This Dark Descent, page 13
“You’re quaking where you sit,” grumbled a jockey in silver and white—House Kelbra colors.
With a start, she realized she recognized him: Gren Talyer. He’d been a legend once, one of the youngest jockeys in history. Until her father had exposed him for sabotaging his competitors’ horses. He’d been banned from the races for ten years, and from the way he was looking at her, she had a feeling his fury hadn’t dulled the slightest in that time.
“What can I say?” Mikira ground out. “I’m excited.”
“You don’t belong here.” Gren’s dark eyes glinted. “Even your coward of a father knows that.”
The words snapped Mikira’s spine straight. “My father is not a coward.”
Gren laughed. “A washed-up, useless, coward.”
The announcer said something over the loudspeaker, but it was lost to the roaring in Mikira’s ears, to the desire to drive her fist into that man’s sneering grin. She tried desperately to claw the anger back, to do as Reid had said and forge it into a shield his blades couldn’t penetrate.
The crowd echoed the announcer’s countdown. “For Enderlain! For the Harbingers!”
Gren turned back to the track. “You’re in over your head, little girl.”
“For Sendia!”
The starting bell rang.
CHAPTER 15
MIKIRA
ATARA BOLTED.
Mikira threw herself forward with a yelp, holding on for dear life as the horse galloped toward the woods at breakneck speed. Dirt and grass flew up behind them, the world turning into a blur of color on either side of her. She slowly relaxed back into the saddle, unclenching her white-knuckled hands from the reins. Even Iri’s speed enchantment wasn’t this strong. Exactly how powerful of an enchanter was Ari?
As Atara raced forward, her stride easy and graceful, the burst of fear-laden adrenaline that’d erupted through Mikira melted into utter delight. She whooped into the roaring wind.
Then the Houndswood swallowed them.
The cheering crowd vanished, replaced by the thunder of hooves and shouts of riders. Metal clanged as weapons were drawn and the melee began. Dezaena Fyas fended off a baton from another rider, Alren Zalaire riding at their back in an alliance formation. Arabella Wakelin was already pulling ahead of the pack, Gren hot on her tail.
Mikira shifted her reins to one hand and unsheathed a blade with the other as another rider bore down on her. She deflected their knife and drew Atara away to open space.
They wove through the trees, keeping well away from the other riders. There was no path to follow, and the thick canopy above cast the forest floor in shadow, making it difficult to spot any warning signs of enchantments.
The ground began to shake.
Atara slowed but kept her footing. Other horses spooked, darting wildly left and right as leaves rained from the trees. Ahead, the ground split like a yawning maw, revealing a bed of sharp spikes.
Dezaena’s and Alren’s horses sprang across the gap as it opened. Another slammed to a halt, throwing its rider over its head. Screams rent the air as he disappeared into the pit.
Mikira tried to turn Atara aside, but she was going too fast. She swallowed a yell a second before the horse leapt the pit.
She landed effortlessly on the other side and kept running.
Mikira glanced back at the gaping chasm. The rest of the racers had slowed in time, now forced to go around. She’d been the last to make it across—something that should have been impossible. Atara was only charmed for speed, endurance, and agility. How had she made that leap?
Swinging back around in the saddle, Mikira caught a glimpse of another rider. A girl with brown hair and a green Rach mask on a chestnut bay, racing along beside her. There was something familiar about her. The girl turned, revealing curious hazel eyes.
It was the rider from her last underground race, the one who’d drawn a knife on her.
She stared in wonder at the girl a second longer, before a sharp pain seared through her arm.
Crying out, she flattened herself over Atara’s neck just as something whizzed overhead. Hanging from the branches all around her were spiked balls attached to long strings, swinging back and forth like pendulums. More than one rider lay groaning on the leaf-strewn ground.
A mace swung toward Atara’s side, but she dodged it. It was all Mikira could do to cling to her as she darted through the swinging spikes with the fleet-footedness of a gazelle. Her control, her agility—they were unlike anything Mikira had ever experienced.
She leaned close and put her trust in the horse’s instincts.
They burst from the spikes and into open woodland. Relief tore through Mikira as she sat upright, the motion pulling at her wounded arm. She hissed, but there was nothing she could do for it now. With how deftly Atara had handled the beginning of the course combined with her speed, they could be near the front of the pack. But between the pit, the maces, and whatever other obstacles the forest hid, there was no telling how many riders remained.
“Watch out!”
Mikira didn’t get a chance to locate the voice before the world turned white. She shut her eyes against the flood of light and slowed Atara reflexively. The horse tossed her head, pulling at the bit, and Mikira felt her speed up again. Even through her closed eyelids she could tell the lights still blared, yet Atara surged forward confidently. Could she see somehow?
The light faded, and she blinked until her vision cleared. She marveled at Atara, whose stride only grew quicker, steadier, as if falling into a rhythm she’d been born to. The forest edge parted ahead, a handful of racers pushing their horses into an all-out gallop for the finish line.
Atara let out a high whinny and veered to the side a second before another horse nearly crashed into them. Mikira swung out wildly with her knife but cut only air. A man laughed as Atara regained herself, forced to a stop by the sudden strike.
Gren Talyer’s white stallion blocked their path.
His lips parted in a jagged smile. “You’re lucky to have made it this far on an unenchanted horse, but it’s as far as you’ll go.” He lashed out with a blade and Mikira deflected it, urging Atara away with her knees.
But the horse didn’t listen. She lunged forward, teeth skimming along the stallion’s shoulder. The white horse reared back, screaming, and Atara reared with him, front hooves striking at the stallion’s chest.
When the horses came down, Gren jerked his away with a curse, driving his heels into his stallion’s sides and forcing the startled creature into a canter.
Atara huffed heavily, tossing her head. Mikira tried to soothe her, but she was frenzied, like a beast drunk on its prey’s blood. She sidestepped, then reared again, neighing.
Mikira laid a hand on her neck as they came down. “It’s okay!”
Atara turned sharply as if to snap for her hand. The moment stretched, Mikira frozen by the look of utter ferocity in the mare’s eyes.
Then flames blazed to life at their backs.
Atara bolted and Mikira lost her stirrups. The enchanted fire raced alongside them, funneling them aside into a small clearing. Mikira clung fast with her knees, her hands fisted in Atara’s mane as the fire encircled the clearing, cutting off their escape. Atara ground to a halt, and Mikira tumbled over her shoulder, barely managing to throw herself clear.
She hit the ground hard and rolled, stopping just before the line of flames. Atara stamped and tossed her head, and Mikira fought her way back to her feet, body aching. The mare cut toward her, and Mikira leapt away, holding up her hands.
“Easy girl,” she called, the heat of the flames pressing at her back. Atara lowered her head, panting nearly as heavily as Mikira.
“We’re okay,” Mikira breathed. “We’re okay.”
Enchanted fires lasted only as long as their verillion source; this had to burn out soon. But that look in the mare’s eye, the frenzy—the only horses she’d ever seen act like that had been enchanted for aggression or protection. Her family sold them as warhorses. Atara didn’t have either of those charms, though that didn’t mean she hadn’t been trained for battle. Had Damien gotten her a warhorse instead of a racehorse and not told her?
With a whoosh, the flames went out around them, leaving the ground blackened and the air scorched with smoke. Mikira didn’t move, holding Atara’s gaze. The horse stared back at her with a look she couldn’t decipher, an intensity bordering on zealousness.
They needed to go. They had to be near the end of the pack by now, and only Atara’s unnatural speed would have any chance of regaining their position. But some part of Mikira didn’t want to get back on her.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been afraid of a horse.
Atara pawed at the ground, turning aside as if to let Mikira mount. Forcing her burgeoning fear aside, she approached cautiously and swung up into the saddle. When Atara didn’t snap at her, she gave her an experimental nudge, and the horse trotted on. Mikira’s fingers quivered on the reins, and she closed them tighter. She couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. She had a race to win.
They tore through the trees, Atara’s strides eating up ground. The tree line thinned, then broke, emptying them into a wide stretch of rolling hills. A stream of horses stretched out before them, the finish line a dot on the horizon.
“Go!” Mikira called, giving Atara her head.
The horse flew.
They passed the stragglers in a blur, then reached the end of the pack. They galloped past horse after horse, until the finish line was only an open stretch of green away. Mikira forgot the pain in her arm and the fear crouching in her bones and lost herself to the race as they soared across the finish line.
It was only as Atara slowed to a walk that she noticed the massive group of horses and riders at the end of the clearing. Only then did she hear the announcer call, “And Mikira Rusel in the fifty-first position.”
She was too late.
They’d lost.
* * *
MIKIRA COULDN’T BREATHE.
Every once in a while, her lungs would burn so viciously that she’d choke down another sob of air, but then her throat would close, and her body would seize and the realization that she’d lost everything would threaten to crush her.
She sat huddled on a bench in the jockeys’ locker room. She’d found a private corner, and incredibly, no one had disturbed her. Not even Damien, who she couldn’t bear to face. She’d lost him his family’s racing business. His reaction would not be kind.
The door swung open with a low groan, and a familiar voice tsked quietly. The sound trailed cold claws down her spine.
“My, my, Miss Rusel,” Rezek practically purred. “What a mess you’ve made.”
The room was in shambles around her. The wooden locker was broken, the shelves askew, the mirror cracked. She didn’t even remember destroying them.
She fought to control her breathing, to seal away her pain so Rezek couldn’t feed on it, but it was too raw. She’d lost the ranch, trapped her father in a life of service to a demon, and put her sisters on the street.
So much for wanting the Rusel name to mean something again. She’d only ground it deeper into the dirt.
She felt Rezek behind her a second before his hand came down on her shoulder, his fingers digging beneath the bone. It wasn’t the pain that nearly made her sick. It was the realization that Rezek had never touched her before, as if he’d been waiting for this moment.
“You’re bleeding,” he said simply.
Her left arm was coated crimson. The wound had mostly crusted and dried, but still leaked rivulets of red.
Rezek brushed his fingers down her arm, lingering over the wound. They came away stained with blood, and Mikira shivered. He slid onto the bench facing the opposite direction of her.
“You came so very close,” he lamented. “That horse of yours is rather remarkable.”
Atara.
She’d left the mare standing in the clearing and staggered into the locker room before anyone could stop her. Had someone tended to the horse? Guilt shuddered beneath the numbness.
Rezek gripped the bench and leaned back so he could see her face. For a moment, he simply drank in the sight of her. Then he said, “I want to make you a new deal.”
Her heart lurched. “What?”
“A new deal,” he repeated slowly, as if warning her not to make him do it again. “Losing their racing business will be a blow to the Adairs, but it won’t crush them the way I want, and Damien will find a way to recover. I need something that will destroy them—that will destroy him.”
Finally, she forced herself to fully meet his gaze. He stared back, seemingly pleased that she had. “What are you asking of me?”
“I want you to spy on Damien Adair.”
She stilled, memories rising of breaking bone, of red flecks on a pristine white sleeve. Then her gaze dropped to Rezek’s bloodstained fingers.
“And in exchange?”
He laughed once, short and sharp. “Bold of you to assume you have the power to ask anything of me. I hold everything you care for.”
His words were weapons, each one tearing a new hole. She felt herself sway. Rezek’s hand closed around her arm, too close to the wound to be accidental, and she hissed against the flare of pain.
“But as I said, I am not a villain.” His voice dropped low, almost caressing. “If you accept, I’ll reinstate you into the race. Our bargain from before will continue. You will still have your chance to win.”
“Why?” Rezek had finally gotten what he wanted, and now he was willing to risk it again?
He released her, his palm stained red. “My reasons are my own. Do you accept?”
“Damien will never believe you just let me back in. He’ll be suspicious.”
“Let me handle the little Adair.”
Mikira hesitated, and Rezek eyed her. “Come now, Miss Rusel. Don’t tell me you’ve grown attached. Damien is everything you hate.”
“He’s better than you,” she snapped.
“He is me.”
She thought of the man whose finger Damien had broken, of the Anthir flooding the hall the first day at the manor and his conversation with Hyle. But she’d seen him do good too, things Rezek would never do, for people he owed nothing to. Had it all been a performance?
As if summoned by their discussion, she heard Damien’s voice at the door. “Move aside, Kyvin.”
“My lord has asked not to be disturbed,” an oily voice replied.
Rezek raised his pale brows. “Last chance.”
“Fine,” she growled. “I accept.”
“I won’t ask again.” Damien’s voice turned sharp.
Rezek stood. “Let him in, Kyvin.”
Damien burst into the room. “What is this?”
Rezek laced his fingers behind his back. “I was just telling Miss Rusel that I’m willing to let her back into the race, for a price. What do you say to upping the stakes of our bargain, old friend?”
Mikira stilled—old friend?
Like a clock shifting gears, Damien’s face changed bit by bit. The anger melted as he adjusted for the situation, no doubt sensing the opportunity to turn the odds in his favor.
“What do you propose?” he asked.
“Simple,” Rezek replied. “In addition to our current bargain, you will wager all of House Adair’s verillion fields.”
Damien regarded Rezek without expression, but Mikira could guess what he was thinking. If they lost, House Kelbra would have a monopoly on two of Enderlain’s main trades: racing and verillion. They would own over half the city, and House Adair would be broken.
Of course, Rezek didn’t know what they did about Atara.
Damien looked to her. She recoiled. He couldn’t mean to let her decide.
No. But he doesn’t know what happened. Damien didn’t know how the horse had lost herself to blood like a lion tearing into a kill. How Mikira hadn’t been able to control her, had been afraid of her. If winning was impossible, he wanted to know.
She didn’t know what to tell him.
Damien’s jaw set. “Very well.”
Rezek clapped his hands together in delight. “Wonderful.” He brushed past Damien to where a narrow-faced man with slick black hair waited. “Best of luck, Miss Rusel.” He lifted one red hand before closing the door behind him.
Mikira expected Damien to yell, to close the space between them like Rezek had and make her feel even smaller than she already did.
Instead, he let out a quiet breath and said, “Let’s get you home so Reid can look at your arm.”
She blinked at him. “That’s it?”
“We’ll discuss the race in the coach.”
Because they were too exposed here. These were the sorts of things Damien Adair thought of that Mikira did not, and yet somehow, she was supposed to spy on him? Rezek wanted damning information he could use to crush Damien, but Mikira needed him. And if he found out she was involved, there was no telling what he would do.
But she didn’t have a choice.
CHAPTER 16
ARIELLE
SOMETHING WAS WRONG.
Ari didn’t know what it was, only that it was off, like a picture frame slightly askew. The feeling needled at her, lingering ever since she’d created Atara early that morning, but every time she tried to examine it, it slipped away.
“Ari? Ari?” Reid’s voice pulled her back to herself. “What the hells are you doing?”
“What?” She started, realizing she was standing in the middle of the foyer. When had she gotten up from the armchair? She turned about, taking in the bookcases she didn’t remember approaching.
Ignore him, hissed the voice that was not hers, and she steeled herself against it.
