Grace and Fury (Grace and Fury #1)(34)

“This is so exciting,” Cassia said, appearing at the rail beside Nomi. “We’ve no horse racing in Sola.”

Maris shook her head. “I still don’t understand how the horses don’t kill themselves, racing along cobbled streets and over all those narrow bridges.”

“Many of them do,” Malachi said, coming up behind them. “Sometimes the riders too. The Premio Baleria is a brutal race. Blind corners, narrow streets, uneven footing, even some swimming—it takes skill, luck, and a superior horse to win.”

“How dangerous.” Cassia turned and leaned back on the rail, which accentuated her voluptuous figure. Her purple dress glittered in the lamplight. “Have you ever raced in it, Your Eminence?”

A muscle in Malachi’s jaw jumped. “I haven’t,” he said. “But my brother has.”

Nomi couldn’t read his expression, but there was a hum of tension beneath the words. She stared back down at the city; the race route was well lit, the rest cloaked in darkness. The finish line was marked by two large red flags hung high above the street from the base of the building where she stood.

One of the Superior’s emissaries would signal the start of the race, and then, when it concluded, the Superior himself would bestow the prize on the winner. His Eminence was standing not far away, his skeletal hands gripping the rail. He looked frail and gaunt, but he stood ramrod straight. As she watched, he nodded to someone, and a soldier peeled away from the wall and disappeared into the stairway.

Nomi turned back to Malachi. “I heard your brother won the race, Your Eminence.” Nomi had been trying all day to imagine Asa competing in such a race, but all she saw in her mind was his wry, gentle smile.

“Yes,” Malachi said flatly. “He did.”

Nomi raised a brow. Was the Heir jealous of his younger brother’s accomplishments?

Suddenly, a piercing shriek cut the air.

Nomi’s ears rang in the silence that followed. There wasn’t a view of the start of the race from this vantage point, but she could hear a sound that resembled distant thunder, and a horse screamed.

Cassia squealed with excitement. Maris leaned over the rail, craning to catch a glimpse of the runners. The crowd shifted to the other side of the turret to get a better view. Malachi offered his arm, and Cassia took it, quickly, before Nomi or Maris had the chance. They followed the gaggle of spectators. Maris trailed behind. Nomi turned to follow, but she caught sight of Asa leaning against the rail a few yards away, on his own. There were only a few people left on this side of the tower. Nomi hesitated.

Malachi didn’t look back. He disappeared around the curve of the building, Cassia and Maris in tow. With a last flutter of uncertainty, Nomi headed the other way.

Distant cheers rang out, and the thunder of hooves grew louder. Nomi wandered to an empty spot along the rail next to Asa, hoping she wasn’t being too obvious.

He smiled when he noticed her. “Not much of a view here. Are you not a horse racing fan?” There was something infectious and irreverent about him, so different from Malachi and his narrow-eyed brooding.

“I’ve never seen a race, so I can’t say,” Nomi answered. “But I’m not fond of crowds.”

Asa leaned over the rail, trying to see the horses as they approached the home stretch. The sound was building: the roar of spectators, the screams of the horses, the percussive throb of hoofbeats.

Nomi wanted to pull him back, away from the edge. It made her nervous, the way he hung himself over the rail, more of his body suspended in the air than fixed to the ground. “You are a fan of horse racing, I hear. Word is you won this race once, the youngest man ever to do so,” Nomi said.

He glanced back at her with a devilish gleam in his eye. “I did,” he said. “Premio Belaria champion. I have a great golden cup. Sometimes I drink wine from it to remind myself of how incomparably talented and accomplished I am.”

“And modest?” Nomi added, laughing.

Asa affected an innocent, wide-eyed expression. “Supreme master of all things, at your service,” he said, bowing. “I apologize, but supreme masters are not at all modest.”

Nomi rolled her eyes at him, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

The first of the horses careened around the corner and down the street directly below them. They still had to make a loop through the main piazza, up a small bridge and through a canal before arcing back to the finish line, but from this vantage, the rest of the race would be visible. Already, the rail was filling with people again.

“Are supreme masters all-knowing?” Nomi asked, shooting Asa a look.

“Of course,” he said. “In fact, I can tell you that the horse in yellow, with the blood-streaked jockey, will be our winner.” The horse and jockey in question were not the only ones showing signs of battle. Nomi saw another horse with a gash in his shoulder, and another whose jockey had sagged low over his neck and seemed on the verge of tumbling off.

“When I raced, I was covered in blood by halfway through,” Asa continued conversationally. “Gashed my forehead on the underside of a bridge going through a canal. Take it from the all-knowing supreme master—it’s a wild, wild race.”

Nomi’s heart hammered in her ears. She glanced around. Malachi was nowhere near, and no one else was paying attention. This was her chance. “With all that all-knowingness,” she ventured, staring at the race because she couldn’t bear to look Asa in the eye, “does the supreme master have any idea what happened to a lowly Grace’s sister?”