Page 38 of Thief of Hearts

The announcer quieted the people and launched into some speech about the sacredness and the history of the Tournament of Champions. I tuned him out, thinking about the race.

He finally managed to wind down and ended his speech with, “There is no greater glory for a man so long as he lives than that which he achieves by his own hands and feet!”

And no greater glory for a woman, I added silently.

The announcer pointed out the line of four dolphin statues that would be raised at the beginning of each lap so competitors would know where they were in the race.

“The first man to reach the finish rope wins. Racers into position!”

He was going to have to eat his words. It wouldn’t be a man finishing first.

There was a long row of brick slabs that had parallel grooves for our feet. Posts in the ground separated us from the runner next to us.

I had thought Zain would choose a position close to me, but he hadn’t. It didn’t matter where he was standing—the only thing that mattered was that I win.

The goddess’s voice was as clear and as sharp in my head as it had been last night.

Win.

I’m planning on it, I mentally replied.

“False starts will be subject to corporal punishment!” the announcer said. That seemed rather severe but false starts were a problem in almost every race I’d ever been in.

A silence fell over the stadium as everyone waited for the race to begin. I felt excited anticipation, my body gearing up to run.

“Go!” the announcer shouted.

Everyone surged forward immediately. The men near me sprinted out in front and I kept my pace. They would tire themselves out quickly. This was a longer race and they were going to need that stamina at the end.

My plan was to wait until the last lap and then pass everyone else. I could have run to the front and stayed there the entire time but I thought this would make it more fun for me.

And it would infuriate every other man running against me—especially the Epirian.

Zain was one of the leaders at the front of the pack. He was easy to spot because he was a head taller than everyone around him.

The second lap began and I inched my way forward so that I was in the latter half of the group. It was a comforting lull—the rhythmic sound and feel of my feet hitting the track again and again.

When the third dolphin had been raised, I moved my way up past the middle of the group, readying myself. The men around me were profusely sweating and groaning, straining to keep up with the others.

Then it was the fourth lap and finally time to make my move. I began to dart through openings so that I could get to the front.

I was thwarted in my effort by the Epirian, who had apparently convinced a handful of other men to block me. They formed a wall so that I couldn’t pass them.

The problem was they had no idea how fast I really was.

I looked behind me to make sure no one was in my path and came to a complete stop. Then I immediately darted to the right. I ran around the wall because the men on the far end hadn’t been expecting me and so made no move to stop me. I raced past Zain and could hear him laughing behind me.

Pumping my legs as quickly as I could, I hit the rope long before anyone else did. The stadium exploded with cheers, which surprised me.

I had expected their derision.

The Epirian managed to come in second behind me, and if he’d been able to kill me from his stare alone, he would have.

Zain came in at fourth position, good enough to get him into the final race. He ran over to me and asked, “Are you even tired?”

“No,” I admitted.

He laughed again. “That is a neat trick.”