I resettle my equipment, eye the drop, and let go of the switch.
Air whistles up as my body smacks back into the saddle and my hands scramble for the sudden mane and I’m laughing as Hammer comes flashing back into existence. The fans will get a final glimpse of this, and they’ll see me laughing as I escape their precious Races.
“Get, get! Let’s ride, girl!”
Dust plumes around us. I shift my utility belt, waiting until I’m beyond the sight of the course’s cameras, and then I let the precious set of black containers—full of the world’s most expensive components—fall to the ground. Hammer pushes into a gallop, making a line toward the distant mountains. The officials chase, all four in pursuit, but I know it will take them all day to catch me. And even if they do, they’ll return empty-handed. All I have to do is escape.
All I have to do is reach the mountains.
Eyes to the great, iron rises, I ride.
“I can’t feel my legs. Why can’t I feel my legs?”
The Ashlord hasn’t stopped talking since he woke up. He’s got their dark skin, their dark hair, their dark eyes. During our first fight, I thought he’d shaved matching notches in both eyebrows. But up close, I can see they’re scars. Surgically perfect cuts. Some kind of blood sacrifice when he was born. The kind of Ashlord blessing that’s supposed to protect him from moments like this one.
The worst-case scenario is playing out. He can’t move his legs. His upper body isn’t doing much better. He can make fists with both hands, but moving them functionally is a stretch. I’ve used up the last of my bandages on him. At least the sutures are holding. He stares up at me, and his face is full of hate—but also touched by a growing fear.
“It’s temporary,” I say. “You fell. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“You pushed me,” he says. “You pushed me off the cliff. If I die…”
“You’re not going to die.”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
I nod again before glancing up the canyon. The sun has already stirred my ashes back to life. I made a last-minute adjustment. Needed a phoenix that could carry a little more weight. It trots nearby, sniffing loudly and stomping its feet. I realize I’m losing precious minutes. Time that will matter as we race to the finish line on the final day. And I’m wasting it on someone who beat the hell out of me two nights ago. The Ashlord’s dark eyes trace my movements around the camp, following as I gather my belongings.
I broke him. He didn’t fall on his own. He didn’t trip. I pushed him, and the Racing Board will know that. It means I have a decision to make. Either I take him with me and keep him alive, or I race his death to the finish line. Annoyed, I spin the cap of the canteen off and set it down next to him. His eyes flick to it and he licks his lips.
“Drink.”
He’s pushed up on his elbows. I watch him reach and fumble the canteen. He tries to open his hands, then tries to close them around the body of the container. He manages enough force to almost knock the thing over into the sand. There’s no chance of him lifting it up and taking a drink.
There are three full days of riding left. I consider the odds of him surviving in the shadow of these cliffs, without water or food, his infected wound attacking him from the inside out. I look back down at him and he looks like he’s considering the same odds as me.
“Don’t leave me,” he says. “Please. Don’t leave me.”
I kneel down next to him and heft the canteen. Carefully, I tilt it so water runs down into his mouth. He drinks, half choking, but when I tilt the canteen away, he looks relieved, like the water is my promise to stay with him. “You left me the first night.”
His eyes widen. “This is different.”
“How?” I ask. “You didn’t know if I’d survive or not.”
His chest heaves now. He understands I could really leave him. He understands, maybe for the first time in his life, that his decisions have consequences. The utter surprise there makes me want to leave. It is the Ashlord way to rule without looking down.
I turn my back on him and start saddling my phoenix. He moans the whole time. I ignore his pleas, letting the fear steal through him, letting the Empire see one of their blessed ones beg for his life. The noise goes on and on until I’ve pulled the final strap tight.
“Your name is Capri, isn’t it?”
He nods at me.
“Capri, if I leave you, you’ll die. Agreed?”
He bites his lip and nods again.
“If I leave you, no one will come for you. They could send help. But I think they’d rather see me disqualified than see you live. Agreed?”
A third nod. The Ashlords have no mercy for their weak and wounded.
“There are three more days of riding. I’ll take you with me today. Once someone crosses the finish line, they’ll come to get you. Two rules. You keep your mouth shut. Not a word. To me or to anyone. Just because I’m riding with you doesn’t mean I want to listen to what you have to say. Second, don’t touch my horse. It’s a purebred. I’m guessing you know what purebreds do to horse thieves?”
He squints past me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth about the horse.
“They burn them,” he says finally.
“You’ve been warned. Try to steal my horse and your death is on your head.”
It takes some work to get him up on his feet. I wrap his arms around my neck and turn so he’s leaning fully against my back. Taking the rope from my pack, I loop it around the two of us until we’re tied together tight enough to be hostages.
Luckily, I’m taller than him by about a head. His face is pressed into my right shoulder, and his feet bounce off the backs of my calves. He could try to choke me, I guess, but he doesn’t have enough strength to light a candle right now.
It’s easy enough to lift him. Thankfully he’s light, but like most Ashlords, his skin burns a little hotter than normal. The heat has me sweating as I struggle to get the two of us onto my phoenix’s back. His legs are the hardest part. They flail and bounce and disagree. I can tell he’s at least trying to help. He pulls up with his arms, but it still takes a few minutes to get us situated in the saddle.
My horse doesn’t love the extra weight, or the scent of the Ashlord, but I get him settled and trotting. We make it out of the first canyon and we’re looping through a second when I finally hear the Ashlord muttering into my back. He says it just loud enough that I can hear him, but not loud enough for the audience to catch the words.
“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for saving me.”