats. Asta saw Gem already at their table, scanning the room for her.
‘Gotta go,’ she said. Natalia took her feet down, but grabbed Asta’s wrist before she could leave.
‘After the ceremony,’ she said, ‘don’t make any plans. I’ll find you.’
Asta agreed and slipped off to her table. In the back of her mind, a question tickled and teased. WhathadFelix wanted to talk about? What could he possibly have to say to her?
7
At the front of the room, a white-haired woman with dragon illusions flying through the pattern of her dress was making her way onstage by a small set of stairs. Reaching the podium, she tapped the microphone.
‘Good evening, all,’ she said. Her voice was lilting and thin. ‘Good evening. At this time, would you please find your way to your tables, and we will get started.’ The room quieted. ‘My name is Flávia Gameiro. I serve as chairwoman of the National Federation of Dragon Racing Authorities.’ Asta craned her neck to see.
So that was Flávia Gameiro. Asta had always pictured her differently– more formidable. Turns out she was just a little old lady, about the same age as Asta’s grandmother, but with better jewelry.
Upon Flávia’s election to the NFDRA board, she had been forced to divest herself from her family’s team and cede control to her children. Flávia had transitioned into her NFDRA position smoothly, but her absence was felt by her family. Only two Gameiro racers had placed in a top-tier tournament the year Flávia was elected, which had quickly tamped down the gripes about the possibility of favoritism. Last year, they hadn’t even qualified a drake rider for Silverscale.
Recent record aside, however, the Gameiro name still held some prestige. Their racing house had competed in every Silverscale since its founding– only the Seraphins could boast the same. Unlike the Seraphins, however, the Gameiro heirs had lost interest in racing their own dragons somewhere along the line. It had been ages since an actual Gameiro had raced under the family crest. While the Seraphins prided themselves on the fact that they had only ever put up riders from within the family line, the Gameiros– along with a fair number of other family houses these days– recruited from among recent Pillar graduates.
Flávia smiled beneficently over the assembly. ‘On behalf of the federation, its board, and our membership, I am pleased to welcome sponsors, team owners, support crew, and of course our valiant competitors to the 194th Silverscale Grand Prix!’ She paused to allow the cheers and applause to subside before she spoke again.
‘The stands are filling even now with fans who have come to witness the drama and the heartbreak that is dragon racing. Each has their favorite, but only one can win. Only one can be the fastest. Only one can navigate the challenges of the course with the greatest agility and stamina and emerge the champion rider. And that champion,’ Flávia said, ‘will take home the single largest prize ever offered by this or any national racing federation in the history of the sport.’ Again, cheers broke out, but Asta thought there was a keener edge to them this time. She mightneedthis prize more than anyone here, but she had some serious competition when it came towantingit.
A server dressed in black and white placed a salad in front of Asta with a gloved hand. Asta smiled at them, but their eyes were on their work. Asta wasn’t sure if she was allowed to start eating before the speeches were over. She was going to watch and see what everyone else did. The servers moved quietly from table to table, the salad plates clinking softly as they went. But no one ate.
‘Over the next few days, we will witness courage and cunning, hope and hubris. Tomorrow, we will begin with four Drake Class qualifying heats of twenty-five competitors each. Standard Western Class heats will run the following day. The tournament will follow the same pattern for both classes. The top ten finishers in each qualifying heat will advance to the semifinals. Of those forty teams, only ten– the top five finishers in each semifinal group– will advance to the final round. The Drake Class finals will take place on the morning of the sixth day of this tournament. The Standard Western Class finals will occur in the evening of the same day. Winners will be crowned on the seventh day. It thrills me to think how much will transpire between now and then. Dreams will be fulfilled for some and crushed for others, but we know one thing without a doubt: the sport of dragon racing will shine.’ The room rippled with agreement.
Flávia looked down at her notes. ‘I would like to remind the competitors to review the rules and regulations included in your welcome packet, as there have been a few minor adjustments since last year.’
Asta had heard about these. They had added a whole team to monitor the video feed for flight violations. Any westerns who took flight before the blue airwork flag was raised would be held at the next race beacon for five seconds before they could proceed. Asta would have to stay on Carmine about that. He liked flying as much as she did and sometimes came a little too close to bending that rule.
One of the most contentious rule changes had been in response to a race in which a dragon had stumbled and rolled coming into the final straightaway, killing its rider. The dragon went on to finish in third place, the rider’s lifeless body dangling by the tethers. According to the rules, riders were not permitted to come off the dragon during a race, even in the pits. But could the dead rider, connected by tethers alone, be said to have remained on their dragon? Ultimately, the NFDRA board ruled that the tethers constituted an allowable connection, and the rider was awarded third place posthumously. Asta didn’t like to dwell on that one too long. When she crossed the finish line, she planned to be alive.
‘Next up,’ Flávia continued, ‘it is my honor to announce the winner of this year’s Inspiration Award, given to a figure in dragon racing who has held aloft a blazon of our shared ideals, contributing to the sport through excellence of performance, strength of character, and community service.’ Asta was starting to feel like she was sitting in an assembly at Pillar. ‘Join me in celebrating the one and only, and our very own, Tess Curie.’
Asta’s head jerked up. She couldn’t believe that she had been in the same room with Tess Curie all this time and not known it. Ignoring the complaints of the table behind her, she stood up and searched the crowd until she spotted a bent old woman walking painstakingly to the stage.
As Flávia detailed Tess’s career as a western rider, then a trainer, then an NFDRA board member, Tess continued her slow progress forward. She grasped both rails running beside the small set of stairs to the stage, hauling herself up each stair with a wince. Someone from the crowd got up to offer her help, but she waved them away. Asta couldn’t hear what she said, but the shocked face of her would-be assistant made it clear that Tess Curie’s reputation for a sharp tongue was well earned. Asta laughed and sat.
Finally, Tess was at Flávia’s side.
‘Tess Curie, everyone,’ Flávia said. Hearty applause and boisterous cheers greeted her. Asta hollered loudest of all. Tess took the flame-shaped statuette from Flávia and nodded her thanks to the crowd.
As the cheers subsided, Flávia put a hand on the old woman’s back. ‘Would you like to say any words, Tess?’
Tess leaned forward, her head just visible above the podium. She pulled the microphone down to her, making it creak loudly. ‘No,’ she said. Laughter from the crowd. Tess began to make her way back to the stairs, but changed her mind, returning to the podium. ‘I do want to say something.’
‘Go right ahead.’ Flávia stepped back, an indulgent smile on her face.
‘I want a woman to win,’ Tess said. Flávia’s smile took on a tarnished look. Asta let out a loud whoop through cupped hands. Others in the room cheered as well. Some laughed. ‘I’m old, damn it. Some other lady should have won this thing by now.’
‘There may not have been other western champions,’ Flávia clarified, bending down to speak into the microphone, ‘but we can’t forget drake racer Malaika—’
‘Fuck drakes. Nobody cares about drakes.’
