Race

After the damp, drab week, race day had dawned bright and crisp, the direction of the weather having swung almost a hundred and eighty degrees in the stillness of the night before. The stadium stood on the cliff overlooking the lake, and there was a faint breeze ruffling Phoebes’s crownfeathers as she waited beside Soot on the roof. Less than ten minutes until the start of the race.

Stefan was still fussing around Soot, checking again every single detail he'd double-checked before Phoebe had flown the dragon out of the stable, round their lazy reconnaissance lap and up to his place before the starter perches. The harness tech was still agitated and nervous, even after the shared moment of explosive relief that had swept through the team when Petunia had announced Brynna’s message that she'd blocked the blackmail attempt.

Phoebe still felt fizzy from that, or maybe from the combination of that with the rising tension of the race start. Her second place from qualifying put her at the north end of the stadium, closest to the looming pile of the Palace over beyond the Imperial Plaza. She was on the grandstand that faced towards the lake, too, the better side because when Soot launched he would already be pointing through the first ring towards the second where it marked the edge of the cliff.

"Did you really sleep in the stables last night?" Lucia Aelschu's voice startled her, but she turned to find the Royal Hermeia rider standing only a few feet away, an impish smile on her round cheeks, her gold-and-orange race suit splendid in the sunlight.

Phoebe worked her shoulders, feeling the lingering stiffness that even Vermilia’s not -so-tender ministrations hadn't quite been able to work out of her. She gave the five-time-champion a sheepish grin. "Yeah."

Lucia stepped up next to her and patted her on the back. "Very old-fashioned."

"I just couldn't sleep, Lucia, I wasn't thinking about whether it was old-fashioned or not."

"I'm sure it will only contribute to the myth, if you win." She smiled and held up a hand, forestalling Phoebe’s response. "I don't mean anything by it. But it's a tribute to how much he loves you that he was willing to let you stay with him."

Phoebe stumbled over her tongue trying to formulate a response. By the time she'd gotten untangled, the horns of a marching band were rising from the stadium floor below.

Her voice teasing, Lucia said, "Ah, your other love."

Phoebe ignored her and took a few steps closer to the front edge of the stadium roof. On the ground, right under the first ring, was the podium, fenced off with red ribbons. In front of the podium stood a plinth with the IL trophy glittering on top of it, and in front of the plinth was Thessaly, waiting at her mic stand.

She wore a shimmering green gown which split into petals halfway down her thighs. Her hair was bound into neat buns, each trailing a spiralling tail. Distance made her tiny despite the screens lining the stadium that showed her face, her sparkling lip gloss and amethyst-ocean eyes.

The band played her in and she sang the opening words of the Imperial Anthem. The stadium's acoustics were awful, chopping and echoing the sound back over itself. Phoebe listened rapt anyway.

"Thessaly Pantelleria there singing the anthem, doing a fine job of it."

"Lovely."

"Ok, Bob, while we wait for the riders to mount up and get ready for the lights, final call: how do you think the race is going to go?"

"It's going to go and go, Sam. It'd be easy to just talk about the leaders, but don't let's forget about the rest of the field, we've got fights to decide championship positions all the way down the order. I think we're going to be out of breath trying to cover it all for two hours."

"But who do you think will win, in the end? As it's poised right now, it all depends on whether Feran or Lucia can get past Phoebe and Niki, right?"

"Pretty much. And that depends on who ends up fighting with who. If Lucia can hassle Feran, then Phoebe can chase Niki and I’d expect them to pull a bit of a gap. If Feran gets among the rookies early I think it's his for the taking."

"What about Lucia, can she be champion again?"

"I'd never count her out, Sam, but she's got the toughest ride today, no question."

Stefan and Adelie made one last round of checks on Phoebe’s feet in Soot’s stirrups, and stepped back, Stefan giving her a big thumbs-up. The noise from the crowds in the grandstand below was already so loud that she couldn't hear whatever encouragement Adelie had tried to shout.

Phoebe nudged Soot forward, and he clambered out onto the stark steel frame of the starter perch. Opposite, she could see Feran and Niki doing the same. Their dragons shone under the bright sky, silver Corredeira with the thin frame of his slowly-developing crests, golden Incandesia still too young for cresting and all the brighter for it.

Off to Phoebe’s left, in fourth, was Olympia, the most successful dragon in IL history. Along the ridges over his eyes were the first points of actual horns, and most of his lower jaw was ridged. His last race? It didn't seem possible to imagine the IL without Lucia.

She looked ahead again. Her position relative to the first ring, towering over them only a hundred feet or so away, gave her the better line for the first corner, down over the cliff and round the south end of the lake, but she still had to watch what her nearest rivals were doing. She couldn't afford to cede any advantage, not at this race.

Across forty yards of the stadium's central channel, Phoebe met Feran's eyes. He nodded stiffly and leaned forward on Corry's back. He had to worry about Lucia as well as Phoebe, and that would keep him from trying anything too wild against her.

Phoebe winced a little as she turned her attention to Niki. Zir messages in the small hours of the morning had stung. It was so different to how they'd been back in the junior competitions. In Carthagia in 1452, they'd hung out late into the evening together with a few of the other racers, until their team managers had tracked them down and ordered them to bed.

Niki wasn't looking in her direction at all, zir attention was entirely on the first ring. Ze had to get airborne, up into the ring and tightly round leftward; at the Winter Palace, the advantage of first place on the grid over second was the smallest of the season. Ze'd have to do something to blunt the edge of Soot’s speed through the ring, the question was which block ze'd go for.

"Here we go, then, Bob, the closest season finale in years. One light. Two lights. Three. Four. Five… and they're off! Good starts for Niki Coro and Phoebe Tenryuu, Phoebe’s so tight on the first ring but Niki's given her nowhere to go, Feran's away well and he's going to have to be careful- yes ok, and Lucia's right there, Arden Markwe behind her and then Gerry Ipemas – he's gotten away really well."

"Soot right on Incandesia's tail along the cliff already."

"This course barely gives you time to blink, looks like the whole grid are aloft cleanly as Phoebe sweeps so close along the cliff face round to the fourth ring, she's really pushing Niki hard."

"I don't want to breathe, there's Feran with a few clear feet between Corry's tail and Olympia's snout."

"The leaders level out through to five, will Phoebe go for it up to the hairpin round to six?"

"Could do but that might be pushing it, Incandesia's settled now there's a moment to fly level."

"They both know they can't win this race on the first lap, let's hope Phoebe doesn't get carried away again- Gerry's taking a run at Arden along the shore."

"Feran keeping that little gap to Lucia as he goes through the fifth and yeah, look, Phoebe’s being sensible, just using the sixth to stay well in touch with Niki up the climb."

Phoebe leaned a little left as they crested the seventh ring and began the descent to the Imperial Plaza. Soot’s instinct was always to follow and hound the dragon ahead directly, but here they could take a much tighter line than Incandesia towards the eighth ring, treat it as a sharper corner than bigger dragons could. That not only shortened the distance but made the descent steeper, faster.

Soot took her heading, his stroke steady and powerful, his neck straight. Below them, scattered forest gave way to grass as the eighth ring approached. Niki was wide to their right, taking the more conventional line, if she could just get Soot into the corner first…

Incandesia turned in ahead, and Phoebe lunged left, hard onto the stirrup, hanging her weight low. Soot folded his left wing, dropping and scudding sideways through the air, under the bigger dragon's golden flank, through the bottom of the ring while Niki went high. Then he snapped his wings open again, ahead of Incandesia's stroke, and pushed.

The gold's down-stroke above washed a pressure-wave over them, and Soot drifted wide, pulling his next stroke to compensate. He levelled out right on Incandesia's tail, and Phoebe hauled herself back upright and astride. They fell back into rhythm, Soot’s stroke a hair faster than Incandesia's as they piled towards the cliff.

"The leaders are coming up to the new chicane now for the first time, Niki's pulled out a few feet ahead of Phoebe."

"Ze was always going to, round the palace is where the bigger dragons are going to have to stretch their advantages if they want to stay ahead."

"And yet Lucia's not- wow, look at Phoebe close the gap through ten, that's tricky flying but Soot makes it look so smooth."

"Won't take the place there, though, Incandesia's too fast into the flat out of eleven."

"There goes Feran, and then Lucia, like I was saying it doesn't look like Lucia's closing on Feran much."

"That looks tactical to me. She can't afford to get caught up fighting with Feran, she and Feran both need to stay with Phoebe."

"When will Lucia start to push, then?

"When she needs to, she's the smartest racer out there."

"There goes Niki through twelve and again Phoebe closes up through the corner, she takes those so tightly."

"I hope she's not risking Soot’s shoulders doing that, lotta laps to go yet."

Ahead, Incandesia slammed her wings open with Niki hanging off to her right, braking sharply over the threshold of the thirteenth ring and right towards the fourteenth. Phoebe lunged forward as she shifted her own weight down Soot’s flank to follow. Incandesia was already swerving left again, the wrenching strokes of her wings almost butterfly-like to bounce her through the squiggly chicane.

Soot went through the fourteenth ring almost straight, checking himself hard to keep from crashing down on top of the gold below. Incandesia swung out right again, setting up for the sharp left through the fifteenth ring. Phoebe set her teeth, slid left and back and down, wincing as the timing of Soot’s next stroke-

-just cut them through under the top of the fifteenth, Incandesia sweeping through underneath them, her weightier inertia bearing her to the right, out of Soot’s downdraft. Phoebe put Niki out of her mind and pumped her legs into Soot’s rhythm, pushing him into the climb as the orchards gave way to stone below and they started up the mountainside.

Ahead, the ancient stone of the Monument to the 52 caught the daylight, too coarse to shine. She had the altitude advantage, with Incandesia a good eight, ten feet below, and Soot had been smoother off the corner. It was tight around the Monument, too, Niki needed to cross beneath her to begin zir climb. Phoebe grinned.

"Through the sixteenth ring, then, and Phoebe’s kept that tiny lead, Niki just can't corner as tightly."

"Look at how close Feran is, that cost the rookies time."

"It did and now they're going down the valley, Niki's clearly faster, look."

"Yeah, you can see that difference in wing size really telling now they're descending."

"Phoebe’s free to take that qualifying line through the chicane, though-"

"Not if Niki has anything to say about it, that's going to be close-"

"Close but Phoebe still has it, just, it'd be irresponsible to try to pass through there under any circumstances."

"Ze'll get her back up to the stadium. Look at how Lucia closed in on Feran through nineteen, too!"

"They're going to be biting each other's hindquarters through the stadium, there's what, a second and a half covering the top four right now?"

The crowd roared as Soot burst through the twentieth ring and into the stadium. On the screens, Phoebe could see Incandesia's right wing beating just behind Soot’s left. She held her stance, keeping her legs moving with Soot’s stroke, keeping her weight steady.

Niki couldn't pass her here, their dragons were too close together and their wings would tangle. But ze'd outmanoeuvred Phoebe. With Incandesia so close on the left, Phoebe couldn't safely turn in through the first ring.

The stadium announcer was calling her out in first place, but the position was already lost. She shifted her weight back slightly. If she could grab a little extra altitude now, she could cut back over Niki when ze turned into the dive, and at least that would keep her in touch.

Noise and riotous colour surrounded them, stretching out the moment as they piled up the centre of the stadium. On the big screens, there was a brilliant camera angle that somehow captured not just Incandesia and Soot, wing-to-wing, but Corredeira, low and not far behind – what was Feran planning? – and glimpses of Olympia in the background. Even with everything else, a thrilling shiver went through Phoebe. She was participating in one of the races of the decade, and there, down below, was the championship trophy.

"Through the first ring and there goes Niki into the lead, Phoebe’s over zir and hard on the tail, Feran standing off out of harms way-"

"Look at the timesheets, Bob! Two thousandths of a second between them at the end of the first lap, Feran Andoal three tenths back and Lucia Aelschu only four behind that."

"Never mind the numbers, look at Soot just hounding Incandesia alongside the cliff, Feran's creeping closer and closer, he must be fancying a move."

"Will he risk it, do you think? Niki and Phoebe are keeping it pretty hectic."

"Could do, could just keep waiting. If they give him an inch he'll take it."

"And Lucia's still right there on them, too."

"Fantastic stuff."

"There they go through the fifth and up, Phoebe’s going to take a run round to the sixth. First time we've really seen all four go all out together, isn't it?"

"None of them can afford to wait for a race that suits them better anymore."

Adelie watched her screen, the green outline of Soot showing all the readouts in comfortable ranges. Only the gyro warnings, represented by an endlessly-spinning icon at the centre of the diagram, flared red occasionally when Phoebe hauled the dragon round the tighter corners. The gyros by themselves weren't a warning, though, just a testament to Soot’s brilliance – and a feed-in to the arcane mathematics of Elice's simulations.

Petunia’s voice came over the radio. "Lap four, a minute fifty-four point nine. Niki ahead by point four, you matched zir that lap. Point five back to Corredeira." Phoebe didn't really need the updates but it was good practice to keep her in the loop. The pace was right at the slow end of what they might expect, all the tight racing manoeuvres slowing the front-runners down.

There was a pause, Adelie watching her readouts and glancing over at the TV feed of the dragons racing along the lake shore again. She couldn't watch the TV for long, it was too frightening. Phoebe and her rivals knew what they were doing, but they were so close together, so close to the rocks…

"What about behind Feran?" Phoebe snapped quickly, her voice made aggressive by the strain in it and how fast she spoke to fit it in to the relentless string of corners.

"Lucia, point four, then a second to Ipemas, eight tenths to Markwe-"

"Ok," Phoebe cut her off, less tersely this time. Adelie looked at the screen again and saw Soot hard on Incandesia's tail towards the Imperial Plaza. "Watch the gap to Gerry, if he starts to close on Lucia."

"Niki comes through the stadium to lead onto the eighth lap aaaand yes, ze was a tenth faster than Phoebe again, the gap is up to nine tenths."

"Settling down a bit, finally."

"Well, Feran's staying with Phoebe, six tenths, another seven tenths to Lucia."

"But we didn't see any attempted passes that lap."

"We didn't. Well, if it ends like this, Nikita Coro will be the champion."

"Somehow I doubt it'll be that simple."

"Indeed, a lot of action to come yet."

Soot beat his way out of the ravine, under the shadow of the Palace Mount's north face. Gently off-centre, Phoebe kept her weight up, her legs moving steadily to minimise the burden she placed on his stroke. Ahead, Incandesia had a lead of a few lengths, but Soot was behaving and not straining himself to chase her. Provided the gap didn't get too much bigger things were under control.

Behind… Phoebe tucked her head down, peering under her own armpit and past her hip. It was just enough to give her a glimpse of a silver wing flapping strongly in her wake. Much closer to Soot’s tail than he was to Incandesia's. She couldn't see Lucia behind Feran, but the elder rider's careful tactical choice not to challenge the defending champion was keeping them both hard on Phoebe’s heels.

The tenth ring came into view around the curve of the cliff. There were scattered shouts of encouragement from fans privileged enough to be watching from the palace walls, forty feet above. A flash of blinding reflection burst from Incandesia's scales as she turned in, out into the sunlight. Phoebe blinked away afterimages and watched how heavily she had to brake, her stroke hanging for a second, to bring herself round for the eleventh.

Feran wasn't close enough yet to worry about from behind. Phoebe leaned steadily harder on Soot’s right stirrup, holding him in, close on the line of the new chicane. He responded, keeping his rhythm firm. Only at the last moment did he dip and swing slightly wide, right wing curled for drag to begin turning them.

Then he pulled both wings tight in against his flanks for a split second, just before the edge of the tenth ring would have torn her right off, and they were through, slithering rightward and down into Soot’s next scooping stroke, Phoebe hauling her weight over leftward just enough to swing them through the eleventh and away. Ahead, Incandesia was visibly closer, and Phoebe could make out the sage-green shape of Niki on her back again.

"Phoebe’s just about hanging on to Niki, look, it's only one point three seconds still."

"Pretty good to be out less than a tenth of a second a lap, but Feran's really starting to close in from behind."

"He is, he's going to be, what, three tenths off Soot when they reach the stadium?"

"Looks like."

"So where does that leave Phoebe?"

"Tough situation. She needs to beat Niki, she can't afford to fall to fighting with Feran and let Incandesia stretch her lead. Feran only needs to beat Phoebe to be champion, he doesn't have to worry about chasing Niki down."

"Do you think Feran will settle for second if it gives him the championship?"

"Hah, not in a million years, especially not this early in the race. But he's got to pass Phoebe first either way."

"Lap seventeen, a minute fifty-two point one," Petunia said, her voice level in Phoebe’s ear. "Niki one point seven ahead, Feran's really close, Phoebe, be careful."

Racing along the sheer rock face down towards the lake, Phoebe put Petunia’s fretting from her mind. Soot’s stroke was strong, neat as he weaved left and then right again round the bulge in the cliff and into the fourth ring. There wasn't time to check behind for Corredeira's approach, but there was really only one place coming up where Feran could attempt a pass, round the headland to the sixth.

For four elastic seconds, Soot pounded over the flat to the fifth ring, then cruised into the ascent, just tightening his stroke ever so slightly for altitude. The tailwind tugged at them, and Phoebe tried to make a mental note to ask Petunia for a weather update in case the wind was actually rising. For now, all she could do was hope it didn't gust at a bad moment.

Up they came, to the ancient knife-blade at the end of the cliff. Phoebe snatched a peek left in case Feran was outside them, but she didn't see him. She'd just have to be fast and clever and hope he didn't out-guess her.

Before they even passed the end of the rock face, she slid herself rightward, deep into her right knee, holding her body low and forward on Soot’s neck and wincing to imagine what would happen to her skull if she'd misjudged and got too close to the cliff. Soot carried speed, sweeping into the shadow and the lee of the promontory, neatly through the centre of the sixth and out wide, driving stroke after stroke to keep them in the climb.

He didn't hit the steepest part of his turn until well past the ring, and again Phoebe snatched a glance rearward, to see Corredeira's tail vanishing behind and below Soot’s, caught outside as Phoebe had pushed deliberately wide around the corner. That bought them time. Ahead, Incandesia was already approaching the seventh ring.

"Battle is joined."

"No kidding, Bob. Bit of a grudge match?"

"No need to be dramatic. Feran's pride is on the line but it's not like Phoebe kicked his cat or something."

"Can Phoebe hold him off?"

"For how long? We're not yet a third of the way through this race."

"Well, okay, can Phoebe shake him off, build a gap again?"

"So far, Corry's had the edge on pace. Lucia holding off has meant Feran can take it easy too."

"What if Phoebe lasts until the perches?"

"Another, what, fourteen, fifteen laps? It'll shake up the order a bit, she could benefit if she times it right."

"You don't sound convinced."

"That's been her biggest weakness all season. If anything I'd expect her to get outmanoeuvred there."

Petunia could feel her shoulders tensing up as she stared at the lists of numbers in front of her. The official feed gave her every rider's best and most recent lap times, their gaps to the leader and the riders in front of and behind them. Phoebe, the second row of the table, was slipping steadily back from Niki Coro – two seconds, now, in the middle of the nineteenth lap – while Feran Andoal nibbled constantly at her heels.

"Petunia, weather. Is the wind getting up?" Phoebe’s radio message caught her a little off-guard.

She switched to the next browser tab, which held the ICDA official weather radar and data. It was the best forecasting money could buy, especially here, an intimidating testament, still, to the financial stakes of the Imperial League. The radar showed a ten-mile circle around the palace, scattered bursts of rain off to the north and relatively little cloud cover.

The wind was blowing a little north of west, apparently around 12-14 miles per hour. There was a button to show previous readings and Petunia looked back through five-minute intervals to the beginning of the race. She put her finger to the transmit button on her headset. "It looks like it's up a few mph, yeah, turning a bit to the north."

Phoebe didn't answer immediately, and Petunia glanced up to the TV to see Soot slicing through the eleventh ring, Corredeira's neck alongside his tail. Much too close. As the dragons swept along the south side of the palace, Phoebe radioed, "Thanks. That'll help us with the golds."

Which did nothing about Feran Andoal. Petunia forced herself to sit up straighter, rolling her shoulders. Maybe she could ask Vermilia, Phoebe’s physio, for a massage? She was currently sitting on the other side of the stable, holding Dr Arden’s hand in her lap, watching the race on the screen. Not much for her to do while Phoebe was out riding.

Phoebe kept herself low on Soot’s back, hunched tight on her left heel, as he hauled them out of the fifteen ring and into the climb up from the orchard. Evening herself out, conscious of the strain on her ankles, Phoebe got back into rhythm. She was holding Feran off, just. Even Corredeira couldn't keep up with Soot through the garden chicane.

He was still too close behind her, though, and Niki was still stretching zir lead. Up ahead, Incandesia was a football field away, even with the climb slowing them all down a bit. At least Soot felt happy. There was something relaxed about the way he was flying, even at the unforgiving pace and with Phoebe putting him through steadily harsher aerobatics to keep Feran behind.

It was easy to follow his rhythm as they ascended over the rocks. For a few seconds, Phoebe could enjoy the feeling of his flight, his speed. Not so much that she could relax and smile, though, even the change to the shape of her face might add drag.

She glanced back over her left shoulder and didn't see Corredeira. Where was Feran? They were closing on the sixteenth ring, the Monument to the 52 towering over them. Phoebe chanced it to look on the other side and had to suppress a flinch. Despite her advantage through fifteen, the crested wedge of Corry's head was just over and right of Soot’s tail, weaving slightly with the beat of his silver wings.

Little time to react and change Soot’s approach to the Monument. Easy to figure out what Feran was planning – to drop into the inside of the corner and screw up Soot’s exit. It was going to be tight but if she could hold Soot out a touch wide, give Feran room, she might be able to cut back inside of him.

Feeling the pressure of the defending champion's eyes on her back, she leaned a little left, away from the ring. Soot hesitated, and in that moment Corry surged. Gritting her teeth, Phoebe pushed herself up, weight back, silently begging Soot to heed her.

Caught out, Feran overshot, and Phoebe turned her flinch as Corry's wing went overhead into a lunge rightward. Unleashed, Soot swept hard with both wings and twisted, throwing himself sideways and tumbling, through the ring and just squeaking underneath Corry's maneouvre. The silver could have held his line and swung out wide, but Feran kept him in closer and Soot recovered well, setting them almost neck-and-neck for the descent into the valley.

"Whew, it's always a show with those two close together."

"You're not wrong, Bob. Neither of them can afford to cede ground either, they both need this position."

"Feran needs it, Phoebe needs more. At the moment she's fighting for Niki."

"I think she'll fight for that regardless of the championship, won't she?"

"She is, whatever her motivation, look, she's not given up on this at all."

"Is that too risky? Look at Lucia nosing up behind them, she needs to pass them both."

"She'd love it if they tangled, for sure."

At the bottom of the valley was the deadly-fast chicane through the seventeenth to nineteenth rings. Not a place to be side-by-side with another dragon. Phoebe pushed Soot, this was a time for everything he could do, no thought of reserves.

Very slightly, they had the advantage. Corredeira was above them, the next ring below. It was a test of nerve, not just Phoebe’s but Soot’s. He would know exactly where the silver was off his left wing. If she could get him to hold the line she gave him, she could force Feran to fall in behind.

As they piled down the slope, Phoebe lifted her weight up, just inches, trying to disguise a shift backwards. The less chance of Feran noticing, the better. Neck dead straight ahead, shoulders heaving behind Phoebe’s heels, Soot drove them on.

A flicker of a glance left showed Feran not gaining. Of their rivals, Corry had the smallest raw speed advantage over Soot. Phoebe focused on tension and relaxation, keeping her movements fluid until-

There, she tipped forward again, sharpening the angle of Soot’s dive towards the seventeenth ring. As they accelerated, Phoebe waited again, waited and waited until the last moment she could square up her weight and lower her right knee, the faintest pressure to the right, her eyes already on the eighteenth ring, letting her aim flow through her whole posture.

Soot trusted her, and she kept her head down under the top edge of the seventeenth. Then it was leftward again, deliberately hard to complete the move that denied Feran his fast line, shoulders and face tightening in case he made a mistake but no, there, finally, he backed off and Corry fell sharply out of her peripheral vision and Soot was beating his wings wider to bring them through nineteen and then out and up over the rise towards the stadium.

"Wow, that was brave, just absolute trust between two brilliant competitors and their dragons, Phoebe Tenryuu holds off Feran Andoal's strongest attack yet and she's bought herself a little breathing room."

"Does she breathe? Does she even know what fear is?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Bob."

"It was a dangerous risk but it's paid off, Feran will be busy with Lucia for a couple of laps now, look."

"Six, seven laps until the perch phase, do you think Phoebe can make up ground to Niki in that time?"

"The gap's at, what, three and a half seconds?"

"About that, that battle did cost her some time."

"But at the same time, look at Niki's lap times. Zir pole lap was a minute fifty-one dead on, this time ze's round in one fifty-two six. That's slow, especially for this phase of the race. Ze should be stretching that advantage, normally we'd expect zir to be around a second off qualifying pace, that extra six tenths is a lot."

"Saving something for later?"

"If ze is, ze'll need it. If Phoebe can stay out long enough that Feran and Lucia perch first, and fly in clear air for a bit, I think ze can go a lot faster than Niki is right now."

Adelie looked up from her workstation and craned her neck to face Stefan. Even with their desks arranged to spread them out a bit, he towered over her. She said, "What do you think?"

On the screen in front of her, Soot’s condition was still green after twenty-eight laps. There were shades drifting gently toward yellow around his shoulder joints, but he'd actually cooled off a little since pushing himself through the excitement a couple of laps prior. It reminded Adelie of watching the oxygenation gauges at Sayan pass, hard to believe her eyes.

Stefan rubbed his chin, scratching at fine black stubble – normally he was clean-shaven but clearly he'd also had a bit of a rough night. "My assumption is that the weather has favoured us." As ever, he spoke slowly, his deep voice comforting in Adelie’s headset. "Though had we not seen Elice's team do so much work on ambient effects I'd struggle to credit it."

The big upshot of Elice's work had been that Soot’s optimal air temperature window was narrower than other dragons – too much sun and his dark scales ate the heat, but he was so slender that he cooled off fast in cold conditions. It was a brisk late-autumn day outside, but the sky was clear. Adelie nodded slowly. "That makes sense."

"Phoebe must keep pushing," Stefan added firmly. "Soot’s own heat is what's keeping him warm enough."

"What about the gyros?" Soot’s temperature could tell them a lot but it wasn't a perfect indicator of his condition. "Ches, masking effects?"

On the other side of Stefan, Ches shrugged. If the weather was helping keep Soot in the right temp range, that might hide strains produced by the g-forces he was pulling in the tight corners. Adelie’s job was to predict and avoid exactly that kind of problem, and Stefan could sometimes favour over-aggression. Ches said, "S'usually when sun's hot you get masking. Could be, but we've gotta risk it, today."

As if to underline the point, the gyro readout in the centre of Adelie’s screen spiked. The colours along the line from Phoebe’s right shoulder to the joint of his wing rose slightly, to a particularly lurid shade of radioactive green. Adelie was starting to recognise the corners from the readouts – that was probably the eighth ring, over the Imperial Plaza.

She reached for the channel switch on her workstation and paused. "Thanks, you two." It wasn't just about figuring out what was best for Soot but also keeping the vet team together. Then she turned the switch to the position for Elice. Separate radio channels were a new luxury for the team but it did mean she could chat with Stefan and Ches without having to fit around the coders' incomprehensible technical back-and-forth most of the time. Into a gap in their conversation, Adelie said, "Elice?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you got the perch projections?" One of the things they could do now – something that all the other teams would have been doing all through the season – was simulate different options for when to perch Soot on the heftier hardware back at HQ and get the results piped out to them at the race.

"Go to screenshare." Elice's tone was brisk, but no more so than usual.

Adelie found the button on her interface – it looked like two computers being squashed together to her, but she wasn't the one responsible for app design – and tapped it. Then she tapped it again, more firmly, when the first press didn't register. The bewildering tumult of Elice's desktop, a thousand windows full of unrecognisable coder squiggles and towering lists of numbers, replaced the Soot diagram.

Then Elice brought up another window on top of all of that, a graph readout with a narrowly-clustered group of slowly-rising lines. The horizontal axis was race laps, the vertical an abstraction of Soot’s projected condition. On each line, a little coloured diamond marked a different lap to perch on.

"Is this right?" Adelie said, almost without thinking. There ought to be at least some significant variation between options.

"We've been checking and checking." There was frustration in the coder's voice. "Looks like his condition's just really stable today."

"What's the catch?" Adelie caught herself and reconsidered. "Sorry, this just looks too good to be true."

"That's what bothers me. Is Phoebe holding something back?"

Adelie glanced over at Petunia, as intent on her screen as everyone else. "I don't think so."

"Best guess at a problem, she might not be able to push more when she really needs it."

"Okay, I'll pass that on. Thanks."

Phoebe straightened on Soot’s back as he powered out of the eleventh ring. Ahead, Incandesia was noticeably closer, the sun glimmering off her wings as they beat powerfully, steadily. Her stroke would always be slower than Soot’s, but it moved so much more air.

Off Soot’s right wing-tip, the bare stone of the palace mount was regaining its reddish colour as it dried in the sun and wind. Phoebe leaned just enough towards it to keep Soot in close and let him judge his own wingspan, careful not to signal too much urgency. They were gaining on Niki already, she had to keep Soot’s chasing instinct from running away with him.

"Phoebe," Adelie’s voice on the radio sent a quick jag of uncertainty down Phoebe’s spine, matching the vet's tone. "I'm looking at the perch projections and they all look fine."

Fine? "What do you mean, Adelie?" Ahead, the twelfth ring swung into view around the sweep of the cliff.

"They're all fine, like, it looks like it doesn't matter when you perch, Soot’s going to be about the same whichever."

"Seriously?" Phoebe hunched her body a little, bringing her weight back and bracing for the corner. "How?"

"I don't know, we're trying to figure it out!" Adelie’s exasperation was familiar, oddly reassuring.

Phoebe rolled onto her left leg, hard over, right foot tugging at the arch of the stirrup, and Soot went up to forty-five degrees to vertical, wings still pumping to cruise through the ring. As they levelled out again, Phoebe ducked her head to peek back, found herself staring Corredeira in the snout, much closer than she'd realised. How had he closed so fast?

"What's the latest we can perch?" She tried to keep her voice from sounding too strained as she worked her rhythm a little ahead of Soot’s, giving him that gentle encouragement.

"Elice modelled out to thirty-seven, there's barely any drop-off."

"Okay." Below, the boulevard slid past, row on row of faces craning to look up at the dragons. "Petunia, I need Feran and Lucia's gaps."

"Um, sorry," Petunia said, clearly caught between thoughts. "Uh, a tenth to Feran, three to Lucia."

"Lucia's wasting this chance."

"To pass Feran, you mean?"

"Aye. We're nearly half-way through the race, it's all well and good saving some speed for later but this is Feran Andoal we're talking about."

"She does need to pass him, at least, for the title."

"And he needs to pass Phoebe, he's making another run into the orchard, look."

Soot plunged down the garden chicane to the orchard hairpin, Phoebe as flat and low as she could keep herself on his back. He swept his wings back and then folded them close in to wriggle, just inches right and then left, as tight as Phoebe dared keep him for the fourteenth ring. Then she had all of two seconds to rear up, throwing her weight back and only then left and down so that he could turn into the fifteenth.

The dragon scooped air, a hard left-winged braking stroke, neck swinging to their new heading and-

-suddenly there was flash of silver at the corner of Phoebe’s vision and she ducked, her chin all the way down against Soot’s scales, and Soot responded, dipping almost to the treetops below while Phoebe screwed up her eyes under the battering downdraft of Corredeira's wingbeat above.

She pulled in her elbows and pushed herself back up into stance, somehow recovering the synchrony between her knees and Soot’s shoulders. He surged, angry at being outmanoeuvred, and Phoebe still had to keep her head down because Corry's tail was only a few feet overhead. Soot took it as encouragement and pushed harder.

This wasn't going to work, Feran was staying low on the line and it wouldn't be possible to get Soot up into the ring without shedding more time to Lucia. No room up the inside into the sixteenth ring, either, Feran would have that covered. Phoebe shifted her weight onto her left foot.

Soot didn't turn immediately, holding his neck straight out and up as if trying to literally bite Corry's heels. He wanted to pursue, but this wasn't the time. Phoebe patted his scales and leaned a little harder and finally he yielded, rising steadily into the space behind Corry's left wing.

"Payback for Gutefjellet, you think?"

"Pretty forceful. Canny, too."

"Indeed, he's forced Phoebe to take the slower line, Lucia's closing right up, too."

"Where's that leave the title?"

"If it finishes like this, you mean? Feran's the champion."

"Strong position for him, then, if there's nothing Niki can do."

"It's all down to Phoebe and Lucia."

Phoebe followed Feran through the fast chicane over the orchard's outer gate, the air prickling at her skin in a way it hadn't previously. Soot took it well, his nose mere feet from Corredeira's tail, weaving to match the older dragon so they almost seemed a single, sinuous creature. Then they were out through the nineteenth ring and climbing over the gentle, grassy rise to the stadium.

Managing her balance carefully, Phoebe glanced back, to the golden shape of Olympia maybe a length behind. He'd be faster all the way through the stadium, maybe enough to leave her vulnerable down from the first ring. Phoebe focussed on her rhythm again. She had to keep Soot relaxed, not let him strain himself sprinting in sectors that didn't favour him.

They went through the twentieth ring into the stadium into a roar that sounded like the end of the race. Through the noise, Phoebe said into her radio, "We should perch, this is costing us time."

"Won't the others jump on you, though?" Petunia sounded agitated. "Lucia's only four tenths behind."

"What's Niki's lead?" On the screens, she could see Olympia behind her, uncomfortably close.

"Two point five over Feran."

Phoebe leaned left and dropped, and Soot turned in right on the threshold of the first ring, holding the inside and hoping that was enough to keep Lucia at bay. The second ring came up almost immediately, down over the cliff and accelerating towards the third, the kink around the protruding rock-face, in through the fourth and then flat over the shore with Feran no further ahead, at least.

"I'm coming in next lap, we need to be chasing Niki, not fighting Feran."

"Looks like Phoebe’s just about holding Lucia off for now, Feran's not making much headway against Niki."

"That move of Feran's was wild, sometimes you just have to take a moment and get your wits back."

"They can't spend too much time in recovery, they'll need to perch soon, won't they?"

"Half distance at the end of this lap, should be a couple more laps yet."

"True. If you're new to the Imperial League – and I know there's a fair number of you who are, with all the hype around this race, welcome, it's lovely to have you, hope you enjoy the show – every dragon has to come in to perch at least once during the race, to take on fluids and replenish electrolytes."

"Usually only once, a little after half-way."

"Yes, the problem is that it costs you time, sets you back down the running order, you can get caught up trading places with dragons way behind you. Normally it's the dragon that perches last that gets most benefit, though there are exceptions."

Petunia rubbed her eyes, glaring at the timesheet in front of her. Phoebe was still sitting in the second-long gap between Feran and Lucia as the three went through the ninth ring and down into the ravine. "I just don't think we should perch so early, you heard what Adelie said about our window, right?"

"We're still losing time to Niki, we can't afford that." Phoebe’s response was instant. "What's the gap?"

At that moment, the display said two point six seconds, but that was the number from the ninth ring and Incandesia would be a lot faster round to the tenth. For a moment, Petunia considered lying, telling Phoebe the gap was shrinking. After all, Phoebe was the only person on the team she hadn't lied to at some point.

But no, they still needed this win. Brynna’s message was a relief but until they knew exactly what it was she'd done, there was still the possibility of Nosa Costra reprisals. Maybe it was naïve to think that they'd be safer as champions than runners-up, but Phoebe’s father had to protect his daughter, ultimately, didn't he?

"Two point six at the ninth." Again, Petunia thought about asking Vermilia for a massage. Her whole upper torso felt stiff now, like she'd been at the gym and not warmed down properly. She ran her finger down the screen, counting off the seconds. At least if Phoebe did perch now, there was space back there for her to rejoin the race into, she wasn't going to be stuck in even slower traffic.

She set her radio dial to Adelie’s channel, holding transmit on her headset as well to keep Phoebe in the loop. "Ok, we're perching this lap. This needs to be perfect, ok guys?"

"That's not Phoebe coming in to perch, is it?"

"It does look like it, Bob, what's she thinking?"

"I don't know, Sam, she's done this time and time again and it never works out for her."

"I'm not sure about that, it worked at Circo Caria."

"True, true. But she was a lot closer to Niki then, with this she's just leaving herself wide open for Lucia."

"It'll set the others off perching, won't it?"

"Absolutely, probably all the way down the order."

"Don't look away, folks, not even for an instant. If you thought the first half of this race was hectic, it's got nothing on what you're about to see."

The end of the perch lane was a green ring hanging directly under the first ring at the exit of the stadium. Phoebe took advantage of the last few seconds as Soot pushed them steadily towards it – limiting his speed to an aching thirty-five knots – to stretch her neck and knees. Whatever happened, there would be nothing like rest in the next hour.

Ahead, the gold tail of Queru Idcoulh's Acciptrea was dropping out of view over the cliff beyond the second ring. Open space for Soot to accelerate into. Phoebe was no happier about perching early than Petunia, she could hear Bob Anmo's criticising voice in the back of her head even without knowing exactly what he was saying on commentary. But they'd had to do something.

She settled herself carefully, making sure her stirrups were still secure. Weight centred over Soot’s spine, leaning back and waiting for the ring, waiting for the moment, waiting for Soot’s stroke and there, it was up to full speed, getting her knees ahead of his rhythm but keeping him low, pushing hard for the second ring. The air accelerated into her cheeks, chill and clinging. She leaned left as Soot went through the ring, feeling that rising crosswind tug at his wings.

Then it was down to the third, close in against the cliff. Left and right, back in close again for the fourth. Weight back again, easing gently level low over the lake promenade for a couple of precious seconds before the fifth. Then climbing, climbing, drifting out from the rock to set up to sweep there around the promontory and into the sixth ring.

Over the radio, Petunia said, "Lucia went green by two tenths in sector one."

Sector one was the whole stretch from the first ring to the entry of the new chicane at the tenth. Green meant her best time in that sector so far in the race. That was probably Olympia at full sprint for the first time this afternoon, and if he could do that through sector one, he'd gain more time through the rest of the lap, especially the third sector, from the orchard hairpin to the stadium, that was a lot of straight flying.

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Phoebe kept her rhythm, already rehearsing what she'd do as Lucia came out of the perch lane ahead of her.

"Lucia's off her perch and away, look at that, she's taken the place from Phoebe."

"That's what happens when you perch early, Lucia's in-lap was immense."

"And Phoebe didn't set any records on the out-lap, either, a minute fifty-three point one."

"It can be punishing around here, carrying all that extra weight."

"Yes, a dragon takes on about three litres of fluid at a perch stop, that's six and a half pounds. It might not sound like a lot but remember that's about one percent of a dragon's weight."

"More, for Phoebe, he weighed in and, what, six hundred?"

"True, it might be hurting him more than the other dragons."

"Could be. Of course, the others all have to go through that phase too, it'll even out a bit."

For a moment as Olympia rounded the end of the cliff ahead, his wings came up and lensed the daylight back at Phoebe. Heat washed over her as she screwed her eyes shut, but Soot started to turn in and she leaned with him, trusting his timing, opening her eyes again in the shade around the corner to find them well inside Olympia's line and gaining smoothly for a moment before the big old gold went into the climb through the sixth ring.

Still blinking, glad of the chill edge on the headwind, Phoebe settled her weight back a bit, body up, head lifted and crownfeathers curled to cut the air and minimise drag. Soot was pushing, and she let him, with Olympia's tail only a length ahead. They rose back into sunshine, up through the seventh and back down, rushing, towards the Imperial Plaza.

Again, Phoebe guided Soot gently left, aiming for the eighth ring, not Olympia himself. Taking it easy, she said, "Adelie, status?"

"Green, still." Phoebe couldn't remember the vet ever sounding so calm and confident.

As they approached the eighth ring, Phoebe lunged left. Even as her weight landed hard on her left stirrup, Soot was responding, his next stroke asymmetric, dragging them sharply round. Olympia was through already on a wider line, favouring his weight. Soot beat his wings and levelled out so smoothly that the feeling as Phoebe regained her stance was like sinking into couch cushions. They were closer on Olympia's tail than they had been.

Flying out to the ravine and the ninth ring, Phoebe said, "Petunia, tell me about Feran and Niki."

"Feran's pushing, about a tenth per sector… yeah, he just hit fifteen and he's a tenth up on anyone so far. Niki's steady, a minute fifty-two point five last lap, green in the first sector this time."

"Alright, then, Phoebe Tenryuu, if you want to be Imperial League Champion, all you have to do is pass the three riders ahead of you."

"She's never won a race where all three of them were on form, has she?"

"Has there been a race this season where all of them were on form? It's been so chaotic."

"True, true. But this is a real test for her, no lucking out of this one."

"Indeed."

"Who wins if it finishes like this?"

"Lucia. No, wait, Feran. Lucia would need to pass Feran. If Phoebe can get past them both, that puts Niki in the title spot, unless Phoebe can pass zir too."

"Well, Feran's in the driving seat, then."

"Always is, isn't he? But look at- look at Phoebe there through the new chicane! She's definitely not giving up just yet."

Soot levelled out over the boulevard with his head inches above Olympia's tail, and Phoebe felt the power that proximity leant to his next stroke coming up through the soles of her boots. She stretched forward, flattening herself out, keeping Soot in the wind-shadow of the bigger gold. It wasn't often a good idea to follow another dragon this closely from directly behind, a dragon's wake was aerodynamically complex, but Soot was deft enough.

For eight seconds over a rustling sea of applause and cheers, Soot chased Olympia, keeping pace despite the disadvantage in wing size. Olympia's stroke meant Phoebe could only catch glimpses of the thirteenth ring approaching on the right, but then he started to drift left to set himself up for the turn, and Phoebe transferred her weight gently right to prevent Soot following.

Waiting for the right moment was painful, keeping the rhythm of her legs matched to Soot’s despite the awkward balance. The ring approached. Olympia began his braking stroke. Phoebe let Soot fly a fraction of a second longer, slicing up inside the bigger dragon.

Then she folded right, resisting the urge to snatch at Soot’s neck as, in a very real sense, she fell off his right flank, right knee creasing at her race suit, left knee starting to burn as she hooked her left stirrup. Soot responded, rolling himself, back arching to catch Phoebe’s forward inertia, stalling them in the face of the ring. Blood rushed to Phoebe’s head, prickling at the edges of her vision.

Soot beat his wings and they were through the ring, diving hard, the world swinging wildly as Phoebe was scooped back up astride, catching her balance by reflex alone and already leaning left for the fourteenth ring, breathlessly through that and still down, down, trusting her gloves on Soot’s scales to manage the wall of deceleration as he pulled up for the hairpin through the fifteenth.

His next stroke carried them through, and Phoebe rolled with it until she could look ahead to the Monument of the 52 high on the shoulder of the mountain, three hundred yards away.

"Well, that's one down."

"Fearless."

"But never out of control, you'd have to say."

"She trusts her dragon."

"Lucia looks beaten. Olympia's sluggish up from the orchard."

"She is beaten, she's left it too late now, surely."

"Feran's perching, look-"

"He's got to, to head Phoebe off."

"Can Lucia come back if Phoebe gets the better of Feran? Third would be enough provided she finishes ahead of him."

"She'll have to pull herself back together, she'll be stinging over that move for a while."

The crowd noise in the stadium was a tactile thing as Phoebe came through to start the thirty-second lap. Even at seventy knots, she could make out purple flags waving throughout the grandstands – maybe not as many as there were sky-blue for Temisia or orange for Royal Hermeia, but enough that she felt the support.

At the same time, if the noise kept getting louder it was going to be difficult to hear if Petunia wanted to tell her anything through the relatively straightforward stadium flight. If it got too much worse it was going to be hard to think straight. Might it bother Soot? He had pretty complex hearing.

She didn't need to worry about any of that this lap, though. A hundred yards away up the stadium, down in the perch lane, the silver shape of Corredeira was peeling out from his perch and beginning his steady, short run to the perch ring. She had the best seat in the house to watch Feran Andoal sit up in his stirrups and bring Corry sharply up through the ring two or three lengths ahead, solidly in championship-winning position.

No time to dwell or mope. Twenty-eight laps to go. It wasn't over yet.

"This is still too good to be true," Adelie said, looking at the projection diagrams on her screen. The software model – which the team had invested literal millions in, now – was supposed to extrapolate from the current readouts from Soot’s harness, plus all the data they'd gathered from previous races, and warn of potential strains developing before they could turn into injuries. It didn't seem to matter how hard Phoebe pushed, there were just no warnings showing up.

"There's nothing we can check from here that we haven't checked." Stefan nodded as he spoke, but his face showed he shared Adelie’s concerns.

"I just wish we could be sure." Adelie tried to keep from sounding too petulant. "What if you're wrong about the weather effects?"

"'S the risk," said Ches, "But what else can we do? Tell Phoebe to go slow?"

Adelie chuckled, "Yeah, that'll work."

"Ask her." Stefan cut in, and Adelie looked up to find his eyes on her.

"Sorry?"

"Ask Phoebe," he said again, bluntly. "About Soot."

Adelie blinked at him for a moment. "Can she tell us anything the sensors can't?" Beyond Stefan, Ches was wearing a sceptical expression.

"Consider it," Stefan said, his speech as sober as ever. "The model tells us that Soot is comfortable, very comfortable. Phoebe will know if he is actually straining. If you want a final check, that is the best I can suggest."

"Will she…" Adelie frowned. There was something to be said for the care with which Stefan chose words. "If it means having to slow down, will she tell us?"

"She cares more about Soot than anything else in the world. She will do right by him."

Down in the ravine out of the ninth ring, under the stone bridge to the Palace, a pocket of evening chill was forming early. It felt damp to fly through, lingering around Phoebe’s collar and wrists. She didn't let it distract her. Feran was just ahead, and not pulling away as she'd feared he might.

Adelie voice came over the radio. "Phoebe, how's Soot doing?"

"What do you mean, Adelie?" She answered, suppressing a laugh. "Aren't you supposed to tell me that?"

"All the numbers look really good, like really good, we're worried we're missing something."

The ravine opened out, the river curving away north, the air feeling brighter around Soot. "I don't know what you think I can tell you that the sensors can't, Adelie."

"It's just, like, the big picture. Is he straining himself? According to the numbers he's really comfortable."

Phoebe held her balance as Soot followed the long, gentle arc around the palace mount. With Corredeira's tail barely a length ahead, it wasn't the best time to try to judge. She was trying to keep Soot from burning himself out, he wanted to throw himself at the silver. But even with that there was a supple curve to his neck, not the rigid straightness she saw when he was at his limit.

"He's ok," she said. "We're doing ok."

"Okay," Adelie radioed back as the tenth ring came into view ahead. "Based on the model, you can push as hard as you want to the finish."

"Here comes Niki round to complete lap thirty-eight, what's zir time..? One minute fifty-two point seven. That still seems slow, don't you think, Bob?"

"Yeah. Five laps since ze perched, ze should be back up to speed."

"Here's Feran, one fifty-two one, Phoebe one fifty-two dead, that's more what we'd expect to see in a dead heat championship race."

"Soot’s really giving it some, what's the gap?"

"Six tenths. Three point one to Niki. Is Niki still saving Incandesia's best in case one of them takes a run at zir?"

"I just don't see the logic in that, Sam. Why not use that now while Phoebe’s still got to work on Feran, build a bit of a cushion? It's all well and good saving something for close racing near the end but why not just stop it ever getting close?"

"Do you think that's Incandesia's limit, then?"

"It's starting to look that way. Mind you, it's not over for Niki yet. Phoebe looks pretty keen to challenge Feran, and Feran's a fighter. Twenty-two laps to go, three seconds isn't much of a cushion but it might be enough."

"Speaking of challenging, look at Phoebe now along the lake."

Phoebe leaned back as Soot shortened his stroke into the fifth ring. Corredeira's tail was a few feet beyond the end of Soot’s snout, tantalisingly close. Feran was holding the silver on the tight line, close to the cliff face; he knew where Soot’s advantages were.

So Phoebe sacrificed a little speed for a steeper ascent, a little distance for hanging a bit to the left. She could feel Soot’s eagerness in the pressure on the inside of her right leg as, for a moment, he questioned her guidance. His stroke didn't waver, though, as he settled to the more open course.

By the time Corry backwinged and twisted at the cliff's end, a few feet had become five yards, and Phoebe had a moment to appreciate just how dramatic she and Soot must have looked on the same line on previous laps. Then, in one smooth motion, she leaned into her right knee, not throwing her weight around this time but letting Soot carry more speed, keeping his altitude, closing the gap again as the sixth ring slid into view-

Feran was almost upright in his saddle and Phoebe had only a moment's warning as Corry threw another hard, scooping wingbeat and knifed up into the top part of the ring, right in Soot’s path. Soot faltered, left wing loose and ungainly, and Phoebe stabbed down with her right ankle, pushing her weight up and over to help him slide wider, talons maybe only inches above the silver tail.

It left them sailing out off-line, well away from the lee of the promontory, below the optimal climb towards the seventh ring. A slight shudder ran the length of Soot’s body, as if he was a dog shaking off water. Smiling even as she glared up at the receding shape of Corredeira, Phoebe settled her weight back and matched her dragon's renewed stroke.

"Absolutely no quarter given there, was there?"

"Phoebe was a bit naïve if she thought Feran wouldn't counter like that."

"A fair move, do you think? Or might he be in trouble with the stewards if he keeps it up?"

"I don't think it was over the line. A bit pre-emptive maybe."

"There's a case that it was an attempted block."

"I'd be surprised if the refs dare to interfere with this race, Sam, for anything short of seriously dangerous flying, anyway."

"Well, it's certainly true that no-one wants this championship decided by a steward's decision, does that give Feran more leeway to play rough?"

"He knows what's safe and what isn't, but like you said, no quarter."

"Phoebe lost a bit of time there, half a second or so, can Feran use this to get away?

"Phoebe’s been faster since the perches, no reason for her to slow down from one rough move."

Petunia tore her attention away from the TV feed as Soot chased Corredeira through the stadium. Phoebe needed the times as soon as they popped up when the dragons went through the first ring. Blinking hard a couple of times, screwing her eyes shut for a second, Petunia found the right boxes in the table and pressed her finger to the screen beside them. She'd been staring at these damn numbers for over an hour and it was getting hard to keep focussed.

The lap times popped up, one after another, almost so quickly that they seemed simultaneous. Petunia read them off. "Lap forty-one, one fifty-two point six, Feran the same, three tenths ahead."

"Niki?" Phoebe’s voice was thick with tension.

"One fifty-two five, three point five ahead."

There was no time for strategic chatter now. On the TV feed, Soot was already plunging down the cliff, over Corry's tail. Petunia gasped as the two dragons opened their wings together, as perfectly synchronised as an aerobatics show, weaving together around the rock. She felt like her shoulder-blades were connected by an iron girder, too heavy to move.

That, at least, she could maybe do something about. Spine stiff, she twisted in her seat, one hand up to cover her mic. "Vermilia?" she called over to the physio, waving with her free hand.

Phoebe watched Feran's body language, having to peek past Soot’s neck to see him. What would he try next, as they climbed towards the sixth ring again? She was closer to him this time, more of an altitude advantage. He couldn't block her the same way, if he tried to get up in front of her he'd crash Corry into Soot’s belly.

That didn't mean he wouldn't have tricks. There was no hint in his posture, he was flat on Corry's back, the same as Phoebe on Soot’s except that he didn't have to lean a bit to the side to see her; in fact, he wouldn't be able to see her at all, human bodies didn't bend enough for him to look up at her. He would be tracking her position by the sound of Soot’s wings.

Taking the wide line, giving a little ground and trying to carry more speed hadn't worked last time. It would be risky to stay close to the cliff, there'd be no room to evade on the inside if Feran got in her way. Even if he didn't it would be risky, for them both to go scudding around the corner in a hard manoeuvre.

Hating herself, Phoebe sat back, just as they got to the end of the cliff. Soot matched her shift with a sharp stroke, stalling a lot of their speed and letting Corry ahead as his right wing dropped to scoop Feran around the corner. Phoebe flopped forward, caught out for a second as Soot renewed his pursuit, but he held his stroke for the fraction of a second she needed to steady and they were back on Feran's trail.

"That was smarter from Phoebe, she knew she'd outraced herself, backing off meant Feran couldn't throw her off."

"She certainly didn't lose as much time that time, look, Soot could bite Corredeira's tail now if he wanted to."

"Let's hope he doesn't, that'd be a bad way to bring an end to the festivities."

"What should Phoebe do, if she does want to pass Feran through six?"

"I'm not sure that's the best place for her to do it, Sam. Soot’s mighty along the cliff, for sure, but it's a blind corner, she can't ever see what Feran's doing with Corry for that split second before they go into the ring."

"Where can she pass, then?"

"I think she wants to follow him close all the way around the palace, then maybe at the orchard?"

"Is that too obvious? Feran will be ready for her there, surely."

"He will, but it's where Soot’s strongest."

Flying up the boulevard from the Imperial Plaza towards the thirteenth ring, Phoebe sat back and further back. Soot wanted to push, was pushing hard even as she tried to slow him down, he hated watching Corredeira's tail creep out of reach. Phoebe wanted to watch Feran through the chicane, though, and see how he handled it. After three laps of trying to pass him and getting headed off, she needed a new strategy.

And this way she could take Soot through the fourteenth ring the fast way, reminding him just how clever and brilliant he was. Half a length ahead, Corry swerved up to a hard angle, slammed his braking stroke against the air, and turned into the thirteenth. Phoebe waited just a moment and then threw herself after them.

Soot took the release and leapt, the wrench of his lunge pressing up through Phoebe’s palms for a second, flattening her against his flank, her feet light in the stirrups. He beat his wings again and Phoebe caught her weight with her knees and ankles, every muscle in her body screaming that she was falling but she ignored them.

Soot’s wings went up and he held them just a ghost of an instant until Phoebe was square again. She used that moment to straighten her right leg, bracing for the stroke that drove them back onto Feran's tail. Corry was leaning left, his rider low on his left stirrup, actually turning into the fourth ring.

Imagine needing to do anything as pedestrian as cornering. Grinning, thin-lipped, Phoebe lifted her weight to match the rise of Soot’s next stroke, just left enough to let him know she was ready. He beat lopsidedly, left wing pulling in tight to his flank, right wider and slower, and they slewed through the ring, barely braking their headlong plunge at all.

Corredeira swung back to set up for the fifteenth and they were under him, already almost drawing level. Phoebe judged her moment and hauled back and left. She felt the wake of Corry's downstroke, felt Soot’s wings catch in it, the ripple it sent through him, the strength with which he mastered it, twisting into the cruise up the hill.

As Soot’s stroke steadied, trees and then scrub and then bare rock rushing past underneath, they rose off Corry's left flank, Soot’s wings just behind the shimmering reflections off the silver's. They were on the wrong side for the next corner, the tight swing around the Monument at the sixteenth ring, but it didn't matter. If she could catch Feran by this much, then if she could just get into thirteen ahead – even by a foot or two – she could leave him in the dust.

Adelie pressed her transmit button as Soot followed Corredeira out of the nineteenth ring. "Congratulations, you actually hit yellow."

"Is that a problem?" Phoebe didn't sound like she'd heard the humour Adelie had been aiming for.

"No, it's fine, it was just a flicker, right at the bottom of the orchard."

"We're good?"

"Green green green. Keep pushing, sorry." Biting her lip, Adelie stopped transmitting. She hadn't meant to worry Phoebe, hopefully she'd take the encouragement in stride.

"You are still troubled," Stefan said quietly.

"It's still too good to be true, right?" Adelie waved her hand at the screen. Soot was heating up, slowly, but slower and more evenly than she'd ever seen.

"We should take some time over the winter to examine weather effects in free flight." Stefan scratched his chin again. "Rindburg's climate is a bit like this, no?"

"It can be, more in the early spring I guess?"

"Let us make a reminder to keep an eye out for opportunities."

"Feels like Phoebe’s practicing for something, doesn't it, Bob? Just slowly laying the groundwork."

"I'm sure she is, but if this is just practicing… we're getting spoiled. They've been at this for almost ten laps, nip and tuck the whole time."

"Indeed. If this is your first time watching the Imperial League, folks, I hope your hearts are doing ok, it's not normally quite this frantic from just two riders."

"It might be from now on, these two are going to be racing together for years yet, and we've hardly talked about the Lauterns the last ten minutes."

"We've hardly talked about the rest of the field at all, there's so much racing just here for second and third."

"Phoebe’s starting to run out of time. Lap forty-seven, Niki's stretched that gap to almost four seconds."

"She and Feran both lose time whenever they get close to each other. What do you think the last lap she can afford to pass Feran on is going to be? And still catch Niki, I mean?"

"That's the great unknown, right. She was a lot faster than Niki in open air earlier, if she keeps that up… I'd still say she wants to be past Feran in the next three laps, give herself a solid ten to catch Niki."

Out of the eleventh ring, Phoebe had to force herself to relax before she could work on settling Soot. He was getting frustrated, she thought, with staring at Corredeira's rump – not even the silver's tail, now, that was below Soot’s chin. The sun was starting to get low, and Soot’s shadow on the red-grey cliff of the Palace Mount was smudged together with Corry's, one wobbly, four-winged serpent, stretched and skewed by the crenelations of the rock.

Even with Phoebe doing her best to keep him calm, Soot didn't relent, his neck stiffer than it should be, his stroke as fast as it could go. Seconds stretched around the side of the Palace and Corry gained no ground. On his back, Phoebe saw Feran glance over his shoulder, twisting his body awkwardly to look up at her.

He probably couldn't see her grinning. Ahead, the twelfth ring swung into view. At these speeds, it was set far enough in over the Plaza to pinch the approach; it always felt like you had to hug the cliff just a frustrating half-second longer than you wanted to. With the wind slicing up across the front of the palace, it was even trickier to judge.

Phoebe kept following Feran, but in the last moment pressed inward with her right knee, just enough to slide Soot a little away from the cliff. The twelfth grew ahead of them, and there were scattered cheers from the palace steps, half-snatched-away by the wind. Watching Feran, Phoebe waited for his move.

When it came, he turned hard, throwing himself down Corry's flank and she matched the move, hiding him behind the curve of Soot’s neck as Soot swung into the corner. For a moment Phoebe winced in anticipation, desperately hoping they weren't too close and the low, scooping stroke of Soot’s wing wouldn't clip Corredeira below.

Half the world spun past, and Soot jerked his recovery stroke hard. Phoebe’s blood seized for a second as she bobbled in her stirrups, off-balance by the stuttering deceleration. What had-

A silver wing-tip sliced up into the air way too close to her face, Feran sacrificing speed off the corner to get up in Soot’s way. Soot had sensed what Phoebe hadn't been able to see and reacted perfectly in avoidance. Corry made his next stroke and the way was clear for Soot to steady them.

Phoebe took a breath and patted Soot’s neck, letting Feran pull away as they got back into rhythm.

"Still absolutely tooth and nail there."

"Niki's up another tenth in the second sector. Here's what I don't understand, Bob."

"What's that?"

"Why can't Feran shake Phoebe at all round the palace? She was right on his tail through the new chicane there, almost had him at twelve. She could have had a run at him there last lap, too."

"Funny you should say that, I have a bit of a theory."

"Go on. You're the one who's been adamant all season that Soot’s short on stamina, and Guicheng seemed to prove that. What's different here?"

"Well, think about Guicheng, and Mileta, too, where he struggled."

"I thought that was the heat, in Anatolia."

"Maybe, but maybe there was something else, too. If you think about those courses, they've both got massive long flat-out straights, almost thirty seconds at Mileta, more like forty in Guicheng if you count the stadium."

"You think they hurt Soot particularly?"

"Not so much that, it's just that here, the straights aren't straight. Every flat-out section, except maybe down from the Monument, and through the stadium I suppose, is round a corner."

"What are you thinking?"

"I think the cornering's actually been telling on bigger dragons more than we ever realised."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, we think of Corry as a small dragon, right? About six-fifty-five pounds. Arden Markwe's Fleet is over six-seventy. They always seemed to have more the measure of Olympia, Renner, big golds like that, than we'd think at such a fast course. Now we have Soot, six hundred pounds soaking wet, and he's outlasting them all."

"That would explain why Incandesia's not raced off into the distance despite all the fighting behind her. As powerful as she is, she's one of the heaviest dragons in the field."

"All that is weight that they've got to turn round every corner."

"Yes, maybe it explains why Lucia isn't challenging, too. She could still be a spoiler for all this, remember, if Phoebe does pass Feran and get after Niki."

"She could, but she's a second back from them now, she's running out of time too."

"Lap fifty. A minute fifty-two point nine. Feran, fifty-two seven, six tenths ahead." Petunia sounded tired in Phoebe’s ear, and even with the earpiece's close-fit noise exclusion, the sound of the crowd almost drowned her out.

Phoebe could see those six tenths clearly as she guided Soot left over the cliff and down through the second ring, or at least the two or three of them that really mattered. That was the gap between Soot’s nose and Corredeira's tail, more or less a full dragon's length right now after another frustrating, tricksy block at the orchard hairpin on the previous lap. Concentrating on her balance, her stance, all Phoebe could manage to say was, "Golds?"

Petunia got her drift. "Niki, one fifty-two seven, gap ahead four point two. Lucia, uh, one fifty-two point six, nine tenths behind."

Soot followed Corredeira closely round the lakefront, through the fifth and up. They weren't close enough right now for more of Feran's pranks, and he was on the fast line anyway. Phoebe watched him, his bright blue overalls a dull spot against the shine of his dragon's scales as they came up into the sunlight.

The trailing wind gusted right as Feran started to turn, Corry's left wing rippling as it rose. The silver wavered for a moment, and Phoebe had to slacken her knees to their limit as Soot put on a fresh surge. It wasn't like the wind was particularly fierce, just a little higher than it had been at the start. Maybe Corry was tiring. Even if he wasn't, Phoebe needed to pass him this lap.

"Here come Feran and Phoebe round to the new chicane, is Phoebe starting to struggle? She's not closing like she was earlier."

"It's been a hell of a race for her, hard to imagine after all this scrapping with Feran that either of them has much left."

"She hasn't given up though, she's still taking that tight line, Feran's a little gentler."

"That could be- wow, look at that! She went through there like a rocket."

"Closed right up again, that shows me for bringing it up."

"Hah, it shows Feran, he relaxed a bit there, she's all over him now."

"Think she can make it stick this time?"

"If she can carry it up the boulevard and go into thirteen ahead…"

As the curving face of the Palace Mount yielded and revealed the twelfth ring, Phoebe found herself looking down on the back of Feran's head, below and just outside her right elbow. When Soot beat his wings, Feran's hair ruffled. When Corredeira did, Phoebe felt Soot bobble in the air as it thinned under him.

It wasn't slowing them down. They were high enough, off-centre enough relative to Corry's spine, that it was just turbulence. She finally had Feran right where she wanted him. Her turn to pull tricks.

She nudged Soot left, tighter and tighter on the line of the approaching ring. Feran must have felt the downdrafts shift as he hugged the cliff, she saw his head twitch, but he didn't have time to look up. He had Corry rising, trying to push them out of the top of the ring, but he had to know that Soot was already clear above it.

With the ring almost in touching distance, Phoebe lunged, left and all the way down, body low enough that she couldn't keep her left hand on Soot’s scales, her arms weren't long enough. Soot went with her without hesitating, his left wing a curling, braking scoop that generated no lift. They tumbled, corkscrewing into the ring, dropping in front of Corry as he made a more considered turn.

Soot snapped his wings open again, slammed them almost directly against his body's direction of travel, and Phoebe’s knees screamed as she rode the g-forces back astride his spine. There was an instant of hanging delay while Soot waited for her to get both hands on him again and then his next stroke drove them out over the cheering boulevard. Phoebe lifted her stance enough to glance back under the length of her body.

Corry's head was just behind Soot’s tail, the silver already accelerating, recovering from whatever braking he'd had to do to avoid a collision. But he was behind, and low enough in the air that Phoebe could also see Feran, hunched on his back, not quite close enough to read his face.

"I think she's done it."

"There she goes through thirteen, she's not- she is, look at that! She goes through fourteen like a missile aaaand yes, held it to come round the orchard hairpin, that looked exactly like what she did in qualifying."

"How she's still got the wings to do that is beyond me. And trusting Soot to pull it off!"

"Look at how much she's pulled out on Feran already, that must be, what, two lengths?"

"Looks like."

"And this puts Feran out of championship-winning position. Right now, it belongs to Niki Coro, Feran's going to have to get back past Phoebe to take it."

"I don't think Corry has enough left."

"Well, okay, then, can Phoebe do enough to take it from Niki? Nine laps to go, or eight really, the gap's just over four seconds."

"We're going to find out. They've gotta think about Lucia too, though. If Feran's done, if Corry's tired, Lucia could get him, it's all still to play for."

Petunia caught herself hunching over her screen again and straightened. Vermilia had helped a bit, kneading the muscles at the base of her neck to something resembling functionality, but what she really needed was to lie flat and let a professional masseuse work on her. Sometime this evening, she was going to make time for a long, hot bath.

After all this was over. Phoebe was back to the stadium for another lap. Petunia looked down again, trying to keep her spine straight. Somehow, with Phoebe in second it was easier to find her in the grid of numbers, now that she only had to care about the top two rows.

As Soot took the first ring, Petunia read out, "Lap fifty-two. A minute fifty-two point two. Niki a minute fifty-two six, four point one seconds ahead." She moved her finger down a row. "Feran, one minute fifty-two eight, one point one behind, Lucia a second behind him."

"Weather?" Phoebe was always terse in that first part of the lap along the cliff, but this time she managed a second word. "Wind."

Petunia tabbed across. It was easier to look at the weather radar than the timesheet. "It's about where it was, yeah, gusting to sixteen now." She still couldn't tell why Phoebe was so worried about the wind, she hadn't said anything. Hopefully more wind was good?

Descending from the seventh ring to the Imperial Plaza, the sun was low enough to start poking into Phoebe’s eyes. She could see Incandesia ahead, beating steadily through the eighth. The gold's shadow stretched out over the grass, comically distended, almost below where Soot was flying.

Feeling the last two hours of hard work, Phoebe kept her legs moving, kept her weight stable over Soot, up away from his spine while they were descending. That meant she could keep her head up, too, without too much cost in terms of air resistance, and watch how Niki was handling the pressure. Where the course curved back on itself, they would pass only a bit over a hundred yards apart.

Niki was a miniature figure, zir sage-green race suit washed out by the angle of the light to a dull grey, picked out against the gold of zir dragon. Incandesia's stroke looked steady, the sails of her wings taut. For zir part, Niki was still moving well with the big dragon's rhythm, zir body maybe moving a bit too much forward and back on her shoulders, but maybe that was just because zir legs were so long.

Phoebe brought her attention back to the approaching ring. Shifting her weight down onto her left ankle was starting to hurt, but she went as low as she could, stretching the tired muscles slowly. Soot went with her, taking the smooth, fast line through the corner. They didn't need stunts here, just to catch up to Niki.

"Seven laps to go, here's Niki, that's going to be… one minute fifty-two point six, ze's doing zir best."

"Phoebe’s going to be faster."

"Is it faster enough, though, that's the question."

"Let's see. One fifty-two point two, that's pretty good for this late in a race like this."

"But the gap's still three point three seconds, Phoebe needs more than that."

"If Niki can keep up that pace. Here comes Feran."

"One fifty-two seven, that's slow."

"Lucia one fifty-two five, she's found something."

"She smells championship blood, doesn't she? So often she finds something when she needs it most."

"She has, but on the other hand, remember last year? She faded those last few laps behind Feran."

"Remember when we thought that was as exciting as a championship finish could get?"

"Haha, it was a hell of a race, let's not undersell it."

"Lucia can still take it, you think?"

"I don't know, Sam, any other year I'd say never count her out. She's probably only got one chance."

Soot plunged over the cusp of the ravine, and Phoebe rode the sinuous twist of his spine as he pulled stroke, just slightly short, just enough to keep his left wingtip off the cliff opposite. It was getting deeper and darker under the bridge, Incandesia ahead a smudge of shadows without sunlight to pick her out. They burst through the chill and around the corner of the Palace Mount, still on the wrong side of the mesa for direct sunlight.

"Are we going to be fast enough?" Petunia’s voice over the radio caught Phoebe by surprise.

"What do you mean, Petunia?" Phoebe trained her eyes on Incandesia and let that guide her body, trying to manage her concentration. Soot didn't need her guidance right now.

"You're gaining an average of four tenths of a second per lap." Phoebe could picture Petunia reading the figure off her notepad. "But there's only six laps to go and Niki's still two point five seconds ahead. Is there anywhere you can-"

"Go faster?" Phoebe cut her off. "What do you think I'm doing out here, Petunia? I'm doing everything I can."

"But-"

"Just give me the lap times," she said, trying to keep her voice gentle, suppressing irritation. Petunia was trying to help. "No distractions."

"Wait, look, Feran's sluggish out of the new chicane! Lucia's right on him."

"This could be it, did Feran make a mistake? Lucia didn't gain any time last lap, this might be Olympia's limit."

"Looked like Corry just got a bit ragged out of eleven, here comes Olympia."

"Not a great place for a big dragon to try to pass a small one, round into twelve."

"Well, you said it, Bob, Lucia might only get one chance."

"She'd better hope she's saved something for Olympia, then, they're in sight of the Plaza now, here they come."

"Olympia's up the inside, will he push Corry wide?"

"Feran's crowding, look at how close they are, it's going to be-"

"He can't tough it out round the outside there, can he, surely?"

"Olympia wobbled! He wobbled and-"

"They're going to-"

"Tokugawa's teeth! How did they get through there?"

"Feran's held it, somehow, he got Corry under Olympia and came through ahead, they both look pretty unsteady now, don't you think?"

"That's two tired old dragons out there now, Sam, unless one of them falls out of the sky I think that's how they'll finish."

"That keeps the championship alive for Niki and Phoebe, then."

"Well, if Incandesia and Soot aren't in the same boat. How're their times?"

"Here they come to the orchard, whew, look at Soot down there, Phoebe at least thinks he's still in fighting trim."

"Wow, gap's down to one point eight."

"That's deceptive, though, that's where Soot’s got the most advantage, he'll fall back a little in the final sector."

Adelie had given up trying to keep track of the lap times and gaps. Petunia read them off every lap but she couldn't picture what it meant for the race. On the TV, Soot looked close enough to Niki's dragon to have a chance at passing, but Adelie didn't really know how to tell what was and wasn't good up there.

Good was the greens and yellows on her screen. The diagram of Soot was now spidered with yellow, along his flanks and out across the structure of the inner part of his wings. It was nothing like what they'd seen sometimes in the summer races, when more than once Soot had turned the projection full red.

"Adelie, last check-in." Phoebe’s voice sounded… intense, was what Adelie wanted to call it. Her words were curt, but it didn't sound like she was struggling to speak.

"Keep pushing. Yellow on wings but his core's fine."

"Really?"

"We're as sure as we can be." Adelie glanced up at Stefan, grateful that he noticed and nodded. "I'll tell you about it after the race."

"Here come Niki and Phoebe through to start lap fifty-eight, and wow, would you look at that, Nikita Coro one minute fifty-two point six, Phoebe Tenryuu a minute fifty-two dead, Soot’s getting faster!"

"He does love a chase."

"The gap's down to just a second, well, one point one, Phoebe can still do this."

"If Incandesia's got anything left at all, Niki needs to push her now- oh, there's Feran, one fifty-two nine, he's losing ground, and Lucia maybe even worse behind him."

"What about if Niki's out of options? Where's Phoebe’s best bet for a pass?"

"The earlier in the lap the better, if she can stay ahead. The gap's coming down but it's yo-yoing a bit, they're strong in very different places."

"So round into the sixth ring?"

"I think that'd be ideal, though Olympia'll be strong up to seven, Phoebe could consolidate through eight… maybe not, tricky round the Palace."

"The new chicane?"

"Maybe she wants to set up through there and twelve, and just rely on that wild turn of speed at the orchard to put it to bed."

Phoebe forced her right leg straight, heaving herself back up over Soot’s neck as he levelled out from the sixteenth ring, cruising down the rocky valley. They came out into the sunlight and Soot’s shadow looked like it was already ahead of Incandesia. The gap between them was a length, maybe a touch more.

Narrowing her crownfeathers, Phoebe stretched forward, flattening herself as much as she could, just an inch or two over Soot’s spine. She didn't try to look ahead. Soot knew where they were going, could all but taste his golden rival. Phoebe could look up again once they were approaching the fast chicane at the orchard's gate.

Below, the bare mountainside gave way to scrub and grass, darker in the fading light. Phoebe peered up out the very top of her goggles. The curve of the lenses fish-eyed the view of the approaching trio of rings, but not so much she couldn't tell where she was.

Through the chicane they went, Phoebe rolling with Soot as he beat right, folded left through the eighteenth ring, then right again through the nineteenth. She sat back and up to ease him into the climb, and saw Incandesia way left of where she should have been, a good four or five yards off-line.

The gold recovered with two enormous beats of her wings, powering away up the hill to the stadium. Soot, sensing weakness, surged, and Phoebe felt the wind plucking at his sails. Maybe a gust had caught Incandesia.

"Two laps to go, Bob. Phoebe’s seven tenths behind. Right now, Niki Coro is IL Champion. Can Phoebe change that?"

"She's faster – that's been plain for a few laps now. And she's done enough to get back in touch with Niki."

"Do you think she can get past?"

"That's just it. Niki hasn't had to do a lot of hard defending this race, except right at the beginning. That's a very different set of skills and strengths to leading from the front."

"What's your assessment of Niki as a defensive rider, then?"

"Ze was brilliant on a wyvern, where you need that stuff so much more, but then so was Phoebe. I just don't know, Sam, I really don't."

Stefan stood up and Adelie looked up at him, startled by his sudden motion. There was no sign of any worrying change in Soot’s condition. Was he just feeling the tension too much to stay seated?

"Come on," he said, and Adelie stared at him for a moment. When she didn't move, he finished, "We must have the end-of-race kit ready for Soot."

Adelie blinked. "But we don't…" He was right, they did need to start loading up the heavy drink can and hose system to take down to the landing area at the far end of the stadium, by the podium. It had to be there by the time Soot landed, and with less than two laps to go they had maybe three and a half minutes to get it all on the trolley, down the three-hundred-yard length of the building and out onto the field. It felt wrong, though, to leave with the race still so obviously undecided.

Taking off his headset and hanging it carefully on the hook by his place at the workstation, Stefan said, "He'll need us whatever position he finishes. Phoebe might need you, too, Ms Forster."

"Right." Adelie shook her head, pulling her attention out of her screen. Ches would remain here to monitor Soot and warn of any last-minute disasters, but it really looked like the dragon would be fine. She stood, taking off her own headset and dropping it on top of her keyboard. "Let's go."

Up the boulevard towards the thirteenth ring, Phoebe held Soot back, wanting space to run cleanly through the chicane, one last rehearsal if it was needed. He didn't like it, from the way he snatched his wingbeats, keeping his back arched as if trying to force her forward and flatter on his neck. Incandesia was maybe a length ahead.

The gold wings went a dull, smudgy honey as they rose in a braking stroke, pulling Incandesia up, Niki a darker shape on her back, and they heeled over into the thirteenth ring. Phoebe waited a moment, watching them start to swing back round to the fourteenth, then made her own move.

She lunged right, at the same instant as Soot, his right wing curling hard forward, almost as if he was trying to catch her. Phoebe hooked her left foot, calf burning, holding herself in place. Soot opened up again, levelling out, and Phoebe let the shift in momentum carry her up over his spine and leftward.

Soot beat his wings once, full acceleration, then matched Phoebe’s lean, and his next stroke pulled in tight around his body to bounce them just far enough left to slip through the fourteenth ring. Ahead, Incandesia was curving across their path to set up for the fifteenth, her tail mere yards from Soot’s nose.

Phoebe kept her weight forward a moment longer as Soot beat once, accelerating even now, up alongside Incandesia's left hindquarter. She needed to be deft, they were going to arrive at the ring at about the same time, and ideally she wanted to end up on the other side of Niki, to set up for the Monument. Up on Incandesia's shoulders, Niki dropped zir weight and Incandesia started to turn.

Instead of slamming left in the harness for a tight braking corner, Phoebe bent her left knee more smoothly, keeping low, pulling her hips back towards Soot’s shoulders but not too sharply. Always happy to go fast, Soot spread his wings in a cruising, sweeping turn, his left wingtip swinging down towards the treetops. They went all the way under Incandesia's claws, the angle of Soot’s wings lifting them briefly before it started to turn into a stall.

Above, Incandesia's next stroke clapped down, and the downdraft splashed across Soot’s sails, sending a shudder through him. Phoebe tensed her knees to keep steady, then had to sit back further as Soot struggled to reassert his rhythm. They drifted out wide, away from Niki's flank as Incandesia accelerated up the hill.

"Well, that was pretty good defensive flying."

"I don't know about that, Sam, I think ze was lucky."

"You think so?"

"Phoebe’s still scoping this out, she's got another lap to play with yet, did you see how she hung back?"

"That's true. Can she really afford to waste chances like that one, though?"

"She's got to be strategic. No use scraping past Niki here only to get overhauled up to the Monument or back to the stadium because Incandesia's got bigger wings."

"Incandesia's certainly pulling away now."

"I still think it'll be at the orchard if Phoebe passes zir at all."

Heart in her mouth and a stone in her gut, Petunia watched Soot follow Incandesia into the stadium. She was still at her workstation, but Vermilia and Dr Ardem were standing nearby now, their eyes both fixed on the TV with the live race feed. Next to them, Tamra, who managed Soot’s diet, stood with their arms wrapped around themself in a tense embrace.

Petunia tore her gaze away from the TV and back to her monitor. Top two rows, green and yellow and white numbers. Incandesia and Soot. She pressed her thumb to the screen under Soot’s row.

Before the number could update with lap fifty-nine's data, Phoebe’s voice popped into Petunia’s ear. "No more radio. Let me concentrate."

"Okay," Petunia said, then grabbed for the transmit button on her headset and said it again.

What was she going to do now? On the timesheet, the numbers rolled over. Lap fifty-nine, Incandesia one minute fifty-two point seven. Soot one minute fifty-two point five, nought point five seconds behind. A moment later, Corredeira: one minute fifty-three point one, two point two seconds behind Incandesia. Olympia: a minute fifty-three point five, three point nine.

Her shoulders felt like concrete, like if she corrected her posture at all she'd crack and crumble to the ground. She couldn't exactly ask Vermilia for another massage. She rubbed her forehead. If Phoebe didn't want radio messages, was there any reason for her to stay on the headset? At least taking it off might let her head cool a bit.

She lifted the earphones away from her ears, and the noise coming in through the open end of the stable rolled over her like a gale, louder than an ocean at spring tide but just as all-consuming of other noise. There was something fresh about it, though. Petunia found herself blinking, taking her first deep breath in… hours?

Setting the headset down on the workstation in front of her, she stood up. Nothing cracked or popped, and the hot line of pain that ran down her spine didn't linger. Her station didn't give her the best angle to see the TV from. She walked round to stand next to Dr Arden.

The white-haired doctor, her skin immaculate and ageless despite the tension and the roaring crowd, turned to look at her as she approached. They exchanged tired smiles. Dr Arden reached out and patted her on the shoulder. Then she looked back up at the screen.

Phoebe took Soot round the cliff's knife-end hard, deep on his right stirrup but forward, keeping him low. It was a guess but Incandesia's tail had twitched as it went out of view and Niki's easiest block would have been to go high and prevent her getting over zir. This stance had the advantage, too, of being easier to recover from, and her legs were tired as hell.

Soot hit his levelling-out stroke and she rolled with it, up and ready, still hunched along his neck. Sure enough, Incandesia was above them, sluggish from the rising stroke that would have blocked Phoebe’s attack if she'd made one. The gold recovered fast, her next beat powering through the ring and away, but Soot threw himself forward, reaching for her heels.

"Smart, that, from Phoebe, she's been caught out there a couple of times today."

"Was Niki a bit hasty?"

"I think ze's got to be, Sam. Any one of these tight corners could cost zir the championship."

Incandesia went through the seventh ring, and Phoebe could watch the trailing edges of her wings ripple in the headwind. Niki had stretched the lead up the ascent, but not by much. Soot’s rhythm still felt good, and even with her legs burning, Phoebe could match it.

Over the low rim of the plastic they went, and down again towards the Imperial Plaza. Ahead, the sun stung Phoebe’s eyes, so she put her head down and trusted Soot to judge how far to turn at her leftward nudge. He knew, by now, the line she wanted him to take, just that tiny little bit tighter inside Niki's.

Where the crowd in the Plaza had been thin, it was now much busier – where had they come from? Palace staff given leave from their duties? – and the shouts were that much louder. Phoebe set her stance, waiting. Ahead, Niki took Incandesia wider, and Phoebe tried to picture the line ze'd take through the ring.

The gold started to swing back in, and Phoebe eased down onto her left ankle. Even the arches of her feet were starting to feel the strain, despite the thick soles of her racing boots. This time, as she dropped into the corner, she pulled back towards Soot’s shoulder, squashing their centre of mass towards the spot between his wings.

He heaved, neck swinging round, shedding a little altitude and twisting in the air. His wings beat once then stayed folded through the ring, and Phoebe allowed instinct to duck her under Incandesia's tail as it passed close by her head. Then Soot flung his wings wide, caught their drift, and propelled them forward again.

"That puts Soot right on Incandesia's tail again, that's exactly where Phoebe needs to be right now, right?"

"I'm sure she'd trade for being in the lead, Sam."

"Haha, that's not quite on the table just yet, though, is it?"

"Could be, Niki's not pulling away towards the ravine."

"Ze's got to gain something around the palace, right?"

"Remember how mighty Soot’s been at the new chicane, though."

"True, true."

Into the tenth ring, Soot rolled harder right than Phoebe was ready for, and for a moment tension shot through her, so much that she twitched up from his back. Even before the chill and shock could flood her, she saw what Soot was reacting to, Incandesia with her wings angled way sharper than necessary, braking hard and wide, trying to throw Soot off his fast line.

Snarling with the effort and the fire in her thighs, Phoebe got herself over Soot’s spine again. He recovered neatly as Incandesia flapped to recover her stroke. They accelerated as one, through the eleventh ring and out across the south face of the Palace Mount. Twin shadows blobbed together on the rock.

Phoebe forced a long, slow breath through her nose. Her teeth still felt cold where she'd bared them into the wind. Reaching forward, she patted Soot on the neck. Whatever clue he'd seen, she'd missed, and it had saved their race.

"That one wasn't necessary."

"Backfired a bit too, don't you think?"

"It certainly didn't give Niki the advantage ze wanted, Phoebe’s still right with zir."

"Still think the stewards won't intervene?"

"Who'd dare? Maybe if Soot hadn't been able to avoid, but that was… almost prophetic, I don't know how they handled it so well."

Incandesia wasn't happy getting close to the cliff, Phoebe could see as they came round into view of the twelfth ring. Twice, the gold wavered against the line Niki was taking. Her wingspan was so great that Soot could keep his body closer to the rock, giving them more room to approach the ring fast, with an extra foot of clear air off his right wingtip.

The wind fluttered at them, enough that Phoebe felt it coming up from the harness into her boots, but Soot corrected with his next stroke. More cheering from the Plaza seemed to push back against the wind, and in the balance of the two, Phoebe leaned into the corner. Ahead, Niki moved too, steering harder, weight far out from Incandesia's flank on zir slender limbs.

Soot’s stroke kept them inside Incandesia, gold wings filling Phoebe’s view even as she strained to match the arch of Soot's spine. Trusting the grip of her right glove, she hung off even further, adding her shoulder to the list of overtired muscles. That whole side of her body screamed as she pushed back, tightening their centre of mass up again so Soot could gain a little altitude.

As they levelled out, Soot kept his last stroke asymmetrical, left wing with tip upraised, right wing curled. It gave them a bit of lateral slide, and when his wings came down again straight, they were on top of Incandesia's tail, so close that Phoebe could have leapt from Soot’s back and landed astride behind Niki.

"Here we go, then, it's gotta be here."

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen?"

"Aye, pass zir through there, over the top if necessary, big stop at the bottom and then if she can be faster up the hill, a good run round the Monument should do it."

"Can she still pass at the Monument if Niki keeps her behind here?"

"Incandesia will overhaul Soot back to the stadium, it's got to be here."

"Now or never."

Phoebe could see Niki bracing for the corner below her. It was as close as they'd ever been on the wing, even two years prior when she'd almost beaten Niki in the junior series. Now, there was only so much ze could do. Incandesia couldn't go down the orchard as fast as Soot, and from the fluttering of her sails even on the downstroke, she was tired too.

But being below gave her and Niki the fundamental advantage; they were in Phoebe’s way. And still maybe six feet ahead. How tall was Niki? The angle was almost right to judge zir lead by the length of zir body relative to Phoebe’s.

Rightward Incandesia went, Niki slinging zir weight down over her right shoulder. Phoebe held back an instant, delaying Soot’s move despite him starting to look in that direction. Only when the gold tail below was clearly ahead did Phoebe act.

Instead of pulling her right knee in tight, she lunged forward, left hand reaching for the middle of Soot’s neck, throwing her body down alongside, dragging him into a dive. He grunted – she could actually feel the sound move up his throat – but tipped sharply down.

Phoebe hung from the stirrups, trusting their carefully-engineered fit, her feet like fire as the arches dug into her boot uppers. Soot plunged under Incandesia's tail, his next stroke alone recovering half the ground they'd lost as the gold swung wider to set up for fourteen. Her whole spine a rope of agony, Phoebe hauled her weight back, enough that Soot could get his balance.

Through the fourteenth ring, it still felt like tumbling, Phoebe gut churning with the pulse of Soot’s stroke, her crownfeathers battered by the rush of Incandesia's wake as the gold cut back over head. As she turned, Soot was ahead, and the next clap of his wings pulled back some control, hauling them out of the descent alongside – not above – the edge of the trees.

Phoebe clambered backwards, the edges of her vision fuzzing, and went left and down, her arms feeling jellied when she bent them to hold herself as close to Soot’s shoulder as possible. Again there was the downdraft as Incandesia went over, but this time it was across her back, not her head. Soot beat once, then arched and threw a scooping left-wing stroke to tear them around into the fifteenth ring.

"She's done it! She's done it!"

"Not enough, Niki's too close."

"That's true, Incandesia's got the altitude advantage and she's already steady in the climb."

"You can see Incandesia's tired but I think she's still got enough. Soot can't hold her off up the mountain."

"Has Phoebe got any tricks left up her sleeve, do you think?"

"I can't imagine what they'd be."

For the last time, they went up the mountainside. There was the end of the trees, then the grass turning patchy, giving way to bare stone. It wasn't a big mountain, nor terribly steep, but there was something bleak and imposing about it. It highlighted the age of the weathered stone needle that marked the high point of the course. Behind that, the bright red-and-white plastic of the sixteenth ring was an incongruity, forlorn colour in the shadow of the mountain's shoulder.

Soot’s neck was straight, and Phoebe could feel the cords of his wing joints taut by her ankles. He was doing everything he could to get them up the ascent. She forced her legs to match his motions, up and down just slightly in the lead of his stroke to minimise strain. Her calves were so sore now that her eyes had started to water.

Despite it all, Niki gained. Incandesia's strokes were audible, the downdraft plucking at Phoebe’s left ear. Niki wasn't letting her out wide for the fastest possible line, ze was keeping her in, probably as close as ze dared to the line ze assumed Phoebe would take.

Just below the ring, the rise steepened with the ancient foundation of the Monument. Phoebe set her weight back further on Soot’s back, her knees protesting. Soot tried, he really did, she could feel it in every fibre of his being, from the scales under her hands to the heave of his shoulders.

Incandesia swept across over Phoebe’s head, and all she could do was slip right into the same deep crouch as always. Soot braked hard and turned hard, opened his wings and beat his levelling stroke and Phoebe strained her arms and got herself back astride, and Incandesia's next stroke came down a handful of feet ahead of Soot’s left wing.

"That's it, then, what a spectacular challenge from Phoebe Tenryuu."

"What a finish. Stunning flying."

"And after… what is it, five years? The Imperial League has a new champion again, and zir name is Nikita Coro."

"Well-deserved."

"To come back from Incandesia's injury mid-season to this. Wonderful stuff, what a story."

Outside the stable, the crowd noise dipped, just a notch or two back towards more normal levels. It wasn't that the stands had fallen silent, just that the immense pressure of their cheering had slackened enough to allow for thought. Petunia stood staring up at the screen, watching Phoebe and Soot trailing Niki and Incandesia down the valley.

Next to her, Dr Arden leaned in closer to Vermilia’s shoulder. Ches, who had come over from his station to join the huddle, had his hands on his head, muttering something under his breath. Further along the wall, where the coders worked, three of the seats were empty. Even Elice's fingers had fallen still, and she was leaning back in her chair, craning to see the TV.

In the valley as it raced by under Soot, there were no shadows to mark the dragons' passage; this whole side of the ridge was in early-evening shadow now. The day had never been warm, but Phoebe could feel the chill slowly squeezing around them. She hurt from the balls of her feet to the base of her neck, and if she tried to loosen her jaw at all she'd probably find that that ached too.

And Soot, wonderful, brilliant Soot, kept flying. His neck was just long enough that he could probably see eye to eye with Incandesia despite the half-length of her lead. He beat his wings steadily, unrelentingly, demanding Phoebe keep moving, keep her legs pumping.

And Incandesia wasn't getting away.

The tip of her wing went up and down in enormous sweeps, right next to Phoebe, so close she could have almost reached out her left hand and caught it. Inside the tip, the wide sheet of golden wing membrane was dull without sun to bring out its shimmer. There were ripples right along the back eighteen inches of each sail.

It was just possible that she was having to pin her stroke a little narrow because Soot was so close, but Phoebe didn't think so. She was tired. She'd beaten Soot in the climb, but here, down the valley, they were dead even. If Phoebe could just get a few yards of advantage, just a tiny bit in case Incandesia had anything left up the hill to the stadium…

Ahead, the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth rings hung in the air over the outer gate of the orchard. Barely a chicane, really, just enough to narrow the course, push the dragons into something like single file. Phoebe forced herself to match Soot’s stroke, get slightly ahead of it, signal him to push. Her vision was scratchy with moisture, from the effort and the pain.

"I don't think Phoebe’s given up yet, Bob."

"She should, all she can do now is put her dragon and Niki's at risk."

"Doesn't Incandesia look tired to you, though? She should be pulling away."

"It can't be enough to matter, not now, where has Soot got any advantages left?"

At the last moment, Phoebe saw, Niki looked to zir right and saw that it wasn't over. She watched the new tension in her old friend's face, watched zir lean closer, to Incandesia's shoulder, as the seventeenth ring approached.

Phoebe was ready. She lifted her weight up from close to Soot’s spine, just enough to hint he should lift and not force the issue. There was a hanging instant, a moment a thousand years long, where he hesitated. He wanted to chase. He knew it was almost over too.

He trusted her, his next stroke just a hair shorter, curled slightly to lift them away to Incandesia's right. The gold slid ahead through the ring, while Phoebe pressed herself flat to just barely squeeze under the top of the plastic.

Niki shifted zir weight and Incandesia swung back left, tired wings leaking air and making her sluggish to correct through the eighteenth. Soot’s next stroke was a surge all by itself, right wing stretched, left pulling in, and they were back over the gold's hindquarters, and Phoebe put everything on her right ankle again, feeling her face scrunch in pain.

Incandesia started to rise as they all went through the nineteenth ring, Niki pushing her weight back in a last, desperate attempt at a rising block. Phoebe bobbed against the stirrups, and Soot slammed his next stroke down, and below, the downdraft struck Incandesia's right wing, and she wavered out wide, right where that tricky tailwind had caught her two laps ago.

Still beating his demanding, ferocious rhythm, neck out straight and already looking to the low grey line of the stadium building atop the foreshortened horizon, Soot powered on. Incandesia recovered, but her wings when they came down were behind Soot’s and a dozen feet out to the left. Phoebe righted herself, even that little effort now a fiery blur.

It was as if someone had attached a hose to the stadium and blasted its noise straight into Tenebrae’s stable. Petunia had time to register one of the coders throwing papers in the air before Vermilia’s spinning tackle swept her and Dr Arden into a bouncing embrace. Deep and shrill voices alike were screaming.

Her mouth was full of Vermilia’s blouse, the crisp cotton crackling against her lips. She couldn’t tell which way she was facing. Her feet barely reached the floor. Where was the TV? Had Phoebe managed to hold on to the lead all the way up the hill?

Someone hit the hug from the other side, and they all staggered sideways in a dizzying spin. Petunia tried to speak but someone's chest bounced against her jaw, garbling her voice. She could barely breathe. Somehow, she was laughing.

"You only have to lead the championship at the last ring of the last lap of the last race of the year, sometimes that's all it takes."

"Stop trying to put an asterisk on this, Sam."

"Oh, I'm not, Bob, I promise. Phoebe Tenryuu, Imperial League Champion. Here she comes. She had it when it counted most."

"She had it all along, they all did, but what a ride. What a ride. Let no-one say she didn't earn it. And what a dragon, too!"

"We knew when these two showed up as rookies that they were something special."

"Not this special, Sam, not this special."

The Royal Box at the Winter Palace was a room in the eight-hundred-year-old southwest tower of the palace itself, looking down over the fifty-two steps to the Imperial Plaza and beyond to the stadium on the cliff by the lake. Its shaded window offered wonderful views of the eighth and twelfth rings and, with binoculars, a good sight of the start, but the twentieth ring was just barely obscured by the grandstand. The Emperor and his guests sat in the liquid darkness of the finest décor in the Empire and watched Soot – whose scales made him seem like that same darkness come to life – take the final ring on the large screen on the wall.

The moment that the commentator's excited voice declared his daughter the Champion, Pirenne Hyperio stood from the ornate chair at Hibiki’s left hand. Without moving, Hibiki said, "I have not given you leave, Pirenne."

The air in the small room seemed to freeze. The Duke stood still, clearly not quite on-balance. In the silence, Helia, who had been given a seat on Hibiki’s right, but a few feet away, turned her head, gaze respectfully downcast. "May I have your leave, milord? I'd like to go and offer my congratulations to my- to Phoebe."

Hibiki lifted his hand, gently opening his fingers to dismiss her. As the Marquess stood, her father twitched, had to shuffle half a step to finally secure his balance. He looked down at his Emperor, lips working, cheeks florid. "Milord-"

"Relax, Pirenne," Hibiki said as Helia left the room. He waited for the door to close, then went on, "Helia is strong, but I doubt she can face Phoebe quite yet, after what you made her do."

Pirenne didn't chance his luck by speaking.

Hibiki let a corner of his lip curl in the first hint of a smile. "Stay with me, Pirenne. Enjoy the moment. Your daughter is Imperial Champion. Next year she will race in my colours. Gold goes so well with purple, doesn't it?" The Eternal Emperor chuckled once. "You will be the envy of the other Dukes. Is it really so galling?"

Soot flapped lazily down the stadium, already low to the ground. The noise was a physical thing, but as they came in to land, right in front of the plinth with its magnificent old trophy, it seemed to rise above their heads, a canopy reverberating between the grandstands. With one, two, three, dainty floating steps and three more, only that little bit heavier, of a run, Soot came to a halt.

Phoebe took a careful breath, rested her weight on Soot’s shoulders for a moment, and then wriggled her feet free of the stirrups. Her ankles whined again at the awkward angles. Soot lowered himself to lie flat, and she patted his neck in thanks. She couldn't jump down like this.

Instead, she slid awkwardly down his flank, stumbling once she hit the grass, almost falling until someone caught her, pulling her to his chest in a clumsy embrace. Stefan. Another body pressed in from the side, smaller, jumping with surprising energy. Adelie. Phoebe worked her arm around under the vet's, did her best to reciprocate the hug.

As her breath returned, it came as laughter. She stepped back, laughing at Adelie’s grinning face, laughing at Stefan's measured, stoic congratulations. Turned, still laughing, to find Soot’s snout peering down at her, too high for her to grab. He didn't like to be hugged. He matched her laughter with stuttered huffing as she reached up to rub the ridge of his nose. His tongue flicked hot over her glove.

"Phoebe!" A fresh tackle hit her from the side and lifted her into the air. Bony arms, sandy crownfeathers shining in the spotlights, ze had her by the waist and her feet had to be three feet off the grass.

Niki Coro let her down before she could start struggling to breathe, then hugged her again, pulling her into zir chest. Zir race suit smelled of dragon. Ze was saying, "You did it! You're the champion! You did it!"

Eventually Phoebe managed to extricate herself enough to look up at Niki's face. She pushed her goggles up off her eyes and found herself speechless for a moment. Angry red rings circled Niki's eyes – her own face had to look similar – and zir hair, normally so artfully tousled, was now just a mess.

Phoebe laughed again, as much in disbelief as anything. "I thought you… after last night…"

"Sorry," Niki said, quieter than should have been audible and with a rueful chuckle. "I should not have snapped at you. But if you message a body at three in the morning on the most stressful night of zir life…"

"Yeah, ok, Niki, maybe that was my bad," Phoebe said, her diaphragm still spasming. She put up her hand and grabbed a fistful of sage-green race suit, leaning forward to put her head to zir chest. "I'm so glad you're here."

"-me through!" Another voice intruded, high and demanding, "That's my girlfriend!"

Somehow, Phoebe found the wits to turn and open her arms, and Thessaly’s approach still almost knocked her off her feet. The mermaid squeezed hard around her aching ribs. "You did it! You did it!"

"Hey Thessaly," Phoebe said, "I did. I did do it, yeah."

"You did!" And she lifted her face up and kissed Phoebe. It was an awkward kiss, inaccurate and slightly bony where their chins pressed together, but it did stop Phoebe laughing for a moment. She put her hands up to Thessaly’s cheeks and adjusted their angle so she could kiss her back, properly.

Folder of forms for the ICDA race classifier under her arm, Petunia stepped out of the stable and stopped dead in her tracks. The concourse was mostly empty, with only team personnel allowed in this area during the race and most of them still busy in their stables. Right outside Tenebrae’s stable door, though, arms folded casually across the front of her pastel-blue blazer, was a woman she recognised.

"Hey," said Helia Hyperio, her voice wavering slightly. Petunia realised, after hearing it for so many years, that the informal greeting was an affectation, a way for the Marquess to distance herself from her aristocratic background.

Despite that, Petunia found herself suppressing the instinct to bow. She put that irritation into her voice. "You've got some nerve showing your face round here, Helia Hyperio!"

Helia’s mouth dropped open, her immaculate, understated lip gloss shimmering. Petunia turned and started to walk away, up the wide hall to where the ICDA offices were, but Helia caught her arm. "Petunia, please, I came to apologise."

Petunia turned her head to glare over her shoulder at Helia. "Apologise for yourself, or for the Duke?" In her chest, she felt hot, a bit like when she'd screamed at Phoebe back in Cao Wei. Maybe she should apologise for that later.

Helia’s face had fallen, and she shook her head slightly. "I can't apologise for dad. I'm sorry, I should have stood up to him more. Will you tell Phoebe I said sorry? And I love her, and I'm proud of her. I'll make it up to her, if there's anything I can do, just-"

"Tenebrae is our team." Petunia reached over and pried Helia’s hand off her sleeve. "It's my team. I built it, I found the sponsors, the money, the personnel, I kept us flying and racing and winning. We will never be the House Hyperio IL team, okay?"

"I didn't mean anything like that, I promise." Helia’s hands fell to her sides, and she looked down at the floor. "I'm proud of you too, you know. You did great. I just don't want this family to fall apart any more than it already has. I'm taking over from dad." She met Petunia’s eyes again. "Not immediately, but over the next few years. I promise things will be different."

Petunia glared at her some more. How should she end the conversation? She needed to get to the ICDA people before the press descended. Finally, keeping her voice as level as she could, she said, "I'll tell Phoebe you were here."