Who will break? Who can’t handle the heat?
She explained that it’s symbolic. Ashlord myth claims the bravest warriors used to ride in carriages that took them through the underworlds. For that reason, our ride today will have no windows. That way the symbolic warriors will not have to see how vast and dark the underworld really is.
I take my box of ashes and follow Ayala through the streets. I’ve put on all the provided gear she gave me, except the boots. Farian will get a good laugh when he sees that.
I should be nervous about the crowds that watch us march past, about the voices that call out my name. But I’m more worried about making my plan work. I’ve only been riding with my horse for six days. There’s a relationship now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he could spook over something completely random. My plans should mitigate some of the potential damage.
But there are still so many ways to fail.
The crowd of reporters parts for us. Ayala walks proudly at my side. She’s all confidence, even though I’ve given her no reason to believe I can win. I smile to a Dividian reporter and give a polite wave to everyone else. Most of the other riders are already standing in the great square. The temple bells ring out from their gilded towers. The waiting carriage is massive. Everything about it screams opulence. As I eye the riders, the crowd, I realize how normal all of this is for them. They’re accustomed to riding in finery. They’ve never known a life without riches. Each of them had one hundred thousand spare legions to spend on this event. My family would kill for that kind of money. I stand there in line with the others, and I have never felt so sure of myself.
Pippa’s the last to arrive. For the first time since meeting her, she looks disheveled. Nothing horrible, but her hair’s not perfect, and her eyes are a little bloodshot. Her mother and father stride beside her, unblinking as the cameras turn their way. I watch Pippa for a little longer, and it’s clear she’s not at the top of her game. That’s a good thing. Ideally, the eyes of every spectator will be drawn to an exciting, competitive race. Distractions will help me.
The Brightness doesn’t appear this time, but an official opens the carriage door. Her voice rings out over the gathered audience. “Bravos. Enter!”
The strapping rider raises a fist to the cheering crowd and ducks inside the carriage. Its frame shakes as he vanishes from sight. The official calls another name and I know mine will be called soon.
Ayala leans close and whispers, “I believe in you, Imelda. Show them what the Dividian can do.”
I don’t nod or whisper back. Instead, I stare at the gathered crowds and wonder what she means. What the Dividian can do? How will the world ever know what we can do? We’re made poor and her kind keep us poor. We’re supposed to do as much with half as the Ashlords do with double. I find the face of a young Dividian girl in the crowd. She’s standing with her father. He wears a finer suit than my father ever wore, but even these city-born Dividian observe the gathering of Ashlords with awe. The Races have always been a spectacle. One more chance to see the glory of the people we are made to worship. The Ashlords and their gods.
“Imelda Beru.”
I smile as I walk to the carriage. It is not forced or fake. I’m seeing the undeniable righteousness of my plan. I’m going to break their rules. I’m going to win their precious spectacle my own way. Maybe then they’ll see just what the Dividian can do.
I find myself in another box, but this time I’m surrounded by enemies. They seat us in the tightest, most uncomfortable circle imaginable. Not a window in the place. It’s only worse once we’ve started moving, as everyone’s jostled into everyone else. The cabin is heat and hatred and little else. I sit there and smile as the Ashlords take turns staring at me. It’s good to know just how far under their skin I’ve managed to dig.
The Ashlords put down the Rebellion on the backs of their gods. They’ve always been competent fighters and expert military strategists. But they called for fire to rain down from the skies and buried whole cities in ash. That’s what really won the war. And it took sacrifices, the blood of thousands. In the arena, the riders won’t have gods at their beck and call. It takes effort to push my memory of the Dread’s visit aside.
No gods now. It’s just me against them.
Looking around, there’s only one real bruiser in the bunch: Bravos. I’ve seen some of his gladiator vids. He’s strong and quick and brutal, but I still like my odds if it’s a straight-up fight. The problem is it won’t be. The back-end riders are always teaming up. The Races have a strange history when it comes to teamwork. Duos are well loved. Some of the most famous winners worked their way through the first legs together, then split at the end and raced each other for glory. Two is acceptable. Three’s a crowd. Four is a desperation worthy of shame.
But after my interview with Cassiopia, I know I have a target on my back. Most Ashlords won’t risk being embarrassed in a fight, either. They’ll come, and when they do, they’ll have friends with them. It’s just a matter of figuring out which crew hates me enough to make the first move. As the Longest Ride begins, I drink in all the details.
There are four racers who never look my way.
Pippa shut her eyes the second she sat down and hasn’t opened them since. She’s going to that place that only champions can go. Pushing everything else out except for the idea of winning. She takes one breath after the next. Her hair is drawn into a perfect racing braid. I memorize the details because I have a feeling that’s the face I’ll be looking at coming down the homestretch.
An Ashlord four seats to my right ignores me as well. I recognize him from the amateur circuit: Revel. He’s a burner if there ever was one. Even the purest phoenixes can’t sprint the whole race. Revel pushes up against those limits more than the rest. Fast and reckless, but he looks incapable of true violence. Even if he chases out to a lead, he’ll be lucky to keep it.
The Dividian sits on Revel’s right. She’s a quiet girl with a wide-set face and a determined look. She was all smiles in her interview, but she’s not smiling now. I can see a patient anger burning to life. I’m not worried about anyone teaming up with her, though. No self-respecting Ashlord would ever let a Dividian share their fire.
The last person who ignores me is Etzli. The experts describe her as consistent. All my research echoed that. There’s nothing flashy about how she fights or how she rides, but sometimes all you have to do to win is be careful. She picked a spot on the ceiling and has been staring coolly at it ever since. People like her worry me more than most. Not hot and not cold. It’s the lukewarm ones who can swing either direction. It makes them unpredictable, dangerous.
Once I’ve eliminated those four, I start to assess the other potential teammates in the carriage. Bravos might pair up with someone, but I can’t figure out who. It’s hard not to notice the dynamic happening with a trio to my left. Almost everyone in the carriage is tense. Tight jaws and taut shoulders. Not these three. I find myself blanking on one of their names. He’s from out on the coast. Very precise, good fighter, uncreative. And clearly not very memorable.