Page 97 of Tailwind

My jaw tightened. ‘I know what a tired dragon looks and feels like.’ I started ticking off on my fingers. ‘Ascil’s temperature was high the whole time, her scales didn’t tighten and the membranes of her wings are the same deep green as when we started. Strategists might need augments to know how my dragon is feeling, but I don’t.’ My nostrils flared. I’d signed up to have my flying critiqued, but not my love for dragons. Never that.

Bach watched Ascil for a long moment, then flicked his icy blue eyes back to me. ‘I didn’t say Ascil, I was talking about Vepari.’

I blinked.

‘Oh.’

For the first time since landing, I moved my attention to the Prevere blue. Her shiny blue scales were locked together, sealing in her body heat. Her wings were a solid blue, but Bach had said he’d wanted to stop before it got unhealthy.

‘It’s not just about your dragon, it’s about all of them. If you only focus on what you’re doing you’re missing out on ninety per cent of the race information. Don’t you think it would be helpful to know if the rider in front of you will have to go slower on the next lap to conserve his dragon’s strength?’

It took a lot of inner strength to not pout at him having a good point. I bit my lips together instead.

I glanced at Ascil out of habit. It felt awful to be lectured without Gottyk standing next to me, my usual partner in crime. Whenever Thorne had acted out, making eye contact with my dragon grounded me. Even during the post-race debriefs with Josie it felt like I had someone on my side when my orange friend huffed in shared admonishment.

Instead I ended up looking into deep golden eyes, not brown ones. Ascil seemed more amused than anything else. She sat on her haunches, her head held high, so polite and elegant. The tip of her forked tail patted the ground lightly. It was as if she knew this was entirely my problem, not hers.

So much for teamwork.

She didn’t seem tired in the slightest. My hair was plastered down, I probably smelled awful and was longing to stuff my face with food. If I hadn’t witnessed it myself I wouldn’t have guessed Ascil had even been flying, let alone at the pace we’d maintained for two hours – over double the average Volitant race time. Age hadn’t slowed her down in the slightest.

I stuffed my gloves into my helmet, taking Ascil’s reins with my free hand.

‘I’ll get them dressed down then.’ My plan to mope in the aviary while falling into old routine was ruined by Bach following us inside.

My fingers fumbled on the buckles of Ascil’s saddle as I braced myself for more criticism. I didn’t do well with failure at the best of times, let alone in front of him. At least I’d been right about not wanting to meet Bach in the first place for fear of disappointing him.

The criticism didn’t come though. I hauled Ascil’s kit back into storage and began brushing her down – no small feat given the scale of her – and I did so in the ambient quiet of the aviary. Dragons snorted, sifted through the copper and yawned in the late morning sunlight … and that was all. No mention of where I needed to improve, of what I was doing wrong.

Bach was doing the same as I was for Vepari, cleaning any debris from her scales, checking the wing membranes for missed scratches and injury – all the tasks keepers were charged with after a race. He busied himself enough that I wondered if he was avoiding telling me I was a lost cause.

Unsurprisingly, he was finished first. After disappearing into the kit room he emerged in his regular clothes – tan linen trousers, boots and a shirt – and made to leave.

I frowned at the back of his head. I’d worked myself up to be berated, or at least to feel ashamed at my performance. Him not even bothering was starting to feel like an even bigger insult.

‘Is that it?’

He stopped in the giant entryway. Ascil bent her long neck to look back at me too.

‘Excuse me?’

‘No you need to try harder, or you’re not rider material? Isn’t there supposed to be some kind of lesson in this? Or is the lack of a debrief the lesson?’ The words I’d been rolling around in my head for the past hour were tumbling out with no sign of stopping. ‘Honestly I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to do when racing against the greatest rider in Volitant on his home turf. How am I supposed to get better if you won’t even tell me how bad I am? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I think I actually flew really well, but in comparison to you, I’m always going to be a pale imitation.’

He pointed at me.

Ascil huffed.

I looked between them, mouth flapping. My words dried up.

‘You found the problem yourself.’ Bach came back over, patting Ascil’s snout before looking at me.

A shiver went down my spine.

‘You were copying me,’ he said.

So he’d noticed, just like he had at the Victrolia circuit. Of course he had – he was Bach Lotiere. I wrung the brush handle, trying to throttle it as if it would also kill feelings at the same time.

The problem was, other than it being embarrassing, that I didn’t see a problem with what I’d done. So I did what I always did when I disagreed.