Race

"The queen is back. Welcome, ladies, gentlemen and friends, to gloriously sunny Anatolia for this, the ninth race of the 1454 season of the Imperial League of Dragon Racing. At the end of today's race, we'll be half-way through the season, and five-time IL Champion Lucia Aelschu is back on the front row of the starting grid for the first time since April, looking to set her best foot forward for the second half of the season. I'm Sam Tinbru, and with me for all the action this afternoon, as always, is former IL team principal Bob Anmo."

"Hi Sam."

"We'll be talking through all the news and developments in the IL over the next half hour or so before the start, and there's lots of exciting stuff to talk about, but we have to start on a serious note. As you'll probably remember, last time out in Achaea, Nikita Coro's dragon Incandesia took a serious injury during the race, and we're here outside the Lautern stable with Millian Ossler, Lautern Team Principal. Millian, thank you for taking the time to talk to us today."

"Not at all, Sam, happy to."

"What can you tell us about Incandesia's condition?"

"Well, as the news has reported, she broke a metatarsal bone in her right foot, a couple of pieces of which then caused significant secondary damage to her ankle."

"Yes, for those of you watching at home, the metatarsal bones are the long bones in a dragon's foot, really the main structural bones in there, so it's a very serious injury. Incandesia's had two surgeries since the race at Circo Caria?"

"Two, yes, one with a thaumosurgeon to get the bone reassembled and a second to address the worst of the remaining damage."

"And what's the prognosis?"

"Good, as good as can be given the circumstances. Incandesia has been closely monitored by our vet team, we've had the ICDA's vets in twice and they'll continue to check on her, but we hope she'll be back in competition after the mid-season break."

"Yes, it's a terrible injury to have mid-season but great to hear that you're expecting her to make a full recovery."

"Millian, Feran Andoal's had some pretty strong words for you and Niki in the press over the last couple of weeks, talking about rookies not being ready for competition at such a high level, the risk of bringing a young rider in and pairing zir with such a big, powerful dragon. That's gotta hurt a bit, coming from the rider who won you two championships?"

"Thanks, Bob, I was rather hoping to avoid talking about that."

"Is there anything to Feran's comments, though? We were all a bit surprised, but you know him better than anyone in the IL."

"Ah, obviously it doesn't feel great to open a newspaper and see that kind of talk about us. Niki might be a rookie, but ze's a fantastic rider and zir results speak to that. Feran's a very experienced competitor now in every aspect of the sport, I think he's seeing a point where his closest championship rival is on the rocks and taking the chance to get in zir head a bit."

"Gamesmanship, then?"

"Well, you used that word, not me, Bob."

"How has Niki taken all of this? We know ze stayed on in Achaea to be with Incandesia at the hospital, ze's still there now rather than being here this weekend. Has Feran succeeded in getting under zir skin?"

"Well, obviously, Niki's very upset, ze cares deeply about Incandesia and ze definitely feels guilty about what happened, even though we're all in agreement that it wasn't particularly zir fault. I don't think Feran's getting to zir, though, zir attention is on getting Inky well and back in action as soon as it's sensible to do so, and continuing to contest this championship as Feran's equal."

"Thanks for taking the time to speak with us, Millian."

"Thank you."

"Well, Bob, fighting words there from Lautern. Can Niki still come back from this and challenge Feran's lead, or will ze lose too much ground?"

"I truly believe ze can, I'm a bit surprised to find myself saying it but there's still a long way to go in the championship and for as dominant as Feran was at the start of the year, he's looked shaky the last few races. He couldn't stay with Phoebe Tenryuu last race, not even close, and this time he's qualified in fourth, with Phoebe on pole and both the Royal Hermeia dragons ahead of him. I think having the rookies nipping at his heels like this – and Phoebe is now his closest challenger, only eight points behind – might be getting to him a little."

"Indeed. And all the changes at Royal Hermeia seem to have done the trick, you'd have to say."

"Absolutely. They were a mess a few races ago but this weekend has looked much better. Lucia Aelschu was very unlucky to miss out on pole yesterday to Phoebe."

"She was, and you'd have to say Phoebe's going to find it tough to hold that first position in the race."

"Aye, this is a new-style course, with plenty of twisty bits, but there are also some very long flat-out sections, including a pretty stiff climb, that will favour the bigger dragons."

"Tough competition for Phoebe indeed. And you're right, after spending the last couple of races at venues that have hosted dragon racing in one form or another for centuries, we're now here at Mileta in western Anatolia for one of the newest races on the calendar. For the last eight years, we've introduced this as the southernmost race of the season, but it will only keep that title for another two weeks, because after this, we're off to the island of Baleara, out in the middle of the Taranto Sea, the first step in the ICDA's planned expansion of the Imperial League into a truly international competition."

"Long past time, everyone in aerosports has been eager for the IL to bridge the Taranto and welcome Carthagia into the competition. So many of our best riders race in Carthagia in their teens, and there's a fine tradition of aerosports on wyverns there. The course at Baleara looks absolutely spectacular, too."

"It does, and we have the success of Feran Andoal to thank for it. His two championships really raised the profile of the IL down there."

"They did, although Feran's always been clear that he doesn't really consider himself Carthagian, his grandparents were but he was born and raised in Occidens. He even spent less time racing wyverns than most of our competitors, only a single year."

"Well, yes, but that's mostly because he won the championship as a rookie and moved immediately back to Occidens to race drakelets. Perhaps we can chalk some of Feran's grumpiness lately up to pressure around the Carthagian connection."

* * *

The start lights went out and Soot leapt into the roar of the crowd. Phoebe stretched her legs into his first beat, body long and low on his back, pushing him for all the speed he could give. The first ring whistled past and the ground below went quickly from sun-dry scrub to sandy lakeshore, blue water to the left, campsites of cheering fans on the low rise to the right.

Even with their airspeed, Phoebe could feel the warmth of the air as it flowed past her cheeks. Never cold, her flight suit was particularly sticky and heavy today. The sun felt like an extra ten pounds of drag on Soot's wings, the sky pitilessly clear.

The second ring was eight hundred yards beyond the first, a straight line almost due East, while the waterline below curved gently away to the right. Twenty seconds of flat-out flight, and the certain knowledge that the vast wings of Olympia in second behind would be pulling him closer and closer to Soot's tail. Phoebe could look back and check, but doing so would gain her little useful information, and might throw Soot off his rhythm.

At first the ring ahead was just a speck, hard to spot in the hazy, humid air. It grew with aching slowness, and Phoebe had to remind herself that at these speeds, even if Olympia was right on top of them, she wouldn't hear the gold's wingbeats. The echo she thought she could hear trailing Soot's stroke was hallucination only.

She forced herself to concentrate. As much could be lost in this straight if she didn't keep up with Soot's rhythm as if she messed up in the corner ahead. She had to keep the rise and fall of her ankles, the compensatory bending of her knees, slightly ahead of Soot's wingbeats, so that she wasn't weighing on his return strokes and straining his shoulders.

Finally the second ring started to look wide enough to take a dragon. Now Phoebe did steal a quick glance back, more or less into the teeth of Olympia. The old gold could have reached over and bitten into the meat at the root of Soot's tail, he was so close. Phoebe could have counted the ridges on his horns and jawline.

Still, he was behind – almost directly behind, with no significant altitude advantage. Phoebe lifted her weight up and back, leaning left even before they reached the ring, so that Soot climbed a little before sweeping into the turn. The third, fourth and fifth rings, in quick succession, were twenty feet up, a hundred-some yards north and east. Soot shortened his stroke and climbed, holding a tight line.

Out of the corner of her eye, Phoebe saw a flash of gold; Olympia swinging wider to set up for the chicane. Knees tight, Phoebe held Soot inside, keeping their hold on the corner. The ascent through the third felt like a scramble, scruffier still as Soot arrested their leftward turn to cut tightly back rightward through the fourth, the tip of his wing inches from the plastic during its return stroke, then just as close on the other side through the fifth.

As she leaned left again for the wider turn to the sixth, another thirty feet up and pointing out over the middle of the lake, Phoebe managed a glimpse back past her own shoulder. Olympia was half a length further behind than he had been, forced to give ground by Soot's tight line through the rings. Ahead, the seventh was fifteen seconds and over a hundred feet of ascent away.

"Phoebe survives the first time through the complex with her lead just about intact. She's certainly not going to roll over for Lucia."

"Punchy stuff, but she's going to be exposed in the climb, it's a long way to the seventh."

"She might have enough to make it, she's got half a length in hand. Arden's through smoothly behind Lucia, but Feran has Lyonne Ertku all over Corredeira's tail, that's going to be very tight by seven."

"It is. There's Renner and Marca Calwehr on Squillo, no drama there, very sensible. Phoebe might hold on through seven but she can't keep it for the full lap, surely?"

"Well she's not pulling away from Lucia, obviously, but Olympia's not closing that gap too quickly. Seven's tight, Soot's nimbleness will help there, and if she can make it all the way round the high section and get into the dive to ten she might hold on."

"She can't do all of that consistently for sixty-five laps, though, every time round. That'd flog Soot to death in this heat."

As the seventh ring approached, Olympia was pulling calmly off Soot's left hindquarter. Phoebe gritted her teeth and set her weight carefully. Lucia would be aiming to sweep through the ring at a wider angle than Phoebe, carrying more speed and pulling alongside on the flat straight thereafter. Soot still had the slight lead going into the turn, though, and that meant they still had a chance. If Lucia didn't guess too quickly which trick Phoebe was going to try.

Phoebe left it as late as she could to commit, and Soot trusted her, keeping his heading straight until the moment she lunged right. He took his cue from the violence of her movement, throwing a sharp, lopsided back-stroke, dragging his right wing so that they slewed sideways in the air, wide out across the width of the ring.

They hung for a moment, slow, almost stalled, as Soot hauled his wings back up and ready, open air to their right and the ring falling away behind. Then Soot's stroke slammed down, propelling them forwards again, and Phoebe glanced right and couldn't see Olympia. Lucia hadn't managed to turn him tightly enough to cut inside where Soot had necessarily left space open.

"She learned that one watching Lucia."

"Lucia'll be laughing, I think, that was perfect execution. Never so blunt that Lucia could claim she was blocked, because she could've dropped inside if she'd seen it coming, but there was no way she was ever going to gain ground through the ring with Phoebe flying like that."

"Lovely stuff, and it's bought her another length or so of space."

"Olympia will eat that before the end of the lap."

"Maybe, we'll see. Look, Feran's trying the same on Lyonne…. Lyonne held off a bit more, he's not lost as much ground as Lucia did. Still, you'd have to feel it's only a matter of time there too."

Soot flung himself through the ninth ring, neck ruler-straight ahead and wings pumping hard. Phoebe lay stretched out as flat as she could, hips and knees straining to keep her upper body off the ridge of his spine. Olympia was outside and behind them, trailing by barely half a second, and this corner was too wide for any more clever tricks.

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The tenth ring was a quarter-mile away and low on the water, the eleventh a little off to the right of it, making a tight, narrow chicane that was Soot's best segment of the track. If they could hold on to the lead until then they might buy some more time. The descent helped, Soot's narrower aerodynamic profile meaning the gravity did more for him than Olympia, but it was a fractional advantage.

"Phoebe, Soot's shading yellow on the first right wing joint." Adelie's voice whispered through Phoebe's earpiece.

"Already?" Phoebe answered through gritted teeth. The first joint worked hardest in the wing's return stroke, folding the sail up to its lowest drag form and then stretching it out again. Soot was snatching those return strokes to spend more of his wing time on the downbeats, keeping their pace up, but it was taking its toll. The aerobatics that were Phoebe's best weapon against Lucia would strain every joint in Soot's wings, she couldn't take too many risks with them.

"Phoebe?" Adelie's tone suggested that the numbers weren't improving. Olympia was maybe still gaining, very slightly, even in the descent.

How far to the next ring? Maybe another five seconds. "Give me this lap, unless you start to see orange."

Although Olympia was behind, he was to Soot's right, the inside for the next corner. Whatever Phoebe did, she was going to have to get around the bigger dragon somehow, and without colliding. Olympia would have a harder time braking into the ring for the tight right-hander, Phoebe had to use her vanishing lead to ensure the gold didn't do that braking in Soot's path.

There were no hand signals she could give to Soot to communicate what she wanted him to do – dragons couldn't be trained for manoeuvres as specific as what Phoebe had in mind. She had to do it all with her body-weight and rely on Soot's flight instincts and trust in her to keep them aloft. He was already giving her so much, the heat in his wings was proof of that.

She held as steady and middling as she could for as long as she dared, pushing Soot a touch steeper into his dive as if trying to maximise his speed advantage. If she could dupe Lucia even slightly into taking a higher line that would make this so much safer. Meanwhile, she gathered her elbows under her body, ready to move.

There. Phoebe forced herself back and upright, past vertical until she was leaning all the way back, knees folded and abdomen screaming with sudden tension. The shift in weight was enough to tip Soot back to flat in the air and he responded by half-pulling his next stroke, neither braking nor opening to a glide but more fluttering like loose paper on a breeze. After a second the flutter started to turn into an ugly plummet.

A shadow flickered over Phoebe, Olympia's braking stroke, so close it was hard not to duck. Before Soot could fold his wings, Phoebe flopped rightward, reaching ahead with her arms again in an awkward grab for balance. Again, Soot responded, and if his stroke was ugly it nevertheless did the trick.

They more or less fell through the tenth ring, corkscrewing a quarter-turn around Soot's right shoulder until he was able to get a stable wing-beat in and pull them up mere feet above the water. Thighs burning, Phoebe managed to get her weight centred again and leaned forward as Soot accelerated to the eleventh.

"That looked spectacular, but was it worth the risk?"

"Well, Bob, you have to admit she kept the place."

"For what, one more corner? She's taking desperate risks with Soot's joints at a very early stage of a very hot race."

"Do you think Phoebe can pull away from Lucia if she holds off this initial charge?"

"No way, Sam. Soot'll fade long before Olympia does. This is all theatrics."

"Hell of a show, though."

"For sure."

"Even you have to admit there haven't been a dozen riders who could do what Phoebe and Soot just did."

"It's not going to matter, look – Olympia's already back on him."

"Phoebe, right one isn't cooling after that stunt, you've got to slow down."

At the edge on Adelie's voice, Petunia looked up from the timings on her laptop. Phoebe didn't need any information she could provide, she could see and probably hear Olympia bearing down on her. Over by Stefan's workstation, Stefan and Ches had their heads together, hands over their mics, and neither of them looked happy. Further down the stable, Elice's fingers rattled over her keyboard like an arachnid riverdance.

Phoebe's silence was an obvious refusal to answer. The numbers on Petunia's screen were merciless. Even with whatever the rider had pulled to keep her lead through the tenth and eleventh rings – Petunia had watched it on the live feed, and still couldn't understand what she'd seen – the gap to Olympia was measured in hundredths of a second, and was still shrinking.

Hating herself for it, Petunia reached up and hit her transmit button. "Phoebe."

"Okay, okay." The tightness in the rider's tone made Petunia wince.

Soot piled along the rear of the stadium's north stand, the twelfth ring almost side-on to his approach. Once again, Olympia was creeping closer along his right flank. It was a tight left-hander through twelve, Soot's last advantage for almost twelve hundred yards. If he could just hold on through the stadium, so they could say they'd led the first whole lap…

But Phoebe could feel that slipping away. Soot's stroke was starting to bobble slightly, his wings fractionally out of time, a little too slack, creating instability in the air. Adelie and Petunia were right. And after this there were sixty-four more laps to get round.

She held Soot tight on his line, letting Olympia gain. Even without aerobatics, they'd do a little better through the corner than the bigger dragon. When the moment came, Phoebe hauled left, leaning all her weight low on her left knee and ankle, right foot hooked against its stirrup. She hung as wide as she could, the car park spinning under the curve of Soot's wing joint.

Soot swept his wings down hard, levelling out, and Phoebe started to straighten up on his neck. For a moment it seemed like she'd held the lead, but then a harsh downdraft pressed her onto Soot's scales. Olympia swung over them, a wider line that suggested Lucia must have pulled some twist of her own as she entered the ring. It left the bigger dragon way wide of the straightest path to the thirteenth ring and the stadium entry, but also a clear shoulder ahead.

"Lucia got sick of being held up."

"She didn't need to take a risk like that, but I suppose if it sends a message."

"Do you think Phoebe will be intimidated?"

"Nothing's scared her yet, why would this rattle her? I think she got a call from her team that she was pushing Soot too hard, I hope she takes it a bit more sensible from here."

"Can she keep second? Maybe challenge for the lead again in the perch stop phase?"

"I fancy her chances over Arden, Fleet doesn't have the raw strength advantage that Olympia does. Bigger worry'd be one of the golds coming through, Phosphora or Renner, but Feran's in the way and he'll fight them hard."

"And the lead?"

"She'd have to stay close to Olympia for thirty, thirty-five laps, let Lucia perch first, and then flog Soot like hell while Olympia's heavy with fluids. Then Lucia'd probably do the exact same as she's just done and take it back a few laps later. Is it worth it to Phoebe? She's gaining three championship points over Feran as it is, more if he can't hold off Lyonne or Gerry."

"I don't think Phoebe thinks about it in those terms."

"Aye, nor do I."

Nothing that Adelie could see on the screen in front of Stefan was good news. The image was a stylised representation of Soot, spiderlegged with readouts from the sensors spread throughout his harness. They shifted colour as the numbers rose and fell, but none of them were green anymore.

Yellow wasn't strictly a warning sign, but this much yellow, this constantly, was a clear precursor. It was a hot day, and Soot's dark colouration had been eating the unbroken sunlight now for twenty-six laps. Folding her arms tighter around herself, Adelie said, "Can you show me the… what's it called?"

"The projection?" Stefan didn't look around. He had his wrists on the lip of the workstation, arms rigid.

"No, the other one," Adelie tried not to squirm at her lapse of memory. "The previous…?"

"Observed trend." The big man's voice was gruff. He tapped a symbol on the side of the screen – Adelie was sure they made the symbols unintelligible to preserve the jobs of expert techs – and the readout numbers changed to +/- percentages. They were all yellow too, albeit a slightly greener shade.

Adelie sucked in air through her nose, let it out slowly. Phoebe hadn't radioed for an update for a few laps. "Is there any good news we can give her?"

Instead of answering directly, Stefan turned and called past Ches' back to Elice, who never seemed to stop typing at her own workstation. "Elice, can we use the projection?"

"It's fluttery." The coder's fingers might have slowed a bit. "Not better than 80% yet, you don't have enough hot weather data."

Stefan pressed another button. The third display was, as Elice had said, fluttery – where the previous two had shown only very gradual change in their colours, on this one the colours rippled gently as if stirred by a breeze. Unfortunately, the colours were autumnal. Slowly, Stefan said, "I am not used to telling Phoebe to push Soot less hard."

"Yeah," Adelie said, the word escaping her almost at a sigh. Over at the table, Petunia was glaring at her laptop. That had to be a bad sign too. Adelie reached for the transmit button on her headset and paused. She'd distracted Phoebe a couple of times by radioing at the wrong time before. Where was she on the course right now?

The stable's main monitor was showing some drama further down the order, a silver and a gold tangling at a ring low over the lake water. Phoebe, Adelie knew, was in second, too far behind to challenge for the lead and not at risk from third. The official video feed for the stable monitors was the same as went out to TV channels covering the event, chosen for drama and action. Nothing Phoebe was doing would be likely to get coverage right now.

Remembering to cover her mic with her hand, Adelie shouted "Petunia!"

The team manager looked round, lifted one can of her headset when she saw Adelie's pose. "Yeah?"

"Where's Phoebe right now?"

Petunia looked down at her screen again, frowned, and then called back, "Eleven. Behind the stadium."

Soot rounded the twelfth ring almost smoothly, right wing high and flat, left wavering a little as it curled to brake them. Phoebe heard the radio click as they levelled out. Before Adelie could speak, she said, "I know you're going to tell me to slow down."

"Phoebe, all the numbers are bad. Everything's yellow, trends, everything."

It was hard to think of anything to say in argument with her goggles feeling like they were glued to her face, peeling at her skin every time she squinted against the sun. Soot's stroke held steady as they flew into the stadium. Ahead, Olympia was almost to the first ring.

"Petunia, give me the gap when it comes up."

"Okay, hold on." Petunia didn't sound happy either. Phoebe forced herself not to try to count the seconds as Soot bore her past the crowds. Even their cheers sounded heat-fatigued. Finally Soot reached the first ring. Petunia said, "Five point four seconds."

Phoebe gritted her teeth and concentrated on matching Soot's rhythm for a moment. "Okay, I'll ease off a bit. Tell me if it drops below seven, and the second Lucia comes in to perch. Adelie, please tell me the numbers start going green."

"Lap thirty-three, we're expecting riders to start perching over the next couple of laps, let's just run down the order quickly. Lucia Aelschu leads by about seven and a half seconds after passing Phoebe Tenryuu on the first lap. Behind Phoebe is Arden Markwe, four seconds back and not really gaining even now Phoebe's fallen off the pace a bit. Then it's another five seconds to Gerald Ipemas, with Marca Calwehr close on his heels, then Idrin Felvan, the two Phaestia riders flying a blinder. Teda Nioli and Queru Idcoulh round out the points-paying positions. If you're wondering where world championship leader Feran Andoal is, he's all the way down in thirteenth after a fly-through penalty, after he was judged to have blocked Lyonne Ertku early in the race. Lyonne's in ninth, coming back from missing a ring due to Feran's block, but Phosphora's times aren't great."

"Yeah, it's strange, that, it was a bad miss, Lyonne almost fell in the lake and had to do a full circle to get back to the eleventh, but Phosphora's a much faster dragon than some of those ahead of her."

"Some sort of mild injury, do you think?"

"Let's hope not, Lautern taking injuries to both their dragons in consecutive races would be very bad, for the team and the whole IL. But I think it's more likely Lyonne's a bit shaken and off his rhythm."

"Well, let's hope it's just that. Oh, here comes Lucia in to perch, that's a bit early."

"Soot pushed Olympia very hard, Olympia might be flagging a bit. And the temperature should start to drop a bit now, the second half of the race should be easier on the dragons, so early perching makes sense."

"Does it play into Phoebe's hands, Lucia perching early?"

"In theory, Soot will be light while Olympia's heavy with fresh fluids, but I don't think it'll be enough."

Soot's braking stroke as he swooped and stalled up to the race perch was unsteady enough to send Phoebe's stomach lurching, her wincing eyes filled with the memory of Incandesia sprawled over her perch two weeks prior. Somehow, though, Soot's feet found the bars squarely. She'd pushed him absolutely as hard as she dared for four flat-out laps, over Adelie's repeated protests, and from the impatience with which he lunged for the hose, he was feeling it.

Phoebe caught the water bottle tossed to her by Petunia, and then the second that she'd asked for. Condensation dripped from both, and her hands slipped a bit as she flipped the caps up. She put the first to her lips to drink and tipped the second straight over her head. Better not to think what the crowd in the stands would make of the water running off the collar of her flight suit but she desperately needed to cool herself.

There was still water spilling out of the bottle when she felt Soot's weight start to shift. Flailing her arms, she managed to throw the bottles more or less in the direction of the stable. Her balance hung for a moment as Soot lunged away from the perch, but reflex took over and she got forward over his neck as his wings came up for the second stroke.

It was a long way to the green ring at the end of the perch lane. Phoebe tried to breathe, tried to stop fighting her own muscles as if clenched fists could squeeze the stadium shorter. Voice feeling harsh in a throat already drying, she scraped out, "Where's Lucia?"

"Braking annnnnd there for twelve," Petunia came back grimly. "It's going to be super close, be careful."

Keeping her shoulders as straight as she could, Phoebe turned her head to look back. Sunlight gleamed on the line of Olympia's wings as he levelled out of the tight sweep round from the twelfth ring. Phoebe looked forward again. It wasn't possible to judge the gap at this distance.

Soot beat his wings steadily. It was a little cooler here in the gap between the grandstands, a slight wind-tunnel effect even on this stone-still day. It felt like Phoebe's skin was dissolving into the lining of her race suit, it was so hot and sticky.

The red-and-white first ring loomed over the perch ring, closer and closer. Phoebe pulled her body back down towards her heels, ready to bring Soot surging up into the main line of the course over the beach. It was so near.

Right at the last moment, a shadow rushed over them. Phoebe managed not to flinch, held steady as Soot hauled his wings in and slammed them through the perch ring. Rather than the aggressive move she'd planned, Phoebe eased him upward gently, into Olympia's wake.

"Well, that settles that."

"It was a heroic effort from Phoebe and Soot, they almost got the place back."

"I hate to be a cynic, Sam, but that's the kind of heroics that gets people and dragons hurt."

"Well, Soot's still flying. That's the important thing."

"It is, and provided he doesn't fall out of the sky from exhaustion Phoebe's still on for a very creditable second."

"And with Feran out of the points and Niki Coro not competing this weekend, this is a huge step for Phoebe in the championship."

"I wouldn't write Feran out of the points just yet, he's on a tear back there in tenth and there's a lot of race to go. But he's got to catch up to and pass Queru Idcoulh in eighth to even leave here with a one-point championship lead."

"Here we go, Phoebe's coming up to the first sector line – yes, look at that, she's definitely taking it easier."

"The race should settle at the front now, she's got nothing to fear from Arden in third. It's all about the midfield for the rest of the afternoon."

Phoebe slid down from Soot's neck as soon as he came to a halt by the podium pen. She staggered as her boots hit the bleached grass, putting her hand up to the dragon's flank. Her flight suit felt tight on her skin, itchy with sweat.

Adelie and Stefan were already watering Soot by the time Phoebe felt steady enough to walk over to the pen. Dimly she heard another dragon landing behind her – Fleet, ridden by Arden Markwe. Meanwhile, ahead as she had been all afternoon, was Lucia Aelschu, five-time IL champion, resplendent in her gold flight suit, daggers of orange running from her shoulders to her waist.

She turned and held out a bottle of water as Phoebe approached. They'd spoken before, but never here, at the end of a race. Her face was reddened with the heat, but she was smiling easily. Phoebe managed to get the bottle's cap off, arms feeling like jelly. Before she risked trying to drink anything, she splashed some over her face and hair.

"You're going to look a mess on the podium doing that." Lucia's voice was gentle, but her humour unmistakable.

Phoebe took a long enough drink to leave her gasping when she lowered the bottle. "Better that than falling over from heat exhaustion," she laughed hoarsely.

"You wouldn't have that problem if you'd gone a bit easier, and you'd still be second." In one smooth motion, Lucia snagged another bottle from the table and threw it past Phoebe to where Arden was arriving. "You couldn't catch her, right, Arden?"

Arden nodded, tipped the bottle slightly in Phoebe's direction, then drank. "Hell of a dragon you've got there. Take care of him."

"We do." Phoebe tried not to sound too disgruntled, and couldn't tell whether her fatigue helped or hindered that effort.

Lucia chuckled. "We need you to keep taking points off Feran for us."

"I'm taking those points for me, you can't have them." Phoebe frowned slightly, but then let out a laugh in its place. "Last I checked I'm the one contesting the championship here."