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My mouth waters at the thought, and I am immediately reminded of my own inability to trade for meat.
Racers are allowed to bring one pack with them. Most of the time, food takes up too much space in the packs, so people fill them with weapons, canteens, and more practical items, hoping to find sustenance on the Summit. A handful of dried meat only takes a little space, meaning Jaz would not have to spend much time hunting and could continue up the Summit much quicker.
I glance up at the ceremony to see a member of the Coalition wrapping a cord around the couple’s hands, and someone else is wrapping their bodies together with another cord. They kiss, and the crowd gathered cheers and then begins to disperse.
Music drifts up around us, jaunty tunes played on lutes. I beeline toward the line forming before the woman with the stew. When I reach the front, she blesses me with an entire bowl of steaming prawns floating in a rich broth. Green vegetables swim in the milky broth, and I catch a faint hint of spice. I step out of the line and sit on a bench, slightly away from the crowd.
As I’m practically inhaling the best food I’ve had in ages, my eyes scan the crowd for Max. I finally spot her dancing with a tall woman with waist-length blonde hair in an impossibly short skirt. Max looks positively minuscule next to that woman but is clearly in control. I can tell from my brief observations of their interaction that Max will not be going home alone tonight.
I throw my head back towards the warm sun, closing my eyes and soaking it in. For me, leisure time always carries a heavy current of guilt. Just as the tension starts to leave my shoulders, I become aware of a presence beside me on the bench and stiffen.
Slowly, I turn my head to lock gazes with a newly familiar pair of dark eyes.
“Well, Viola, we meet again.”
His voice is low and gravelly, the type of sound that sends shivers down my spine. It takes a lot to fluster me, and it seems this man is damn near trying his hardest to do it.
Feigning indifference, I take a small bite of my stew. “Amio, from the market, right?”
He shoots me a glittering smile, “That I am. Don’t you just love a wedding?”
I scoff, shaking my head. “It’s pointless. They’ll die in the Race, win, be expendable, or have to do it all again next year. Why bother? It’s never going to change. No use in getting attached to someone.”
His laugh is deep but chagrined. “How very… cynical of you, Viola,” he mumbles softly.
I look up at him, acutely aware of how he’s gazing at me. He looks at me with hungry, dark eyes. I’m unnerved, but I push that feeling down in favor of the coil of warmth in my lower belly.
He finishes his bowl, stands, and extends his hand to me. “Come dance with me. If we die in the Race, we should have fun before going.”
Against my better judgment, I allow desire to take control and I take his hand. “I’ll go with you. But I don’t dance.”
He laughs and gestures into the village. “Then, by all means, lead the way.”
I invited this stranger to my home. I don’t know what came over me. It’s not the first time I have brought a man to my bed, but to do so this close to the Race is reckless. Normally, I would spend this time training or lamenting with Max, but she’s got someone between her legs tonight, so I would be on my own anyway.
I must be losing some of my focus. But something about Amio unnerves me in the best way.
He trails his hand over my bare chest, nails scraping every few passes.
“So, you take the Race quite seriously, huh?”
I look at him in the setting sun’s light, the rays making his hair almost glitter. I fold my arms behind my head with a shrug. “My parents were very singularly focused on getting to Ytopie. My whole life, I was raised to Race and to win.”
He looks around at my shack, which clearly only houses one person. “And where are your parents now?”
“Ytopie.”
He stiffens, but it’s so slight it’s almost imperceptible. He recovers quickly, his fingers circling the soft skin low on my belly. I glance up at the wooden roof of the place I call home. It is not lost on me that moments like this could be possible for me. I could entertain the idea of settling down and making it my goal to get through the Race to return to my life.
But, as much as I want to believe I would be satisfied, I know I wouldn’t. Ultimately, all that matters is getting to Ytopie and seeing my parents again. Despite the anger I have felt for them this last decade, I love and miss them more than I can say.
Amio pushes himself up on his elbow, his fingers tracing dangerously close to the middle of my thighs. I slide out from under his hands and walk to the window. My dark hair is loose and wild against my bare back, mussed from indulging in my baser nature with him.
“This was fun, Amio. Thanks for the stress relief. But I’ve got to get to sleep - training starts early tomorrow.”
I don’t turn around to see his expression. I grab myself a mug and fill it from the pot on my wood stove.
“Wait, are you kicking me out?”
