made your skin crawl, even if you were accustomed to seeing them on a daily basis. Kehoks looked as if they’d been stitched together by a crazed god. There were dozens, even hundreds, of possible varieties, all of them with the same twisted wrongness to their bodies. In the batch before her, one had the heft of a rhino and the jaws of a croc. Another looked like a horse-size jackal with the teeth and venom of a king cobra. Another bore the head of a lizard and the hindquarters of a massive lion. According to the augurs, the shape of the kehok’s body reflected the kind of depravity it had committed in its prior life.
Tamra picked the lion-lizard and the rhino-croc. She wasn’t trusting newbies around venom, even in a practice race. Starting with the lion-lizard, she positioned herself in front of his stall and met his eyes.
Like all kehoks, he had sun-gold eyes.
The eyes were the only thing beautiful about any of them.
She let her gaze bore into his. Steadying her breathing, she shut out all other distractions: the whispers of her students, the screams of the other kehoks, even the muttering of other trainers, who had come to see what she was doing in the stalls so early in the training season.
She felt her heartbeat. Steady. Thump, thump, thump. Focusing on that, she willed the kehok’s heart to beat at the same tempo.
He fought her. They always did.
Rearing back, he struggled against the shackles.
“Calm,” she murmured. “Calm.”
Moving slowly, Tamra gestured to Fetran to pass her a harness and saddle. He did, and Tamra kept her thoughts firmly fixed on the kehok. Thump, thump, thump.
She tossed the saddle onto the kehok’s back. The monster shuddered but didn’t try to bolt. Continuing to move deliberately, she attached the harness—both the harness and the saddle clipped onto a chain net that was fitted over the kehok’s thick hide. The chain net allowed them to be shackled within their stall, as well as quickly saddled.
She repeated the process with the second mount.
When both were ready, she signaled her students: Fetran and Amira to the starting gates and the rest to the viewing stands. Grasping one harness in each hand, she barked at the two kehoks, “Follow!”
Kehoks didn’t respond to words.
They responded to intent. And will.
According to Becaran scientists who had studied the kehoks for ages, the kehoks read your conviction through a combination of your voice, your expression, and your body language. The augurs claimed they responded to your aura and its reflection of the purity of your purpose. But Tamra believed what most riders and former riders secretly believed: the kehoks read your heart and mind. Regardless of how they did it, though, the result was the same. Doubt yourself, and you’ll be gored. Don’t doubt . . . and they’ll take you to the finish line.
In other words, the more stubborn you were, the better control you would have.
And Tamra was very stubborn.
She just had to hope these two teenagers were as stubborn as she’d been.
Everyone watched as she led the two kehoks to the racetrack. She was, she admitted to herself, showing off. Not many people could control two at once. It had been considered a useless parlor trick when she’d been a rider—you were allowed to influence only your own racer—but it had come in handy as a trainer.
Locking the kehoks into the starting shoots, Tamra beckoned Fetran and Amira. They slunk closer, clearly regretting having agreed to this. She thought about letting them back out, but then thought, This is their chance at glory! Or at least it was a step in the general vicinity of glory. Whether they knew it or not, she was offering them freedom from the lives that had been mapped out for them. And a chance to change the fate of their souls.
“One lap,” she told them. “Loser mucks out the winner’s stall for a week.”
“Get ready to shovel,” Fetran said to Amira, his bravado belied only by the adolescent cracking of his voice.
Amira’s eyes were as wide as a hare who’s caught sight of a hawk. But she said, “You’re only saying that because you’re scared I’ll win.”
You’re both scared, Tamra wanted to say. “Mount up,” she ordered instead. “Belt yourselves in. Fetran, take the rhino-croc. Amira, the lion-lizard.”
The two students climbed the ladders into the starting shoots. Tamra moved around to the front, forcing the two kehoks to focus on her instead of the riders. Normally, an advanced rider