As I turn back, everything inside me turns to ice.
Capri’s grunting with the effort of pulling himself up onto my horse. His muscles bulge and I see sweat running down his face. In an impossible burst of strength, he flings himself up and over one flank. His body slumps against my phoenix’s neck. His legs aren’t working, so he can’t hook them into the stirrups right, but he’s in the damn saddle and that’s all that matters.
I drop the canteen and dart after them, closing the distance, but Capri’s plenty fast with the reins. The horse jolts forward, out of reach. I give chase as they trot off to a safer distance, but the horse is quicker, its strides longer. When Capri’s got a decent-sized gap, he turns to get a look at me. He’s all awkward and slumped, but there’s a grin on his face as he meets my eye.
“Remember this,” he calls back. “Remember the sight of me riding away.”
“Capri.” I make the word a warning. “That’s a purebred phoenix. You know what—”
“Like hell it is,” he snaps. “Like anyone from the Reach would even know how a purebred rides. How they look and smell and act. You think I’m foolish enough to believe that?”
I let the air rush out my nostrils. He’s wrong. He’s dead wrong. I look up into the air, knowing officials and fans are watching this on a live feed. I make each word loud and clear. I won’t be blamed if he dies a death this foolish.
“You heard me warn him! If he dies, it isn’t my fault.” I set my eyes back on Capri. “Last chance. I swear to you that’s a purebred. You steal it and you’ll burn.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll be the one who beat the Longhand. I’ll be more than the kid who snuck into a race. I’ll be remembered as the one who ended your race.”
The sound of his whip follows the promise. I chase, but my strides can’t come close to matching a phoenix’s. Capri works him into motion, up into a gallop. Dust rises and my view is distorted in the bright swirls. I can’t tell the difference between the beating hooves and my panicked heartbeat. I shout as they reach the first forest path. Capri shifts in the saddle. There’s a terrifying moment when I wonder if the old myths are just myths. Maybe my horse isn’t…
The flames that come are brighter and hotter than any I’ve ever known. A god-sent storm. They break the morning in two. Everything echoes and bursts, and I can hear Capri’s screams. The heat’s so intense that I have to stop well away. All I can do is watch as fire consumes both horse and rider. The nearest branches catch, and before long smoke is pouring into the sky above us.
Capri rolls off one side, a falling mass of flames. The second he hits the ground, my stallion’s fire winks out. Its eyes are ringed with flame, but its coat returns to that onyx color. I move forward to help Capri, but the flames still have him, and they’re devouring everything. I know I’m innocent, but it doesn’t make hearing and watching him die any easier. Horrified, I skirt the body and get my horse settled.
He’s not bothered by Capri’s death. It’s the same way a wolf wouldn’t be bothered by the last gasps of a rabbit. They’re just animals acting out their nature. We leave Capri’s body behind. The forest fire trails us, smoking and clouding every path. None of the riding comes easy, but we ride fast and hard because no matter how far we seem to go, the sound of Capri’s screams follows.
I have to force myself to think of numbers. I keep my hands tight on the reins and look to my bracelet for distraction. Revel chases Bravos down around noon, but fades again. I can almost imagine the two of them ramming into one another somewhere up ahead, slowing down the pace for both of them. Bravos holds to a slim lead. My name hovers in third. As fast as they push the pace, I know I’m gaining on both of them.
Something about Capri’s death wakens a deeper part of my phoenix’s nature. On a few of the corners, I try to slow him down, but he snorts his displeasure and ignores me. It takes all of my mental effort to set the visceral memories of Capri’s death aside. I know I’ll never truly forget the flames and the screams, but for now I focus on what I can see in front of me.
I lean over my phoenix and clench my jaw until it feels like my entire body’s locked in. I watch the gap start to shrink. We burn through corners and tear down straightaways.
I hope they see my name getting closer and closer and closer.
I’m coming for them.
Bastian leads us deeper into the mountains.
I have only visited once, for my cousin’s wedding, but I never forgot the taste of mountain air. It’s sharper and colder and thinner. We start through a valley and only the risen sun can shake the night cold from our bones. No single mountain reigns in the Gravitas. They’re a brooding group of iron giants. As morning sweeps the fog clear, I see their dark shoulders already surround us. The first valley looks green and healthy, but ahead are the warning signs of a stark world. Here, the Empire’s rebels rule their own kingdoms.
At least, that’s what I always believed.
Bastian moves us like ghosts. Two of his men range ahead, scouting and reporting back. He shuts up laughter and noise until the trees strangle any sight of the desert behind us. I can’t help glancing over at him. Every stride he takes is confident, like he’s always known he’d be escorting an enemy of the state through these mountain passes. When he notices me watching, I pretend to be fascinated by the metal arm pumping and gasping at his side.
“I’ve never seen engineering like that.”
“Stole the design from the Longhands,” he explains. “I lost the arm when I was a kid. Let’s just say I’ve tested out a lot of prosthetics. This one’s the most fun.”
He throws a quick signal to his second in command. I watch as the man strides out ahead, taking point, and Bastian makes a deliberate effort to fall back and walk beside me. I try to bury the nervous feeling in my chest with curiosity.
“Why not ride?” I ask. “We’d get where we’re going in half the time.”
Bastian shakes his head. “Not all of my men are horsed. Even if they were, phoenixes leave trails we can’t hide. We might raise them up as ours, but they’ll always belong to the Ashlords. Sometimes it’s better to go on foot if you don’t want to be followed.”
“And you really think they’ll follow me?”
He nods. “You stole two hundred thousand legions on a national broadcast.”
Hearing him put it that way makes me smile. “I did, didn’t I?”
There’s that grin again. “Hell of a start to your career as an outlaw.”
I give him another smile, but this time there’s less heart in it. The word outlaw isn’t one I ever thought would apply to me. I always dreamed I’d be a rider, a champion. The choice I made has good and bad consequences both. My family will have enough money now to change their lives forever. I made sure to check the law ahead of time. The Ashlords emphasize personal responsibility above all else. My rebellion cannot be charged to my family.