Pikki rolled her eyes again. ‘Right. Like the Seraphins didn’t get you a spot so that Felix would have his little friend with him at school.’ So Pikki knew that she and Felix had a history. That explained why she hated Asta.
‘They didn’t get meanything. You are pulling this straight out of your ass.’
‘Do the math, Asta. Every class for the past seventeen years has had exactly one hundred members. Ours has one hundred and one. Just coincidence? I don’t think so.’
‘I have a scholarship,’ Asta croaked. Her throat felt like it was closing up.
‘Yes, a brand-new scholarship that never existed before. Lucky you. But what’s the name of your scholarship?’
Asta regripped the model, which was sliding in her sweaty hands. ‘The Kiska. Who cares?’ She glanced uncomfortably at the knot of students loitering at the edges of the conversation.
Pikki scratched delicately at her eyebrow. ‘Exactly. As in, Iveta Kiska. The dragon breeder.’
Asta looked at her blankly. ‘Okay?’
‘Felix’s great-grandmother.’ There were murmurs among the observers.
The only thing that burned hotter than Asta’s anger was her shame. She could feel them both charring her from the inside. Her gut was filled with blazing embers.
‘I have to go,’ she said stupidly, turning to leave.
Pikki stopped her with a hand on her elbow and pointed to the model in her arms. ‘Your design wasn’t terrible, you know. Totally inappropriate for arealrace, but it was very creative.’ She put on another one of her too sweet smiles. ‘Good try.’
Asta’s blood curdled. ‘No one fucking asked you.’ Asta fled down the hallway with her large model on its flat board, bumping into other students when they didn’t get out of the way fast enough.
Pikki called after her. ‘Go back to your cow patties, Asta Ekenberg!’
Asta reached the glass door at the end of the hall. She turned to push it open with her back and locked eyes with Pikki, still standing where she had left her. ‘You can eat my fucking ass, Pikki Lowell!’
She went straight to the stables and dumped her model in the corner of Carmine’s stall. She reached for Carmine’s head to stroke it, in a desperate attempt to soothe herself, but he grumbled at her, a hint of smoke on his breath. She tried again, and he jerked his head away. His tail whipped around from behind and smacked her on the back of the thigh.
‘Ow! Carmine!’ She rubbed her leg, certain that she would have a bruise tomorrow. ‘You know what? Screw you!’
Carmine slitted his silver eyes at her and made a whining sound.
‘That’s not what I sound like,’ she said.
Carmine huffed and began rubbing his right shoulder against the side of the stall. He flexed his wing to get it out of the way and rubbed until the walls shook. Loose scales dropped into the woodchips at his feet, and Carmine sighed with satisfaction.
Suddenly, Asta’s mind was overrun with all the horrible dermal diseases and parasites they had learned about in dragon biology. She wished she could remember what the other symptoms were, but it seemed like they all began with itchiness and irritability.
Carmine was her responsibility now. She was supposed to know these things.
Maybe Pikki was right. Maybe she didn’t belong here. Yes, she was making a good showing in the standings, but there was more to racing than what a clock could tell. Dr. Isley had only just begun teaching them about strategy– not just for a single race but for a season, a career. To keep a dragon and rider fit through year after year of competition, you had to think about diet and grooming. And gear. And lodging. And breeding. And training. If she had learned anything at Pillar this year, it was that she really didn’t know anything.
Tagging around after Yixin and pestering the grooms while they cared for the Seraphins’ dragons wasn’t the same as an education. She had always been impatient with Mr. Seraphin’s drills, preferring to invent goofy tricks with Felix when his father wasn’t around. And no one had stopped her. Peter Seraphin had not objected to her presence during Felix’s training sessions, but neither had he objected to her absence. The lessons had never been meant for her. He’d corrected Felix’s mistakes, his posture, his timing– but never hers. She’d gleaned her lessons secondhand. Felix was a Seraphin, not her. It was his success they cared about. His alone.
Pikki had to be lying about the scholarship. Peter and Sofia wouldn’t have lifted a finger to get her into Pillar. It was some twisted psychological trick that Pikki was playing to knock Asta off her game. She was just jealous because she couldn’t beat Asta on the track. Pikki knew how thingsoughtto go at every turn, but she was thrown by the unexpected. She couldn’t improvise. She never took a risk.
Asta took too many. Dr. Isley was always telling her that.
Asta picked up a jar of salve for Carmine and twisted at the lid. It had to be a lie. Pikki had cooked up this entire story out of spite alone. Fuck that. Fuck her. Asta wasn’t going to let Pikki get in her head. She was going to win the race tomorrow and edge Felix out for third place in the rankings.
That would show Pikki.
Felix appeared quietly in the doorway of the stables. He nodded to Asta as he approached. The sight of him loosened something in Asta. He was wearing his riding boots with a pair of athletic pants and a thin T-shirt that was just a little snug over his chest. Distractingly so.
He pointed to the jar in her hands. ‘Need help with that?’ In her preoccupation, she had been twisting the lid the wrong way.
