They burst out into the brilliant track lights, and Carmine straightened.
In some distant part of her mind, Asta was aware of the air-splitting roar of the crowd, but all she could hear was the sound of Carmine’s wings. All she could see was the track below with its two dragons– one dark, one pale– racing for the finish line.
Basma was several body lengths ahead of Nat. She had figured out the rigged track and clung to the outside edge. In her wake, Nat was rigid with fury.
Carmine pumped his rust-red wings, chasing after the running dragons.
Now. This was how she got free.
Carmine dropped, skimming over Nat’s head. The beacon in Asta’s pocket flashed. The light on Nat’s armband answered it.
Asta veered Carmine away to avoid passing too close to Basma.
Basma whipped her head around at the sight of Asta and Carmine flying past her for the finish. The words she shouted at Asta were inaudible over the noise of the raceway, though Asta could guess the gist of them. Basma would never forgive her–shouldnever forgive her. But it was too late. It was done.
Carmine flew like the wind. They crossed the finish line low to the ground.
It was over.
Carmine beat his wings in the air to slow himself, his feet finding the track, kicking up dust. In a moment, Asta was surrounded by race marshals, demanding she dismount. Her descent from the saddle was anything but graceful. When she hit the ground, her leg gave out immediately. Torque caught her as she collapsed and propped her up as the marshals snatched the beacon from her suit’s breast pocket. Then Basma was there, cursing at Asta, her black eyes blazing. Asta saw Gem pushing his way through the crowd. She looked for Felix, but he was not there.
The sound coming from the stands was nothing Asta had ever heard before, one earthquake after another. Under her feet, the ground shook until she thought it might crack open.
The Silverscale Grand Prix: Day Seven
The Ruling
26
It was the first time in the almost two-hundred-year history of the Silverscale Grand Prix that the winner of the Standard Western dragon race was not announced directly following the race itself. According to the chip times from the armbands. The sports announcers repeated the facts back and forth to each other all that night and into the next day as they awaited the ruling from the emergency NFDRA board meeting – only five riders had finished the race, having triggered all twelve beacons. The scoreboards had shown the winners of the 194th Silverscale Grand Prix as Asta Ekenberg, Natalia Bruce, and Felix Seraphin.
‘But if that ranking still stands by this time tomorrow,’ one announcer had said last night as the television played and replayed the footage first of Asta rappelling down the canyon wall to steal the beacon, then of Carmine flying through the ghoul-adorned arch at the finish line, ‘I will eat my hat.’
‘I don’t know, Vern,’ the other chuckled. ‘I hope you have a taste for hats. This is an incredible test of the rules of this sport. It looks to me like she was tethered to the dragon.’
‘Whatwasthat, though? That wasn’t a standard tether. It had to be an illusion.’
‘So you say, but illusions can’t do that, can they?’
‘Well, it was something sketchy, I’ll tell you that. And we’re not even talking about the fact that Ekenbergstole a beacon off the course.That cannot be legal.’
‘Show me where it says you can’t do that in the rulebook.’
‘Well, itshouldn’tbe legal.’
‘That’s a different conversation, my friend. This is exactly how you know this rider has been training with Hummer Bruce. If there’s a rule in the rulebook today, it’s because a Bruce broke it before it existed.’
‘I don’t like it, Monty.’
‘You don’t have to like it, Vern, but I will tell you this: we will never see another Grand Prix like this as long as we live. That was something else, wasn’t it?’
Asta hadn’t meant for there to be any doubt. She was supposed to have been disqualified immediately. Nat would win, and Hummer would deny he had anything to do with that cheating so-and-so, Asta Ekenberg, just like Karol had promised. The prize money should evaporate her debt to him, and she would no longer be useful to him as a saboteur or anything else. That was the plan.
But now she was cowering in bed with the TV on, nursing a torn hamstring, hoping against hope that shehadn’twon the Silverscale Grand Prix.
Gem was out, trying to get more information on what their options were. She had told him as much as she could without implicating Felix. She had told him about Hummer, about the money she owed him, about Pikki.
‘I knew he was bad news, Asta. I should have warned you.’
