“Are they demons?” Quinn asks. “Bound for eternity for their sins?”
You can’t help laughing as you turn a curious glance back to her.
“Demons? No, those are all my fans.”
You wave once and the roars boom even louder, the cheers grow even more obscene. Flicker noses into position and a series of metallic snaps lock in around you. Inside the silver stall, bright-red numbers tick their dramatic way down to zero. Quinn’s breathing heavily. You can almost feel the panicked thoughts as they whip through her head.
You lower your voice to a whisper. “Hey. I’m not sure how all of this works, but follow my rhythm and movements, all right? Leave the riding to me. It’s what I do best. Hold on tight at the start. I’m going to startle our horse out of the gate.”
Quinn grunts an affirmative, but the noise is swallowed as thunder roars out from every direction. The sound refines and snaps into the crisp boom of a gunshot. Metal catches release all eleven horses into the dusty mouth of the desert. Your horse jolts clear of the gate, but a quick tug of the reins stutters him, and you hold on tight as Flicker rears up on his hind legs.
Quinn’s nails dig into your side as his legs kick wildly. And then you land back on the earth. Ahead, there’s horses and dust and distance. Except for one other rider. Bravos’s horse comes out of the gate frantic and unsettled, too. He leans over and whispers to calm the creature. When he rights himself, you can’t help but grin. He’s done up his hair for the event. Intricate braids on one side of his head, all clasped with silver jewelry. He looks so perfect it hurts.
None of the other riders will see that you’ve both stayed behind and that you’re riding together now, but the fans certainly will. It’s the only thing any of them will be talking about after the first day. They’ll see you working together, and how well you’ve hidden your plan, and the crowds will obsess over every single detail.
“Convincing enough?” Bravos calls.
“More than enough! Let’s ride.”
Eyes along the metal barriers follow the interaction hungrily. There’s anger and astonishment and triumph. You gather the reins and urge your horse into motion. Bravos follows. You can feel Quinn shifting her body against yours, falling into your rhythm. The first hundred lengths give you a view of the valley below. The other riders have a massive lead on you.
“We’re losing,” Quinn points out.
“For now,” you reply. “Watch and learn.”
Ahead, there’s a pair of towering weathered stones. Quinn’s grip tightens as you pull Flicker into a sharp turn. Tucked just behind the boulders is the hidden trail you spotted at the map unveiling. Mother’s advice is already paying dividends. It winds you closer to the metal barrier along the course’s western flank, close enough to see the curious expressions and hear the hungry cheers. You can’t help smiling. Is there anything better than leaving people stunned?
It takes half an hour to reach the open plains and increase your speed. The pace you set is far from gentle, but you know it’s not enough to just find the secret trail. A champion takes advantage of every stretch, every second, every opportunity.
Once the path widens, you urge your horse into a full gallop. It’s an easy route that winds slightly uphill. Untouched, your horse starts to build momentum. Your father’s favorite alchemical combination—Vibrancy—is working exactly as planned. It’s just you and Bravos out here. No one’s harassing your flank and you can feel the top speeds getting faster and faster. Bravos would fall behind, but his horse is designed for the hunt. As long as there’s something to chase, it can burn hard and fast. Take the lead and the horse gets bored.
You glance back. He looks so stark and handsome in action. Dark strands of his hair catch and toss in the wind. You can’t help loving how much he looks like a champion.
The first leg couldn’t have started any better.
One thought pulses in the front of my mind: survive.
I remember enough of the map to know that the first day has us winding down a single, narrow valley. The riding was always going to be tight, but the presence of so many other riders has the first few sprints feeling claustrophobic. Adrian shouldered into a lead right away. Even through the growing cloud of dust, I’m close enough to see Etzli and Revel nipping at his heels. I do my best to follow all the little rules Martial has taught me over the years. Tight on the turns. Pressing my horse out of the shade and into the sun to increase endurance. It’s a little harder, though, with company on your heels. A trio of riders have started closing in.
My phoenix’s rebirth is designed for evasive maneuvers, but their horses are designed for stamina. I can tell because as they trade trots for gallops, each of their sprints lasts a little longer than mine. The thought has me fired up again. Must be nice to choose rebirths knowing no one’s going to try to put you into the wall. It’s a classic example of an early alliance. I shake my head because no one approached me about forming an alliance. And why would they?
I’m just the Dividian.
“Let’s show them who we really are.”
We burn around corners and dig deeper with each stretch. An hour passes. A second hour. I can see the surprise on the faces behind me. I have to remind myself that this was always the part where I could hold my own. I am as fine a rider as any of them. It’s what happens at night—on foot and defending my ashes—that separates me from the rest. That truth is a good reminder of my goal for the first leg: survive at all costs.
A particularly long straightaway comes, and that’s when they catch me. I nudge my phoenix to the right as I hear the approach of their beating hooves. A girl name Thyma leads the pursuing pack. I recognize her from all the pre-race activities. Her eyes swing over to me with every promise of violence. Riding in her shadow are two others: Capri and Darvin. I’m half expecting them to just skip past me. We’re behind the leaders. Swinging in for contact with me will only slow them down. But after a brief and silent exchange, their riding formation shifts.
Thyma commands her horse with a firing get-get.
All three of them glide slowly across the canyon. The threat almost has me fumbling the reins. I’ve logged thousands of hours at Martial’s ranch, but I’ve never had someone actually press me like this. It takes all of my focus to push that fear aside. I have to remember why I was invited here. I have some tricks these Ashlords have forgotten.
Thyma pushes the pace. The control she has over her phoenix is impressive. I watch as her horse noses slightly ahead of mine. Both of them are pinning ears at each other. There’s still a gap—four or five widths—but the distance keeps shrinking. I’m so close to the right wall that my riding pants are almost scraping the stones. I’d be worried about my phoenix spooking if it wasn’t designed for this exact moment. A turn is coming up and I can see what’s going to happen as clearly as any prophet.