Kira Shayde

Chapter One

—DAYA—

The back of my neck prickled from the low rumble, deep and nearly imperceptible. No one else seemed to notice anything amiss until a rockhopper burst out of the dense thicket and charged down the path. Screams filled the air as raceway spectators dove out of the way. The bellowing beast slammed into a man, sending him clear across the dirt path into the bushes, before abruptly changing direction, its hooves scrabbling through the gravel.

The rockhopper, built like a bison but with thick flaps of muscle that allowed it to glide when hopping, headed toward a crowd of children. I jumped off the fence I’d been sitting on and onto the rockhopper’s back, my gloved hands clawing at the animal’s thick ruff.

Another racer yelled, “Daya, no! You don’t have a harness!”

Yeah, I probably should have thought of that, because the rockhopper opened its gliders and sailed past the bleachers. Barely able to hold on, my feet dangling in the air, I managed to hoist myself onto the rockhopper’s humped upper back and grab its horns. When it landed, I leaned hard to the left, trying to steer it away from the crowd.

But the rockhopper clearly had other ideas. Snorting and bellowing, it thrashed and reared like a bucking horse. I clenched my jaw, mostly to protect my teeth, while I absorbed the shocks from the sharp twists and bounces. With my grip tenuous at best, doubt crept into my mind. Rockhoppers were trained for the obstacle course, not to run amok through crowds. What was I thinking, trying to rein in two thousand pounds of pure muscle while riding bareback?

The beast slammed back its head, missing mine by inches, so I bit down hard on its ear as a mother hopper did with frisky calves. Although this rockhopper was no mere yearling, and it continued to defy my commands.

Rarely did I wish I had the magic of a normal mage, but this was one of those times. Not that spells on animals would be my strong suit, because who was I kidding? No spell was my strong suit. Hence, the reason I’d spent the last ten years living among the non-magical.

After a tense moment where panicked adults whisked crying children to safety, the rockhopper turned and began to slow, huffing and snorting. My heart stopped thumping in double time, but my sigh of relief only lasted a moment because a stray dog nipped at the hopper, sending it into a frenzy and me straight into the air.

Now if this happened during a rockhopper race—often called steeplechase on steroids—the crowds would cheer, but this stunt wouldn’t earn me points. The collective gasp from riders and spectators alike reminded me of the danger I faced. Estimating where the stubborn hopper was, I twisted in the air and landed on its back. Then I jammed my hand deep into its ruff, twisted a fistful of fur, and yanked until it yelped.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” I whispered. “But you need to calm down before you hurt someone.”

Finally, two handlers roped the errant rockhopper and tugged it back to a pen, but when I dismounted, pain shot through my right ankle, and I sucked in a harsh breath. Gritting my teeth, I hobbled to the fence and leaned against it, not appreciating the snide remarks from other riders about my attempt to control the rockhopper. Screw ‘em. I didn’t need their pity or their help, but they had a point. Risking injury when pro directors were here to watch the amateur rockhopper championship race might not have been my smartest move.

Sweat trickled down my back from the midday sun, and I let out a slow breath. Today’s race would be a hot one, and rockhoppers hated racing in the heat. Got ‘em all riled up. With luck, I’d draw a calm mount for the race, because a top finish today could mean I’d be racing rockhoppers all over the world. Goodbye, working two jobs just to afford a crappy apartment.

More importantly, turning pro would mean a chance to be known for something other than what I so miserably failed at. Magic.

I lifted the bottom of my shirt and wiped my face. That’s when I noticed the man with a long black braid watching me. He stood alone, his expression stern. Something about him screamed aristocratic, and not merely his hawkish posture. His jeans looked too new, too fitted, and his shoes unscuffed, so I didn’t take him for the typical spectator. The dead giveaway was the lack of a bottle of beer in his hand.

The man approached and nodded toward my sprained ankle. “May I assist you?”

Narrowing my eyes, I tried to place the accent. Definitely not from anywhere in Acirema. Probably overseas. Something about his bearing nagged at my subconscious, as if I could sense an echo of his origins, the way a whiff of a scent could bring up a distant, long-ago memory. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about him reminded me of a…

Wizard! My breath caught in my throat.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, stepping back as if sensing my discomfort.

“I’m…I’m fine,” I said, wiping my brow on my shirt sleeve, although now the sweat wasn’t just from the heat. Ever since I’d escaped my clan as a teen, I avoided magicals. To our kind, lacking magic was the ultimate failure, and I’d spent far too many of my childhood years in a cold, dark institution because of my deficiencies.

Why was a wizard here when no clans existed for miles? A party? A taste of the forbidden? Mixing with mundanes was a punishable offense, but even with the threat of getting caught, magicals with connections paid handsomely to dabble in the cities of Acerima, drawn to the freedom and modern life. Maybe he also wanted to escape the betrayal and heartache of living in a clan.

Avoiding his curious stare, I limped down the gravel path, worried he might know who I was. My stomach tightened at the thought of having to find a new place to live. Damn it. I didn’t have time to dwell on my past or wonder why a wizard had shown up at the Lightning Raceway. Today’s rockhopper race was the most important of the season, and I had to be ready to ride in less than an hour.

I hobbled as quickly as my sprained ankle allowed, brushing off the mocking laughter from younger rockhopper racers nearby. Whatever. I wasn’t rockhopper nobility. Being taller and broader than many of the male riders ruffled a few feathers in the ranks. Not to mention, I wasn’t the most social gal ever, partly because I worked more than sixty hours a week just to pay my bills. But that wasn’t the only reason for my apparent introversion. I had a secret to hide.

I thought of my younger sister Jalin, loved by everyone in our clan. The poster child of mage perfection, she had the innate ability to say whatever anyone wanted to hear. Even had dimples and an outgoing personality. And magic. Mostly, Jalin had magic.

I blocked the image of my family from my mind. I hadn’t seen my sister in years.

—ALDER—

The further the mage walked from me, the weaker I could read her thoughts. Pinching my lips together, I hedged. Rather than chase after her and possibly draw unwanted attention to myself, I decided to stroll the raceway grounds, be friendly, and meet people. Enjoy the afternoon. But I would not lose sight of this unexpectedly brave mage.

I’d been right about one detail, which made me smile. Changing my search from bars and clubs to the most extreme sport competitions would find me the rider I needed. A woman who wasn’t afraid of danger. A woman who thrived on adrenaline. Only the most courageous could ride a rockhopper, let alone on a racecourse peppered with obstacles.

This was no mere horse race, and that’s exactly what I needed, because riding a belligerent dragon was not for the faint of heart. Unfortunately, I had yet to find a rider not only brave enough, but one who met the Order’s oddly bizarre specifications. I shook my head in disgust. As if requiring a lowly mage to ride a dragon in a death-defying race wasn’t enough to satisfy the lords, the Order now wanted a mage without magic.

And now I needed to discern if this mage would be coming to my clan with me.

Walking across the sun-bleached, cracked dirt, I breathed in the odd bouquet of manure, leather, fresh clay, and rotisserie chicken. Red and white banners fluttered in the breeze, and rock music blared from the loudspeakers. The crowds bulged from the stands.

Several young men, some wearing body armor, others shirtless, strutted among the rockhopper pens, sizing up the available animals to race, no doubt taking bets on the roughest ride. The level of testosterone alone reminded me of painful wizard tournaments during my youth before puberty finally roared in with a vengeance, and with it, my magic. Few rose from mage to wizard.

My cell phone buzzed, and I fumbled to tap the right button. Six months living in Acerima, and I still struggled with modern technology. I brought the device to my ear.

“Your father called me last night,” Tallin said.

“Why?” I whispered a spell to mute my conversation from nearby ears and slowed my pace to avoid the many ruts in the gravel roadway. The last thing I needed was to sprain my ankle, and I had to be careful how much magic I used around mundanes.

“He wants to know if you’ve made any progress,” my friend said.

“I have no idea why he didn’t call me directly.” Except I did know. I compressed my lips. My father deemed me irresponsible, and the old man was probably correct. Some days, I resented the scrutiny placed on being the future high wizard of our clan. Before long, I’d lose the freedom to play my music, wander my homeland incognito, or even enjoy evenings without the company of sycophants. The situation had left a bad taste in my mouth.

Tallin sighed as if he’d grown weary of these discussions yet would never say so. “Did the Order ever explain why they wanted a dud for the Eskanani dragon rider?”

“What?” I replied curtly, my mind no longer on the sole reason we’d been sent overseas—the heartless task of finding a magicless mage willing to risk her life riding a dragon in a race to save our clan’s proverbial behind. Why the Order insisted on such archaic methods of settling threats between clans was beyond me. Even mundanes had moved past jousting.

Tallin snorted. “The plan might be easier if duds didn’t lose their wits when shown a living, breathing dragon.”

“Yes,” I agreed, but a twinge of guilt tore through me. Born without magic, duds lived on the fringe of clans, blocked by the Order of Magic from participating in even the most basic of rituals and celebrations. Fated to be nothing more than servants, unless they escaped. And I couldn’t blame them if they did.

“Are you ready to search another city?” Tallin asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I didn’t bother to hide my heavy grumble. For months, we’d searched major cities in Acerima without finding a suitable candidate. Not unexpected given how the Order hunted down errant magicals who dwelled among mundanes. Even lowly mages capable of nothing more than spells to ripen fruit were forbidden from leaving their clans.

“I’m not quite ready to move on,” I said, finally answering my friend’s question.

“You have that hitch in your voice again,” he said.

“What hitch?” I brushed dirt off my blue jeans, the typical attire in every Acerima city. The entire raceway seemed coated in dirt. Even the air tasted gritty.

“The one you get when you realize once we find a dragon rider, we must return home.”

I grimaced. This wasn’t my only concern. “Doesn’t it seem odd to you that in all this time, we’ve heard nothing of the Shalor high wizard threatening us?”

“Not really. The Shalor might be planning an attack a year from now or five years from now. You never know with those bastards.”

“True, or my father has been keeping me in the dark as usual.”

The realization left a hollow feeling in my stomach. Perhaps I should have paid more attention during clan meetings but knowing my future position as the Eskanani high wizard had left me with a desperate need to enjoy my last year of independence.

And enjoy it, I would, even if that meant spending as much time in Acerima as I needed.

—DAYA—

After checking in at the event registration, I headed back to the parking lot to pick up my race gear but stopped in my tracks when I noticed my friend Cassidy talking to the wizard. My jaw clenched. Did they know each other? Forcing a deep breath, I hopped more than ran the remaining distance, my ankle now so swollen it almost felt numb.

Cassidy gestured to me. “Daya, come here. So, this guy has been renting time at the music studio where my band rehearses. Turns out he plays the colter! Can you believe it?”

I arched an eyebrow. No, actually, I couldn’t.

“I’ve only seen a colter in a museum,” Cassidy continued as if she’d just seen an ancient artifact come to life. A grin crossed her freckled face. “I told Alder about my folk band, and he offered music he composed that would be perfect for the Battle of the Bands at the Renaissance Faire next week. Having a colter player will give us such an edge.”

Resisting the urge to drag my awestruck friend away, I gave the wizard a tight smile I hoped conveyed my reaction to the presence of a magical at Lightning Raceway.

“Alder Viisard,” he said, extending his hand to me.

About to hesitantly accept the handshake, I gazed into amber eyes so breathtaking, for a moment, my heart stopped. Damn. Better not get caught up in that until I knew exactly what abilities he had. What if he could hypnotize? If I suddenly started barking like a dog…

The wizard leaned closer to me, and the corner of his mouth rose slightly. “A dog?” he whispered. “No. Perhaps a clucking chicken.”

What? He could read minds. I had to think of something else. Spiders or river depths. Anything to avoid revealing who I was. It had been a long time since I’d needed to work up a mental block, so I was pretty rusty. In my head, I recited a calming mantra, praying I wouldn’t think of anything inappropriate, like how under different circumstances, this man’s silky, warm voice with the delectable accent would be the death of me.

I mentally slapped myself. About to excuse myself to warm up, I instead blurted out, “So, you’re really a musician?” Inwardly, I groaned. The last person I wanted to chit-chat with before my race was a wizard, particularly such an attractive one.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, and I sighed. Mind-reader.

“Yes. Mostly I play the colter,” he said, answering the question earnestly. “Which is similar to a lyre, and occasionally the volynka, which is a type of bagpipe.”

Cassidy nudged him. “I don’t know how long you’re planning on staying in Bridgemount, but the ability to play multiple instruments and compose music would put you in high demand as a studio musician.”

“Is that so?” he replied. “Perhaps I have a future in Acerima then.” But there was a plaintive touch in his voice, which struck me as odd.

Not that I would normally feel sorry for a wizard, but maybe he dreamed of settling down among the non-magical, free from the Order’s demands. If so, he’d need to do more to fit in. Lose the formal speaking style, for one, and the stiff posture. I rubbed my jaw with the back of my hand. However, in a fitted suit, this particular wizard would put any model to shame with those chiseled cheekbones, piercing eyes, full lips…

Cassidy nudged me. “You should get ready for your race.”

Thank you, my friend.

“Good luck,” Alder said, and his smile brightened the air around him.

I took a step back and nearly stumbled into my truck. All wizards were dangerous, but this one presented a whole other problem. Men this good-looking normally didn’t throw me, but my temperature skyrocketed, and I wiped my hands on my pants.

As Alder walked to the street where the spectators parked, his long, lean legs easily chewed up the distance, leaving my thoughts to scatter like the crowds after a race. I definitely didn’t need the distraction, nor did I want to spend any more time than necessary with a wizard who could report me to the Order of Magic for escaping from my clan.

“Stop staring,” Cassidy admonished. “He’s taken. Some celebrity, I think? I saw him with her at the music studio last month, wearing a formal gown with her gloved hand all proper on his arm.” Her friend shrugged. “And she had bodyguards.”

I grimaced. No surprise he’d have his pick of women, given his looks, but why draw attention by dating a celebrity? Reaching down to rub my swollen ankle, I scowled as I tried to understand the odd burning sensation in my chest. Certainly not jealousy. I had no time in my life for a boyfriend, let alone lusting after an unattainable, or worse, potentially risky one.

“Hey, he’s not your type anyway. Seems like a lone wolf, if you know what I mean, and you definitely need someone fun. I’m gonna head to the stands, okay? See you after the race.”

With a nod, I slung my gear bag over my shoulder. Cassidy was right. Alder wasn’t my type. But did I even have a type? I rarely dated. Between training, working as a mechanic, and picking up the occasional shift as a bartender, I didn’t have time to date.

Veering around my pickup truck to the driver’s door, I sensed the wizard behind me and tensed. What the hell did he want?

“We need to have a talk, my mage friend,” he said in a low voice.

Oh, damn. I slowly turned around. “Are you going to report me?”

Alder crossed his arms, and the corner of his lips rose a fraction. “That depends. The Eskanani clan in the Susacauc Mountains needs a dragon rider.”

My mouth fell open. A dragon rider? Dragons weren’t real, just another myth wizards perpetuated to prove their superiority over mages. “Are you kidding me? The clans treated me like dirt, and now some wizard from halfway around the world says his clan needs me?”

Alder narrowed his eyes. “Abandoning your kin—”

“I had a good reason.” Not that some wizard would care.

“Perhaps you did.” He compressed his lips for a moment as if thinking. “The high wizard of the Shalor clan is intent on invading the Eskanani. He wants to annex our eastern lands and force us to join their clan. You know only a dragon race can settle such a dispute.”

His clipped tone did nothing to convince me. I wasn’t his damn underling. “No, I don’t know, because dragons aren’t real.” Anger building in my chest, I glared at the wizard. “Look, whoever you are, I don’t owe you anything. If you want to report me to the Order for dodging my clan, then go ahead and report me. I’ll just find my way out again.”

His forehead furrowed as if he were confused why anyone would want to leave the Order, and I knew right then, he and I would never see eye to eye. “Daya,” he said softly but in a way that indicated he was used to having his orders followed. “You don’t belong here.”

“I can’t think of anywhere I belong more.” I gripped the side of my truck to steady myself, my breaths heated. In Acerima, no one knew I was born without magic.

A fleeting hint of sadness seemed to cross the wizard’s face. Maybe he really did have a problem with his clan, but that was none of my concern.

“Sorry, but I can’t help you.” Without waiting for him to reply, I strode toward the rockhopper staging area and didn’t look back. Nothing would convince me to return to the Order.