Unless I change the steps. I have to figure out a different way to win.
There’s a knock at the door.
Ayala smiles at me and rises to answer it.
“Let’s talk more tomorrow. You’ve got a surprise tonight.”
There’s a little click as the door opens, and a series of loud booms as someone comes barreling into the room. Ayala laughs as Farian trips into my line of sight. He’s wearing his favorite cardigan and his best pants, with his hair styled like he’s hoping to visit a few clubs. He’s even got his handheld camera pressed to one eye, and it’s pointed at me.
“And here she is. The Alchemist, Imelda Beru, a rising star from the corner of the Empire. Clearly, the fame hasn’t gone to her head yet. Not if she’s still wearing those boots.”
And for the first time in days, I laugh. Down deep in my gut.
“You’re here for two seconds and already snacking on me, Farian?”
Ayala heads for the door and waves her goodbye.
“We’ll talk in the morning. Good night, you two.”
Farian puts the camera away long enough to give me a hug. I can feel the burdens of the week falling off my shoulders as he sits down and gestures to his feet.
“Can you believe these slippers? They’re so comfortable.”
I laugh again. “Slippers I can believe. But you? Here? Impossible.”
“I got in this afternoon,” he says. “Ayala said you were resting before the Hall of Maps. Not that I minded. Spent all day filming. The light here is unbelievable. And the people. I love this place.”
“A new documentary: Farian in the City.”
“Doesn’t sound half bad,” he says. “But you’re deflecting from the fact that you’re about to ride in the Races. Is this serious? Is this really happening? When you end up winning this thing, just promise to take me with you. And then promise me you’ll buy some new boots.”
I throw a stray slipper at his head. He ducks it, laughing.
“I like these boots. They’re comfortable.”
“I can see one of your toes.”
“Shut it. These are the boots that got us here.”
“Fair enough.” He sits up, looking around. “So they’re clearly hooking you up?”
I nod. “With everything. They actually offered new boots. Gave me a riding jacket. A handful of companies sponsor the Qualifier every year. All the money goes into a fund to help search for Qualifiers the next year. More scholarships, too. Ayala’s been training me.”
And with that thought, all the bitterness returns.
“Not that it’s helped.”
He doesn’t hear the last sentence. “It’s a dream come true.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess? Enthusiasm’s not your strong suit, but this is the Races, Imelda.”
“Exactly, this is the Races. I’m going to ride against the best competition in the Empire, Farian. They’ve trained their entire lives for this. They’ve been with their phoenixes since they were little kids. Don’t you ever wonder why the Qualifiers always lose? Martial won his year because he was the best Dividian duelist in history. I can’t beat my way out of a sack. All I’ve gotten in training so far is bruises.”
“You’re not that bad.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Okay, you’re pretty bad, but some past winners never fought, you know?”
“I know that, but all it takes is one mistake and I’m done. None of the Ashlords are foolish enough to kill me, but a few broken bones?” The anxiety creeps in. Farian shifts in his seat and I can tell he’s surprised to hear me say that I’m afraid of anything. “Have you seen the Longhand? Everyone says he’s got a target on his back. Good luck with that! He’s a monster. Most of them are that way. I’m pretty sure that girl named Thyma growled at me tonight.”
“Wow,” he says. “Thyma actually growled at you? It’s kind of an honor—”
My glare cuts off his sentence.
“Right. Let’s talk through it all.”
He crosses over to Ayala’s abandoned desk. The map she was drawing from my descriptions is there, but it’s incomplete to the point of uselessness. Incomplete because my eyes were drawn to the other parts of the map. I knew I recognized them, but couldn’t confirm it until I got back to look at the Empire’s official atlases, the ones Ayala borrowed for me.
They’re not as exact as the course drawing, but more than detailed enough to find the strip of mountains I knew I recognized. The course is near the village my cousin Luca lives in. One I know of only because we went in secret to his wedding. His father was a rebel soldier in the war. He acted as a double agent for the Longhands, and the only safe place for people who stood up to the Ashlords in the war is the mountains. If the scales are right, we’re racing half a day’s ride from the Gravitas Mountains. I just wish I’d been as focused on the map as I was on placing the familiar surroundings. Now I’m left with next to nothing.
“Check out these components,” Farian says, whistling from the desk.
He holds up one of the random papers I was handed at tonight’s ceremony. I glanced at it once, but realized not knowing the course’s layout means I don’t even know what alchemy will help me win. I’m riding into the fire of the Races with a few blindfolds on.
“Wow,” Farian says. “They have Ivory of Earl.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t even think that still existed.”
“Welcome to the Races,” he says. “Some of this stuff is high-end. I bet Martial would kill to get a few of these powders in his stockroom. You have any mixtures in mind?”
Before I can reply, his eyes go even wider.
“They’ve got Kisspowder! No wonder the entry fees are so steep. Five containers of Kisspowder would sell for, what, seventy-five thousand legions? If the entry fee was any lower, you could just sign up and cash out on the components for a profit. I could start my own videography business with that kind of money.”
The idea has my attention, but after a second I shake my head.
“They don’t let you keep components.”
“No?” he asks, still scanning the sheet. “I’ve never seen the officials confiscate them.”
“Rules are on the back,” I reply. “Only the winner keeps what’s left in their belt.”