Phoebe

The Imperial Castle was old enough to have been a true fortress once, and its blocky, unromantic construction told bluntly of that history. It squatted, long and low, across the top of the up-thrust mesa overlooking the Rhuen that had been the seed of the Imperial City a millennium and a half prior. And this weekend, as on one early spring weekend every year, the sky around it was set with racing rings.

They didn't so much hang in the air as stand out from it. The crisp red-and-white plastic of their outer coating looked too clean and new to be part of the capital's dreary grey-brown roofscape. And they hung too still for the blustery day, anchored in place by enchantments firmer and safer by far than any tether. Even having spent six hours of her Friday weaving in and out of the rings hadn't entirely robbed Phoebe of the impression that they had been photoshopped into her field of view.

Now, as Soot cruised round the fast final sector, eight rings that spelled out a sweeping curve back to the stadium, Phoebe relaxed into the harness and straightened up, relishing the hot fatigue in her calves and quads. Friday practice had gone well, much better than she'd feared. Soot wasn't just on the pace, he was outright competitive, especially around the tight chicanes of the first part of the lap.

He didn't seem tired, either. The green flags at the near end of the stadium roof were dipping repeatedly to signal the end of the second session, but Soot hadn't taken Phoebe's shift of position as an instruction to back off. He was still throwing the occasional big rearward stroke of his wings, powering forward through the fifteenth ring. Not exactly race pace but hardly cooling off.

Phoebe reached back and patted Soot's spine, right between his wings. The dragon bobbed his head as the sixteenth ring whistled past, then stole a glance back towards Phoebe, who tried to look stern. She had to lean forward again to direct him downwards to the smaller green ring hanging below the main red-and-white eighteenth. If they missed the perch lane entry to the stadium they'd have to circle round again and take a penalty for not observing the end of session.

At least at that, Soot seemed to get the message. He ducked over the low edge of the seventeenth ring, wing angle tightening, and Phoebe slid forward a few inches with the deceleration. Tenebrae's perch was the first in line, so they had to really get their speed down to land safely. Race perching was one of the biggest injury risks for racing dragons, and Phoebe had spent much of the morning session drilling Soot, unsure how much practice he'd have had before she freed him.

For now, without the pressure of competition, they could come in easy, Soot dipping almost to run along the grass for a moment before pitching up into a stall and backwinging to settle on the thick steel bars of the perch. Below, there was scattered applause from the half-full seating terrace. Phoebe grinned, waving down past her knee as she'd watched returning riders do on TV for so many years.

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Then she kicked free of the stirrups and launched herself from Soot's back to the waiting lip of the bay. The innate magic of her featherfall turned the dive into a glide and she landed neatly, arms and crownfeathers spread wide. Petunia tossed her a bottle of water, the throw a little too low so she almost fumbled the catch, as Adelie edged towards where Soot was clambering from the perch onto the solid part of the floor.

Phoebe drank deeply, then pushed up her goggles and rubbed her eyes. "How'd the pace look on that last run?"

"Good, you're still top three in the first sector overall." Phoebe could tell immediately from the brittleness of Petunia's tone that something was up. Her head bobbed and her eyes glanced to the side before she continued. "Sorry, I tried, but she insisted."

Phoebe followed where Petunia pointedly hadn't looked. The race stable was a big room, seventy feet wide and almost a hundred long, and Tenebrae's was bare of much of the usual clutter – no fancy hospitality suite, specially-branded catering or high-tech veterinary equipment – so the figure leaning against the wall just inside the door stood out immediately despite the dim lighting.

Her crownfeathers were pale blue, wrapped around slightly fluffy hair of the same colour that spilled curtainlike across half her face. She wore white dungarees over a white cold-shoulder sweater, all sparkling-new and branded enough to show that, despite being casual wear, the wearer was aristocracy-rich.

Irritated as much at herself as her sister, Phoebe walked over. "Hey Helia, how'd you get into the gallery?" Outside the door was the main teams gallery, where the press and hangers-on swarmed. Access was strictly controlled. "You didn't just tell them we're family, did you?"

"What? No," Helia stiffened a bit, but not so much that it looked like she'd been expecting a warmer reception. She flapped the pass hanging from the lanyard round her neck. "I called in a favour from cousin Terine, the Temisias basically own the New Stadium now."

That made Phoebe pause. "You've grown up a lot, too, then."

Helia chuckled gently. "Dad is soooo mad."

"So what? Why should I care, Helia?"

"I'm sorry." Helia started to fold her arms, then let them flop back to her sides. "I didn't come here for them."

"Then why did you come at all, Marquess?" Phoebe threw the title in her sister's face and immediately wished she could claw it back.

"I didn't come as the Marquess." Helia frowned. "I came to see my baby sister. Maybe meet this new friend of yours that everyone's so excited about." And she made a deliberate show of looking at Soot, who was settling to a comfortable sit on the heated part of the floor while Adelie held the heavy drinking hose to his mouth.

Phoebe looked her sister up and down, seized suddenly by the need to reach out to her. Swanning in here on the benefits of her aristocratic connections was a new side to Helia, but she did love dragons, almost as much as Phoebe. Phoebe shrugged, trying to loosen her shoulders a bit. "He's probably pretty tired right now, Helia, it's been a long day, I don't know how friendly he'll be." But then she caught hold of Helia's baggy sleeve. "I'll introduce you, but be careful."