Asta couldn’t hold it against the security guard at the front door. She wouldn’t have let herself into this place either. The décor in the hotel was chic and modern– a far cry from the ruffled curtains and wobbly wooden chairs of her parents’ farmhouse. Everything was straight lines and geometric blocks of color: the lights hanging from the cavernous ceiling, the concierge desk staffed with uniformed attendants, even the artwork hanging on the walls. The couches looked like slabs of stone, blocky and slate black. They had no backs, so that the hotel’s well-dressed patrons had to perch rather than sit. Asta was suddenly very aware of the unkempt state of her favorite sweatshirt, its blue chevron turned gray by too many washes, the red sleeves threadbare at the cuffs, and the deep pouch held together with safety pins. When she put it on this morning, she was thinking only of comfort– it was a long drive from Port Veracruz. Now, she felt like she had stepped onstage without her costume.
At least the sweatshirt was warm. She had been surprised by how much colder it was in Hallium than it had been in Port Veracruz, which lay along the coast. It reminded her of being back home in the mountains.
‘Asta Ekenberg?’
At the sound of the voice, Asta’s shoulders tensed. She turned to see Dr. Isley standing four feet from her, his salt-and-pepper goatee twisted into an expression of surprise and befuddlement. Of all his former students, she was probably the last one he expected to see standing in line to register for the Silverscale Grand Prix.
‘Dr. Isley,’ Asta said. ‘It’s nice to see you.’
It wasn’t. If anything, it was bringing up some very unpleasant memories.
The last time Asta had seen this man, he had been rescinding her scholarship and kicking her out of the Pillar School. Technically she’d been expelled because of the fight, but Pikki had fought her right back, and Pikki hadn’t been sent home. The real reason Asta had lost her spot at the best dragon training college in the country, though no one said it outright, was Felix. What she had done to Felix. He was the future of racing, after all. He was to be protected at all costs. Even if the cost was Asta.
She hadn’t seen Felix since that day. Her eyes drifted around the lobby, half afraid and half hopeful that she would spot him standing beside one of those blocky couches, charming the pants off everyone within spitting distance, totally at home in this madhouse. She had been building up this moment in her mind for years, and she just wanted to get it over with. She needed to see his face, then she could feel whatever it was she was going to feel and get back to focusing on the tournament.
‘So you’re. . .’ Dr. Isley glanced over to the table where Gem was bent over a map with the registration guy. ‘You’reracing?’
‘Yup.’ Judging by the look on his face, Asta guessed that Dr. Isley wasn’t exactly thrilled to hear this. Pillar was supposed to be the only legitimate path to Silverscale. But here she was, a Pillar reject who had somehow qualified for the Grand Prix anyway. She hoped it kept him up at night.
Dr. Isley ground the heels of his hands into each other. He used to do that, Asta recalled, when a student asked a question he didn’t know how to answer. ‘Well, good luck to you. I must, uh. . .’ He pointed vaguely to a knot of students gabbing by a wide staircase that led up to the mezzanine.
This was the big trip of the year for them. Asta remembered missing it because she couldn’t afford the Grand Prix tickets and refused to let Felix pay for her to go. She remembered the other students coming back to campus chattering about the races they had seen.
This year, she thought with a waxy smugness, those students were going to go home chattering abouther. She was going to make sure of it.
‘Who was that?’ Gem asked, handing Asta a lanyard with her credentials attached.Asta Ekenberg. Riding ‘Carmine’. Unaffiliated.Below the words, a red stripe. On the other side was the Silverscale logo with a fire-breathing dragon, the year worked into the shape of the flames.
‘That,’ Asta said, ‘was Dr. Marvin Isley.’ She gazed after him, the bitterness of his name curdling on her tongue.
‘Wait,thatDr. Isley? Head-of-School Dr. Isley?’
‘The very same.’ Asta continued to watch him, her heart heavy, as his clutch of students laughed at something he said and let themselves be herded up the stairs.
Gem was the one person Asta had thought to call after she’d been expelled from Pillar. She couldn’t bear to go home and face her parents. So she’d called her cousin in Port Veracruz and begged him to come get her.
On the train ride from Pillar, with all her stuff shoved into trash bags at her feet, Asta had told Gem everything. He had done the dutiful-cousin thing and hated whoever she hated and taken her side in all matters. He had helped her find a stable in Port Veracruz where Carmine could lodge. And he’d never once implied that she should go home and apologize to her parents.
She’d only meant to stay with Gem for a few weeks while she figured out what to do, but technically, his apartment was still listed as her mailing address.
‘Dude.’ Gem looked after Dr. Isley with appropriate cousinly scorn. ‘That’s super awkward.’
‘No kidding.’
‘Well, it’s going to be even more awkward when you win.’ Gem picked up his bag and slid the registration packet into one of its large pockets. ‘Come on. Let’s get settled in.’
2
The riders and the dragons were lodged in abutting quarters. There were eight separate housing units in the complex, spread out from one end of the avenue to the other. Each stuccoed unit had a long row of stables standing back to back with a row of rooms for the riders on the other side. Asta and Gem were in Housing Unit 8, Room 6. They put Carmine in his stall and went around the other side of the building to get settled in.
Asta couldn’t believe how elegant the room was. Long, silver-gray tiles glinting with flecks of mica like dragon scales covered the floors, wall to wall. A slate-colored carpet patterned with scrolling vines marked out a sitting area by the window. Two black leather chairs faced each other over a low, glass-topped table. In the far corner of the room was a small kitchen area with a vase of white and red tulips on the counter. Beside the flowers, a miniature illusion of Asta and Carmine, shimmering faintly with magic, raced in place. The detail on the illusion was incredible. Asta in her embroidered red suit was tucked down in the saddle; Carmine’s wings were fully extended, beating mightily, and his legs stretched out with each stride. Any minute, Asta thought, they would leap off the edge of the counter and become airborne. But they never did. They just ran and ran.
Gem nodded, impressed. ‘This must be how rich people live.’
Two beds with black headboards stood against the far wall. The bedding looked like it had been ironed. Asta threw down her bag and jumped on to one of the beds, face-planting in the luxurious pillows. She bounced right back up, eyes bright.
‘Gem!’
He was running his hands over the counters in the kitchen like he was thinking about buying the place. He looked up at her.
