Phoebe

The photoshoot was, on some level, not going well. Phoebe could see it in the tension between the director and his two harried assistants, ever since they’d started to set up for the big money shot and it had turned out that the dragons struggled to balance if they tried perching on the cables of the suspension bridge. There was just too much wind, and the cables were curved and angled too awkwardly.

The idea had been to perch the five dragons in championship order on one rise of the cable, but the plans had been changed to a fly-past. Then a couple of the drones had failed because they couldn’t keep pace with the dragons. Dimly, Phoebe sympathised with the photography team, but as Soot swept low under the bridge’s central span, the deep blue estuary water only a dozen yards below, she mostly just relished the sense of motion and her dragon’s strength.

It was a glorious day. Sun blazed down out of a lightly-feathered sky, maritime winds controlling the temperature despite her dark flight suit. The air was crisp. Above, the Bridge of the Constitution of 1312 leapt across the bay. The race rings hadn’t been set up yet – delayed to allow for the photoshoot, they lay on a barge parked by one of the bridge’s piles – but the course would bring the dragons first under the highest point of the span and then back up to slalom between the towers.

Ahead, Niki’s dragon Incandesia gleamed in the sunlight, and beyond her was Corredeira, striking out over the open water as if to carry Feran all the way to his ancestral homelands in Carthagia, hundreds of miles away across the Taranto Sea. In the other direction, if she wished, Phoebe could look back and see both Royal Hermeia dragons in her wake; she might only lead Lucia Aelschu by a single point in the standings but that was enough to give her third in today’s order. It was still more than she could really believe.

The camera drones dropped away behind them, at the limit of their range and speed. That was the signal to come back in for further instructions. Phoebe let Soot follow Niki and Feran through a lazy, sweeping turn over the bay and round to the cordoned-off section of promenade they’d been using as a staging area. They had to go steadily to set up for landing; there was only enough run for one dragon to land at a time, and Incandesia was big enough to be much slower setting down than Corry or Soot.

Soot came in with characteristic delicacy, needing only a dozen loping strides to reach a halt. Phoebe hopped down as soon as she was able, reflexively checking his stance for signs of strain even as her boots hit the ground. He looked fine, so she turned to lead him towards their pavilion and almost walked headfirst into a sturdy torso clad in dark Tenebrae overalls. Stefan.

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The harness tech had joined the team as part of the sponsorship deal with McCaffreys, who’d supplied the striking indigo-streaked harness Soot now wore, a huge upgrade from the plain leather rig which had been all Phoebe could afford for the first five races of the season. Tall and broad, the tech might well mass as much as Phoebe, Petunia and Adelie put together. Right now, he looked a little the worse for the southern climate, craning down at Phoebe from under his thick mop of dark hair.

Phoebe laughed off his mumbled apology. She was so used to doing everything herself that she’d forgotten after landing that he would come out to meet Soot. At least the dragon wasn’t making the same mistake, leaning over Phoebe’s head to sniff affably at Stefan, who reached up to scratch Soot’s chin.

Dragon and tech headed for the pavilion, leaving Phoebe looking around for instruction on what to do next. Before she could really take in the rest of the scene, habit led her hand to the zip pocket on her thigh that held her phone. She slipped it out and swiped it awake. No messages. It had been a few days since she’d heard from Thessaly.

> Hey, are you ok? Sorry I’ve been quiet|

No, ‘quiet’ didn’t cover it.

> Hey, are you ok? Sorry I’ve been so busy|

That was still a lie. Phoebe stared at it on the phone’s screen for a moment, face pinching in a scowl. She had been busy, but not so busy that she hadn’t spent hours thinking about this damn message and still not sending it.

“Who’s got you pulling faces like you just bit rocks, ha?” Niki’s voice cut through Phoebe’s frustration. Zir arm landed across Phoebe’s shoulders, and Phoebe quickly thumbed the phone to standby. Niki gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I know that’s not team business. Come, the director will want to speak to us.”

There was just enough edge in Niki’s voice that Phoebe had to bite back a retort. She’d never been able to keep personal secrets from the other rider for long. Easier to let herself be led to the table at the end of the row of pavilions where the frazzled director was corralling his subordinates.

Not that Niki planned to leave it at that. Ze chuckled, gently. “Are you really seeing that pretty singer from the photos?”

“Everyone keeps asking me about her.” Phoebe tried to make her irritation sound petulant, hoping it would throw zir off the scent. “I just want to ride my dragon.”

“Just that, ha?” Niki’s smirk was audible. “It was not your dragon you were texting just now.”

“I wasn’t texting anyone.” That was, technically, true.

“Checking if a little bird has told you anything, then?”

“It’s not her!” Phoebe managed to keep from raising her voice too much, but she doubted she was fooling Niki any. “All I know of Mynah is I met her at a party and she wishes she could keep a pet of her own.”

“Ahhh,” said Niki, as if that was some great revelation. Mercifully, at that point they reached the director’s table, putting an end to zir attack.