Page 26

Kel clenched her teeth around a sigh. The reporter turned to Kel. “You must be feeling some unease about watching Coup race, especially considering how inseparable you two have become.”

Kel’s pulse jumped into her throat. She opened her mouth, unsure what words would come out—when Coup squeezed her hand again. Warmth shot up her arm and thawed her muscles. Kel forced a wobbly chuckle. “I’d probably feel less uneasy if he felt a little more.”

The reporter laughed again as Coup added, “I don’t know what I’d do without Kelyn to keep my feet on the ground.”

The reporter continued. “On that note, we have to touch on the rumors that have surrounded your teams’ recent merger. You two certainly seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

Coup flashed Kel a lopsided smile. She knew it wasn’t real, but— Alchemists help her —when he turned that roguish grin on her, butterflies crawled up her stomach.

Coup answered smoothly, “I suppose our team-up is too exciting for viewers to think it’s just professional.”

Kel chimed in, “The team definitely has some explosive chemistry.” Mostly used to scream at each other. “We’ll leave it at that.”

“Could you imagine if we hated each other?” Coup made a sound of mock disbelief. “It’d make every day unbearable.”

Kel matched his expression. “Can’t imagine it.”

The reporter continued to spur his own rumors, and Kel kept her eyes on Coup instead of the camera. Eventually, they waved the pair away.

Hands still twined, Kel tugged them toward the aviary ahead, past swarms of silver sprites. Growing squawks filled the air. They paused to spot a yellow-and-bronze harrow phoenix with a bandaged leg and a smaller chick tucked beneath its wing.

Excitement raced through Kel. She’d only seen one or two harrow phoenixes before and never one with such young, pale features. Until the chick reached maturity in a few years, it would remain a glowing cloud of daffodil fluff.

The chick sneezed and stumbled back into a shrub, which it quickly turned to grumble at. Kel giggled. She imagined a young Savita acting similarly.

She felt Coup’s gaze and turned toward him. “What?”

Coup shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a hint of a frown.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said lightly.

She soon spotted signage that claimed this aviary as Cristo’s. Kel wondered whether he’d placed an aviary here to garner attention, or whether he truly cared about conservation.

She turned toward Coup. “What do you think of Cristo so far?”

“Is the Kelyn Varra—self-proclaimed expert in everything— asking for my opinion?” Coup batted his lashes. “Well, he seems benign, but anyone rich can hire a good mitigator to tell them what to say. Seeming trustworthy isn’t the same as earning trust.”

His words made her think of their own mitigator, and she risked asking, “Speaking of good mitigators… why is ours worried that you think Cristo’s gear makes you unkillable?”

Coup stiffened. “He said that to you?”

Kel tilted her head. “Not in so many words. Why? Is it true?”

“Just when I thought we’d been getting along.” Coup sighed. “It’s none of your business.”

Kel pressed on. “If there’s something that’ll impact your riding ability, or the safety of my phoenix, it is.”

A muscle in Coup’s jaw twitched. “It won’t.”

“That’s not what Bekn seems to think.”

“Do you have a dimmer switch or something?” Coup snapped, and pulled his hand from hers. “It’s nothing. Really. Just an overprotective brother who thinks I’ve abandoned all self-preservation instincts.”

“Have you?”

Coup’s eyes sharpened, focusing on Kel in a way that made her shift her weight. “I owe Bekn. And I can repay that debt through CAPR. So, for now, debts overrule self-preservation.”

Kel wanted to ask what he owed Bekn, but from the hard edges in his voice, she knew he wouldn’t tell her.

She didn’t entirely understand why, but she wanted to draw back the version of Coup she’d seen just moments ago. The version that had kept her company atop a burning hill, had silently sat with her in Sav’s aviary, had squeezed her hand when the reporter had questioned her.

“I’m terrified of losing Sav,” she quickly stuttered, like a poison to expel. “That’s my debt. I owe Sav better than having to race and bleed to pay for our home.”

She instantly regretted the brittle confession.

It would only give Coup more ammunition to tease her, to call her a hypocrite.

She hated racing, but only because she knew how lethal CAPR could be.

It was cruel to compete to justify keeping Sav in a gilded cage, like every animal in this park; to cling to the one creature in her life who couldn’t die.

After a long silence, Coup said, “Careful, Varra. I’d almost think we have something in common.”

Her insides lifted as if she’d been tossed from a carnival ride. Silently, they turned from the aviary—just as a new, camera-less figure approached them with delicate steps.

The girl, about their age, gazed at Coup. “You’re Warren Coupers, right? Could I get your autograph?” Her lips curved up. “I’m Alma.”

The girl—Alma—held out a pen and a photo of Coup, garbed in his riding leathers, atop the Star Chasers’ flaming beast.

Coup stepped away from Kel as if bitten.

The sudden loss of warmth sent a chill down her spine.

“Sure,” he replied, flaunting his thousand-watt smile.

Coup’s gaze flickered to Kel, but she was already moving away, offering them some small privacy. Alma twirled a black curl around a finger. Her long lashes were flawless and her expression sincere.

“You were so brave in that race. I’d never seen anything like it,” Alma said to Coup, her voice lilting.

Coup laughed.

Kel swallowed a metallic taste and shuffled further down the cobblestone path. Every sweet, silky word the pair traded soured her tongue. She focused on the painted fence to her right: a mural of Salta’s magical attractions.

Kel shoved her sweaty hands in her trouser pockets and mentally rebuilt a familiar, jagged wall between her and Coup. Just for a moment, she’d let herself wonder what it might feel like to take a sledgehammer to that wall. Now, she left no room for any more sharp, painful truths to slip through.

She snuck a glance back. Coup’s and Alma’s heads were ducked conspiratorially.

It wasn’t like Kel hadn’t noticed Coup’s looks, striking enough to turn heads wherever he went.

His muscled build from years of riding, an easy grin that earned its arrogance, sun-soaked eyes…

But she couldn’t imagine ever seeing past the smug, self-assured second skin he wore long enough to be attracted to him. Ever.

Kel huffed and forced her attention to the artwork before her: Ebrait’s sea monsters and ash-gray temples, Ascira’s glamour and sprites, Dresva’s forestry and serpents, Cendor’s tech and phoenixes. She shifted further from Coup, brushing a hand along the next mural of the Four Alchemists.

Before arriving on Salta, the Alchemists had been failed inventors, laughed from their homes on the continent.

Salta’s magic had provided the perfect ingredients for their experiments.

Kel had only ever cared for her father’s stories of Cendor’s Alchemist, Landon Ryker, soaring on the mighty Deja, leaving fiery trails of destruction.

Before the other night, beside Coup in Sav’s new aviary, she hadn’t let herself think of those stories in a long, long time.

“I can’t believe my date left me to fend off an admirer by myself,” a voice teased from behind her.

Kel turned to see Coup, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, a lazy smirk across his face. His shoulder pressed against hers. She couldn’t stop her spine from stiffening.

Kel swallowed down a stronger, bitter mouthful. “Your date was miserable from watching that poor attempt at flirting.”

Coup’s smirk vanished. “Don’t pretend you know a thing about flirting, Varra. Just stick to glaring and we’ll get through this.”

Before she could reply, Coup turned back to the cobblestone path. “Come on. We’ll have to bat our eyes at each other for the cameras at least another hundred times before my brother’s satisfied.”

A chill spread down Kel’s arms. She flexed her hands in her pockets. She didn’t know why mention of Alma made irritation bloom through her chest. She should have just kept going through the motions of their charade, counting down the minutes before she could see Sav again.

Instead, her next words escaped of their own free will, injected with as much venom as a snakebite. “Bat your eyes another hundred times and you might actually convince them you care about people more than their praise.”

Coup slowed, half-turning toward her. “You seem awfully concerned about who and what I care about. Just focus on your own mask and we can get back to hating each other soon enough.”

Kel didn’t know whether to retort or apologize as they hurried along the path leading to the exit. Neither slowed until they spotted a small cluster of reporters waiting inside the gates.

Coup moved to hold her hand again, but she couldn’t bear it. She merely shook her head and tried to loosen the strange sinking in her stomach.