Cassiopia wisely directs the interview to talk about my phoenix and my alchemical abilities. Both of them are safer topics by far. Conversations that will keep her head on her shoulders. She eventually veers into one topic that actually troubles me.
“What about the Madness?” she asks. “It’s been some time since the god of passage intervened in the Races, but it happens. What will you do if that occurs this year?”
The Madness. One of the Ashlords’ deities. Daddy had me watching footage from each of the years that he supposedly involved himself. Riders pulled off impossible stunts. People fell almost at random from their horses. All the research pointed to the same phenomenon that shook the foundations of both major wars: the Ashlord gods and their otherworldly armies. Secretly, I know that if the Madness involves himself this year, my chances drop down to almost nothing.
“I guess it could happen, but I’m far more likely to face a wild creature. People have been attacked by wolves and wraiths and sunbursts more often in the Races than by the Madness.”
“Still, the threat looms,” Cassiopia replies. “Hasn’t that really always been the separating factor in competition between Longhands and Ashlords? Our connection to the gods? Can you really say that you don’t fear their meddling?”
The question is as big a trap as she can lay for me. Say yes and I make my people look weak. Say no and I’m taunting their gods. Daddy taught me to be brave, not stupid.
“Everything’s a threat in the Races,” I reply neutrally. “Everything.”
Cassiopia nods like she’s regained a foothold against me. Sensing a new theme working in her favor, she decides to keep pressing. But this time, she turns the conversation to Pippa.
“I want to end with a quote,” Cassiopia says, glancing at her cards. “Pippa had this to say about you: ‘It’s the lightning you have to worry about. You always see the strikes before you hear the boom….I’ll ride hard and I won’t look back. I’ll be in the distance, and he’ll just be the noise that follows.’ Any response to that, Adrian?”
“She knows jack-nothing about storms.”
Cassiopia frowns. “It sounded like an accurate description to me.”
“If you’re an observer.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“An observer,” I repeat the word. “That’s how a fan sees the Races. You and everyone else will be watching it from a distance. But that’s not how storms work when you’re in the middle of them. Storms are chaos. Rain pouring down, lightning striking, wind blowing, the thunder shaking everything. If you’re right in the middle of it, there’s no telling if the lightning or the thunder came first. Most times, you’re too busy trying to stay alive to notice anything else.”
“An interesting perspective.” Cassiopia smiles. “Well, any last words before we close?”
I turn my eyes to the dark circle of the camera. It’s not hard to imagine every boy and girl in the Reach leaning forward to listen. I can see Daddy in his chair, a drink in hand.
I want to wake them up.
I want revolution.
“Enjoy the storm.”
The screen cuts away from me instantly. Cassiopia is quick to take my words and make them her own, describing this year as the most exciting storm they’ve had in decades. She lists a schedule of appearances and pre-race events before signing off with some catchy tagline.
House lights go up. The crystal mannequins in the audience start winding down. I watch the faces disappear before glancing back at Cassiopia. She looks unsmiling and cold as her image flickers out. She’s afraid of how that went, the possible consequences. Maybe she should be. Stagehands flock forward to prepare for the next interview.
As I move into the shadows backstage, I turn a corner and almost walk right into Pippa. Her dark eyes flick briefly up. She doesn’t look surprised. Her kind never do. But a pulse of heat fills the air as she takes a step forward and unexpectedly sets one burning hand on my shoulder. Her voice is lower than a whisper.
“An awfully pretty package. It’s a shame they’re going to break it.”
I can only watch as she glides past. The heat goes with her, leaving the room feeling ice-cold. A shiver runs down my spine. She’s just trying to intimidate me, get in my head. Let them try to break me. I press on to my dressing room and find Antonio waiting there for me.
“Not exactly what we planned,” he notes.
“I’m just glad my hands weren’t shaking as I undid the buttons.”
“What made you unbutton your shirt? What angle were you playing?”
I offer him a grin. “Give them something to remember?”
He nods slowly. “Well, at least we know which night they’ll come for you now.”
“Which one?”
“The first night,” he answers. “And the second. And the third. And the fourth.”
A cold truth. His guess echoes Pippa’s.
“Sounds about right. I’ll be ready when they do.”
Antonio nods. “You’re more like your daddy than you know.”
Eleven riders and eleven horses. Decorators from the Empire Racing Board flutter back and forth, making sure riding shirts are tucked in and flowers are positioned just so. Naturally, you’re standing front and center in the arranged display. A glance shows the other riders staggered in artful formation on your left and right. Morning light brightens the surrounding desert landscape. Hip-high barriers have been erected around each rider and their phoenix.
Interviews have been running all week. Revel promised victory. Etzli reminded the Empire she never makes mistakes. Imelda Beru’s interview was almost painful, full of mumbled answers and hesitant smiles. Adrian was quite the opposite. The Longhand went bold and called you out, but you know champions aren’t crowned for giving a good interview.
Words are wind.
Father would tell you that a champion has to be as wicked as they are quick. Mother would say that every detail matters. The difference between glory and ruin can be measured in a single stride. You take both of their lessons into account today, because the Races don’t start with a gunshot. They start now, your boots coated in red-desert dust, at the Great Display.
A crowd of five hundred gathers. Each of them purchased an absurdly expensive ticket in order to attend. You scan the ranks and recognize a good number of the waiting faces. It’s a crowd of royal cousins, influential gamblers, renowned journalists. These are the tastemakers who will curate the Races for public consumption. They’ll take back the information they learn today and spread it like a flame across the Empire.