Page 36 of Tailwind

A stupid question from Cooke then.

‘I’m here to beat Bach on equal wings. If I move and win, you parasites will put it down to the dragons.’ I moved on, content to let that line send ripples out into the Volitant news sphere.

Their rivalry was old news and never once had it been more than one-sided. The only time Thorne had won the Volitant Chroma Championship was during Bach’s stint in the northern series of Volitant Forge. In the fifteen years since Thorne had started racing he’d only competed against Bach eight times and never once scored higher.

The numbers should have been enough to end the conversation, but Volitant was more than just racing. It was about drama too, and the money it generated.

As the next interviewer got their cast up and running my limbs sagged, heavy and uncooperative, the weight of the crash sinking deeper into my bones. I may have been keeping up my fitness over the past five years, but nothing could have prepared me for a crash like that.

‘Quite an eventful race today. A new choice of weapon for you too. Is this part of a new strategy from the team?’

A choice made in the thrill of the moment was now coming to collect its debts.

‘I’ve heard what you all say. I’m not past my prime. I can fly circles around these kids as long as I’ve got a half-decent dragon. I was showing everyone what I’ve got before the Bolls took me out.’ My voice came out wooden.

The words though were all bullshit. All on brand. I could feel Martan twitching next to me with my proximity sensors.

He needn’t have worried, because Ellas Ruan walked in. The room collectively straightened up and followed last year’s champion with their eyes. He carried a golden trophy, so fitting with the green and gold of his Victrolia flight suit. It was no surprise that he’d won.

He was a rival worthy of Bach. They’d spent two years together at Kiestral before Ellas had transferred to Victrolia and those two years had featured some of the best racing I’d ever seen. Head-to-head battles every race. Clean on-circuit fighting and healthy respect off it.

He scanned the room, his eyes lingering on me before moving on. His expression was well schooled. In all my time watching him fly – both at home and trackside – I’d never seen him show disdain towards another rider. He was the epitome of politeness. It was the type of neutrality that the high-end sponsors loved.

I’d never been neutral about anything. I’d never had the chance.

Under my helmet my mouth was open at the presence Ellas brought with him into the room. Seven races into the season and he’d won all but one of them. The press liked to argue over everything, but the one thing they all agreed on was that Ellas Ruan was set to move to Volitant Forge by the end of this season, joining its sister Victrolia team in the north.

Speculation on which riders would still have a job next year was always a hot topic. With the Decennial coming up the year after, teams were scrambling to get their riders and dragons in order. Everyone wanted a year of consistency before the ten-year Volitant anniversary that saw teams from both Chroma and Forge compete together. Ellas was the current favourite to win.

‘Next,’ Martan whispered to me.

I checked back with the reporter interviewing me, but they were already uninterested, prepping for Ellas instead.

It made things a lot easier, especially as the other riders trickled in one after another. I grumpily deflected questions on the collision, making note to give Gottyk a guilt-ridden extra helping of dinner later as I insulted him time and again.

After the press conference I took the stairs up to the aviary, avoiding the crowds of the lift system that ran up the centre of the tower. My footsteps echoed on the stones that continued endlessly upwards. The wrought-iron railings scraped against my glove as I hauled myself forward. My thighs protested at every step.

If the Bolls hadn’t got in my way again I’d have finished higher than Thorne had all season. Despite what I’d said to the media, Gottyk was an excellent dragon – there was no reason I shouldn’t have performed better in that race. There was no reason Thorne should have been doing so badly up until now. Finding the augments up his sleeve after knocking him out cold might have had something to do with it, but the potential for success had been there.

The mistake had been mine and mine alone.

I let out some heavy breaths, trying to regulate myself back to neutral before facing Gottyk. I’d let him down as well as myself. Not to mention I had Josie to answer to. For once I didn’t enjoy the feeling of proving someone wrong.

My chance to calm down was cut short as a Volitant worker came down the otherwise empty staircase. Still fully dressed with my faceplate down there wasn’t a chance of being recognized, but the less time I spent outside of the aviary the better.

Their hat was pulled down low, looking like they’d rather avoid an angry Thorne. Good instinct. They reached into a deep pocket of their black canvas trousers, the same kind Cam had worn only a few days ago. Then they pulled out a short baton with copper prongs on the end. By the time I recognized it for what it was, it was too late.

They stabbed between the gaps of my armour, puncturing my flight suit. The sharp cold of the copper prongs was brief, then every muscle in my body seized up. Hitting the floor didn’t register, all I could feel was the contraction of my limbs, torso and neck. My eyes streamed water through lids that felt fused shut.

I couldn’t scream. Nothing was working. All I could do was lie there, shaking.

It stopped. Air filled my lungs again as my mouth gasped open. Light filtered into my eyes once more, but everything was distorted and blurred. I could hear my suit triggering augments, but whatever it was doing didn’t help.

‘Remember your place, Thorne.’ It was the Volitant worker, whether from nearby or far away I couldn’t tell. ‘We’re not paying you to win.’

The jolts of arcanite power pinging through me must have hit my brain too, because I didn’t even come close to understanding what he meant.

Power ricocheted through me again. It consumed me. Even my fingers bent and seized, my fingernails feeling like they would pop off from the pressure building inside.