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SEVEN

“ A nd what made you think you were qualified to take on an untamed phoenix?”

Kel’s nails bit into her palms. “That phoenix was just confused. If it was untamed, the town would have burned to a crisp.”

She heard Bekn cough behind her. A warning.

Kel and Coup had quickly been ambushed by camera crews. Before either one could utter a word, Bekn had swept them into the house.

Bekn waggled three fingers. “Three rules, and then you both need to charm the pants off those reporters.”

The mitigator spoke to both of them, but his feverish eyes never left Kel. “Don’t insult anyone. Don’t boast about what happened at The Ferret. It was a tragedy and nothing more. And for the love of the Alchemists, don’t let them paint you as children. If they try, end the interview.”

Kel folded her arms. “Why would we talk to them in the first place?”

Bekn raised an incredulous brow. “Because while yesterday was a tragedy, something good can come out of this media coverage. Sponsorship. ”

“Got it,” Kel grumbled. The words tasted bitter, but if Bekn could find her money for the farm, she’d endure potential sponsors’ scrutiny.

Bekn nodded. “One more thing. You saw how well the media responded to you two working together. Lean into that angle. Pose for photos, compliment each other, do whatever you can to sell the cozy teammates story. They’ll eat it up.”

“ Cozy teammates? ” Coup laughed before Kel could voice her rage. “You want us to tell them we’re hopelessly in love while we’re at it?”

Kel’s cheeks heated. Publicity was one thing, but she didn’t have a bone in her body capable of feigning affection for Warren Coupers. She was glad to hear he felt the same.

Bekn paused—as if actually considering the idea—before shaking his head. “Of course not. Just flatter each other and let the reporters fill in the gaps.”

Kel rubbed her face with her bandaged hands, the pain of last night’s burns helping to clear her mind. They’d hardly merged teams twelve hours ago, and she was already tired of Bekn’s demands. Dira, at least, seemed amused by them.

In a softer tone, Bekn added, “If they see us all getting along, it’ll add a bit of credibility to the Howlers. Especially after all of us have seen some… fluctuation in our teams’ members lately.”

Ice pricked Kel’s arms. Oska’s face flashed through her mind, followed by Rube’s. “I can manage a couple of photos together, but that’s it.”

“Five photos,” Bekn countered. “And three compliments with at least six adjectives.”

Kel narrowed her eyes. “Three photos. One compliment. And only if a reporter prompts it. No adjectives.”

Bekn beamed. “Deal.”

Coup straightened his jacket and turned to Kel. “Ready to act head over heels?”

“You could try loving this a little less,” she muttered.

Coup merely winked.

Bekn hurriedly led Coup and Kel back outside, where they surrendered to the cameras, pushed and pulled like waves in a rip.

As the sun idled behind hazy clouds and Kel began craving more painkillers for her hands, she found herself standing opposite a slick-haired woman—Dana from Channel Two, she’d introduced herself as—with a conspiratorial grin.

“Not many people would be brave enough—or possess the knowledge—to do what you and Warren Coupers did. But it seems like you two knew how to work together.” Dana lowered her voice. “Sources tell me the two of you might be teaming up for future CAPR races. Is this true?”

Kel balled her fists. How had Bekn already managed to leak their new team status? Before she could reply, a warm, lean arm draped around Kel’s shoulders. From Kel’s right, two rows of pearly teeth flashed in the reporter’s direction, amber eyes sparkling into the camera.

Coup leaned into Kel’s side. It was the first time she’d been close enough to learn he smelled like riding leathers and mint aftershave.

“Absolutely,” Coup crooned. “I can’t wait to get out on a track and see what kinds of madness we can brew up.”

Kel’s nails dug into her palms, focusing on anything but Coup’s nearness, his camera-ready dimples, as she said, “We’ve got to test the waters first with my phoenix, make sure everyone is comfortable. But unless Savita slices him in half, it seems like we’ll be working together.”

Kel had meant it as a joke—mostly—but alarm flashed across the reporter’s face. “I see. And how’re you feeling about working so closely with Coup ?” Her voice softened around Coup’s nickname, as if it was a secret they shared. “He certainly has a unique racing style.”

Kel bit the inside of her cheek. “It’ll be… great. There’s a lot Warren and I can teach each other.”

That counts as a compliment, right?

“Expect plenty of excitement in the Crimson Howlers’ future,” Coup added. “You have no idea what we have in store.”

Dana let out a chime-like laugh. “I love it. Can we take a couple of pictures of the two of you?”

Kel blinked. She stepped to move away from Coup’s touch. Softly, he squeezed her shoulder.

“Three photos,” he whispered. “Remember?”

Slowly, she smiled.

“Perfect,” the reporter crooned, as a secondary camera flashed. Ivory spots danced in Kel’s vision.

“Can we grab another with you two standing a little closer?” Dana asked.

Slowly, Kel leaned into Coup’s side and moved her arm around his waist, trying to touch him as little as possible. Her skin prickled, her focus acutely on every place they were pressed together. Warmth rolled off him in easy waves, and heat crept up her neck.

Once Dana had taken three photos—Bekn hadn’t clarified if the photos had to be from different reporters—Kel fled the interview, recoiling from Coup like a snake before an open flame.

She barely made it three steps before the next reporter assaulted her with similar questions, and she hated that it became harder to answer without Coup’s distracting presence.

“I suppose you could call yesterday the beginning of your relationship with Warren Coupers,” the man—Levi, from Channel Four—said, leaning closer to Kel. “How are you feeling about what happened?”

Kel thought of Bekn’s words, and recited, “Yesterday was a tragedy. I’m sure any other tamer would have done the same.”

She wanted to scream that none of this was the phoenix’s fault, and other members of the Fume should meet the same fate as yesterday’s cultist.

“You’re too modest, sweetheart. It was an impressive feat for a girl so young. How old are you?”

Kel grimaced— sweetheart? —as alarm bells rang through her head. “Seventeen.”

The reporter faked a look of astonishment. He glanced at the camera, then back to Kel. “Only seventeen! Very impressive.”

Kel didn’t respond. Levi’s brows raised, though he quickly pivoted. “Last night, you and Coup didn’t hesitate to recollar the rogue phoenix. I know your late father was quite a vocal advocate of phoenix collars with severely reduced controls. Do you agree with your father’s stance?”

Kel’s stomach roiled. If she’d remembered breakfast, she might have hurled it up on camera.

Her father had been a strong believer in phoenix rights, drawing just as much ire as praise, and more than a few bitter comparisons to the Fume.

He’d even once revealed a naive dream of opening a sanctuary that would allow phoenixes to roam entirely uncollared.

She winced at the memory. That statement had gotten her dad in some boiling water with the media.

Kel cleared her throat. “I think there are experts much more qualified than I am to debate that issue.”

The words were mostly scripted, scraped together from hours spent standing beside her father for cameras.

Ever since Landon Ryker, an Alchemist and the first phoenix rider, collars had always existed.

At first the Alchemists had created them as a way to monitor phoenix vitals, to learn from the fiery creatures.

Over time, the electronic devices had shifted to a form of control.

It’s in the phoenixes’ best interest , her school textbooks had written, like giving vaccines to prevent disease, or trimming animal tusks to deter poachers.

Kel stiffened. Though she agreed that collaring phoenixes was necessary, she did wonder if there were other, fairer ways of maintaining Cendor’s safety.

Levi squinted and nodded. “Mm-hmm. Of course. Well, we’re all lucky you and Coup were there to prevent any other incidents. Do you think your father is looking down, proud of your actions?”

Kel’s mouth dried. She tried to never think of where exactly her father was, if he was anywhere. If his ghost watched her and bowed his head in shame for her competing in CAPR races. If he would be proud of her for doing what it took to care for Savita. If he would—

A familiar touch warmed Kel’s uninjured arm, hitching her balance. Dira appeared to her right, tilting her head toward the reporter.

“I’m sure if Leon Varra is anywhere, he’s too busy negotiating more cloud space for celestial phoenixes,” Dira quipped.

Kel wrapped her arm around Dira’s waist and gave her a thankful squeeze.

Levi gave a practiced chuckle. “Of course.”

As they broke away from the reporter, Kel spotted a break in the throng and beelined for her cottage.

“Bekn will kill you for that,” Kel muttered to Dira.

Dira shrugged. “Let him try. I’m not the one the media’s trying to pick clean.”

Kel glanced over her shoulder where Coup shone at the center of the media frenzy. He answered every question with such pitch-perfect charisma. She’d always struggled in front of cameras, never sure how to stand, how to speak. Yet Coup was like marble under the sun: warm, unyielding, effortless.

There were plenty of other, more rational reasons to want him off her team. But she couldn’t help the bitter envy that slithered through her as she listened to his honeyed words.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Kel mumbled as they moved, weaving between reporters. “Working with him long enough to earn the money we need is going to be…”

“A well-lit nightmare?” Dira offered. She sighed softly. “At least the media is eating it up. You’re a match made in PR heaven.”

Kel snorted. They were a match that would be paired together far too often.

Tamers and riders worked so closely. Every training session, every moment spent familiarizing Savita and Coup would be side by side.

Her patience was too fragile to tolerate that kind of constant, charming, needling presence.

Dira glanced back. “Let’s go hide in the cottage for a while. We’ll figure it out.”

Kel nodded, eager for the quiet. Once inside, she’d simply convince Dira, explain that they would be better off finding a new rider now , rather than in a few weeks, once Dira also realized that Coup was just a cocky, reckless pile of—

“Miss Varra, may I have a word?”

Kel and Dira turned toward the voice to find a tall, dark-haired man in his forties blocking the sun. Though Fieror was a bustling city, here on its outskirts, on her farm, the man’s tailored suit and slicked hair were as out of place as a Dresvan serpent.

“I’ve had my fill of interviews. I’m trading the cameras for some lunch,” Kel said, thrusting a thumb toward her home. She was proud of herself for replying with more than a simple “ No ,” and planned on telling Bekn as much.

The man laughed, the sound too crisp, controlled. “You misunderstand. I don’t wish to interview you.”

“Oh.” She was suddenly exhausted. “What do you want?”

The man’s gaze flickered between her and Dira, lips pursed.

Kel squeezed Dira’s arm. “Go save yourself. I’ll meet you inside.”

Dira frowned, but moved toward the cottage’s entrance. Kel turned back toward the man, folding her arms.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. He didn’t seem bothered by her abruptness, which made Kel, hot and hungry, merely want to try harder.

“My name is Romar Harte. I work in the recruitment sector of Cristo Industries, and I have a proposition for you.”