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 amatchthat 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 ridernow, 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 bustlingcity, 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.”
EIGHT
Romar lifted his chin. “Mr. Cristo has had you and Warren Coupers on his radar for months, but after yesterday’s events he thought we should bump up our recruitment schedule before another sponsor steals you away.”
Bile filled Kel’s mouth.
Cristo Industries. He worked forCristo Industries.
The empire that manufactured almost all tech used by CAPR crews. Almost all tech used across the entire island. Acrossallof Salta’s islands.
And Canen Cristo wanted to recruither.
She ignored the card Romar offered. “You want tosponsormy team?”
“Yes, but not in the way of traditional sponsors. We don’t want to simply fund your CAPR endeavors—we want to invest in your future.” His smile grew. “But we’re looking to sponsor you and Mr. Coupers, not the Howlers. We’ve seen how well the pair of you work together, and how taken the media seems to be by your…friendship. We’d like you two to continue your partnership under Mr. Cristo’s guidance, without your teammates.”
She straightened. “I’m not interested. Not in being separated from the others on my team, or working for a corporation that plans on caging Cendor’s entire phoenix population.”
The man’s brow rose until it crinkled his forehead. “Miss Varra, Cristo Industries hopes to protect and expand phoenix numbers. Not eradicate them.”
“Don’t you sell your tech to the Cendorian Defense Force, who’s trying to clear Vohre Forest?” Kel’s voice rose, but she couldn’t—didn’t want to—stop. She’d attended enough rallies with Dira, seen enough Vohre protests on the news, learned too much from her father.
Leon Varra had died because of the council’s efforts to purge the forest. They’d begun cutting down outer acres they thought were vacant, and when a small dawn of phoenixes were discovered amid the rolling machinery, and one had been injured, Kel’s father had been the first they’d called for aid. It hadn’t been the phoenix’s fault—injured, scared, separated from its dawn—but her father’s death had been the match they’d used to justify emptying more and more of the forest. To find and collar phoenixes, and then sell them to the highest bidder.
Romar’s brow rose to inhuman heights. “While that may be one strategy that the Cendorian Council is considering, I can assure you Canen Cristo vehemently opposes it. Since they rarely breed in captivity, we hope to preserve wild phoenix numbers.”
