I definitely recognize Capri. A former prodigy who peaked when he was seven. It’s been nearly a decade since he actually did anything impressive on the back of a horse. But the one who really has my attention is Thyma. Her head is completely shaved and her eyes look like dark pits. She answers every glance her way by baring her teeth. The third time she does it, I can’t resist winking. The look she sends back promises blood.
They’re going to kill you.
The Dread’s warning echoes. His accusation of Daddy is there, too. I choose to dismiss both. Let them try. I wait and watch and by the time the carriage stops bouncing us into each other, I’ve recalled the names of the riders she’s teaming with. I memorize their faces and try to remember all the pre-race research I did. How do they fight? How did they ride?
When they come for me on the first night, I’ll be ready.
The whole group is led out into the scorch. There’s desert for miles in every direction. I breathe it in because it’s the closest I’ve felt to home all week. Every rider carries their ashes, their locked set of first components, and a regulation riding sack full of clothes and gear.
The riding location treats us to an iconic view of the Gravitas. The mountain chain cuts across the breast of the Empire like a scar, or maybe an open wound. Hundreds of years ago the Ashlords defeated the Dividian. Later they did the same thing to the Reach, but they’ve long ignored the people who call the Gravitas home. The lower mountain villages are full of outcast Ashlords and escaped Dividian rebels. Most of them still bow to the Empire when necessary, but travel deeper in and you’ll start running into the kind of people the world prefers to forget.
We walk forward until a row of buildings cuts off our view of the mountains. Temporary fences connect the barracks to familiar metal barriers enclosing the entire course. I can’t quite see the starting gates from here, but it’s still nice to get a look at the size of our cage for the next five days. The officials start herding us to our assigned buildings and a chill runs down my spine.
Everything after this is real.
No more games. No more practice rounds. Blood is going to spill and bones are going to break. I remind myself that if I go in there and do my job, this will just be the beginning.
War is coming.
Generals will look at the Gravitas on carefully etched maps. We’ll consider where to send troops, how many to send, and how many are likely to die in each engagement. A small voice inside of me begs for peace. Daddy’s voice echoes louder. He showed me the truth. The peace the Ashlords offer us is a lie. We exist at their mercy—and the mercy of their gods. My victory will be a sign to every Longhand across the Empire. Rise up and take what is ours.
The Empire’s fate is in my hands now.
Time to bloody my knuckles.
I’m directed by an official to the building on the far right. Bravos and Imelda Beru walk with us. There’s a few sideways glances, but for the most part we’re too focused on our own thoughts to say much to each other. The interior of the building is plain and undecorated. It’s similar to the temporary barracks used during wartime. Something that’s quick and easy to put up and take down. They’re only meant for a night or two.
Officials flock around us. They take our bags and start rifling through the contents. Our ashes are confiscated for inspection, too. I smile a little, seeing Bravos treated with the same lack of dignity that I am. The Ashlords revere the Races as a sacred event. It is one of the many ways they honor their gods. The only possibility more distasteful than a Longhand winning is one of their own cheating and getting away with it.
We’re taken into private bathrooms, strip-searched, questioned. The other officials circle like hawks until I’m given the all clear. They look a little disappointed at finding nothing. Like I’d be foolish enough to cheat. Dressed, I return to the main entryway. Imelda Beru stands off to one side. Bravos returns a second later, still tugging his shirt back over his head.
“Bravos, you’ll be on the far left.” The head official points to that door. “Imelda, you’ll enter the center door. Adrian, you’re on the right. Once you enter and close the door behind you, the only way out is forward. Do you understand?”
We all nod.
“You’ll find three separate rooms in your section of the building. The first room is your sleeping quarters. The second room is a hallway that provides access to the Powder Room. There you will order the five components you intend to use during the Races. Our officials will be available in that room to you before dawn tomorrow. You just need to knock on the glass.
“The third room is an open stable for your phoenix. You’ll arrange your ashes now, using the components you’ve previously requested. Sun will strike the ashes at dawn and the Races will begin just an hour after first births. Do not attempt to take any components other than those that you receive from the Powder Room. Any attempts to smuggle components into the Race will result in an immediate disqualification. Do you understand?”
Again, we nod. The official smiles at us now.
“Then you may begin. An official will monitor your first alchemical attempt. Once you’re satisfied with what you’ve done, you will be briefed on other aspects of the Race, including the use of your distance bracelets and switches. Enjoy your privacy tonight. Once you’ve passed the starting gates, every move you make will be monitored by the Empire Racing Board. The general public is watching, too. What you do and say can be held against you in a racing tribunal. Thank you for listening and good luck, riders.”
He looks squarely at Bravos when he wishes us luck. No luck for the hated Longhand or the forgotten Dividian, I suppose. The three of us exchange glances as an official opens each door. I walk forward without looking back. An official follows, closing the door on the others.
“The ashes?”
She gestures to a door on the opposite side of the room. I allow her to lead me through consecutive doorways and into the open stable. It’s a simple, square room, roofless to allow sunlight in. The angles are wrong right now, though. The setting sun’s already scaling the walls and half faded to the color of rust. My horse’s ashes sit in their box at the center of the room.
I make my patient way through the hanging gear first. Officials have slung my saddles and straps over temporary pegs. I carefully inspect all of it. The other riders aren’t the only ones who hate me. Antonio didn’t think officials would try anything, but Daddy taught me to be cautious. Most everything’s in order. Nothing suspicious.
The official watches as I cross back to the center of the room. Three cubes sit beside my box of ashes. I snap open the lids and inspect the components inside. All three look fresh, clean. But as I dump my horse’s ashes out on the floor, my fears are confirmed.
The ashes look normal, except for a handful of tiny, crystalline specks. I spread the pile out in a perfect square, my preferred rebirthing shape, and start picking the crystals out.