Eleven riders and eleven horses. Decorators from the Empire Racing Board flutter back and forth, making sure riding shirts are tucked in and flowers are positioned just so. Naturally, you’re standing front and center in the arranged display. A glance shows the other riders staggered in artful formation on your left and right. Morning light brightens the surrounding desert landscape. Hip-high barriers have been erected around each rider and their phoenix.

Interviews have been running all week. Revel promised victory. Etzli reminded the Empire she never makes mistakes. Imelda Beru’s interview was almost painful, full of mumbled answers and hesitant smiles. Adrian was quite the opposite. The Longhand went bold and called you out, but you know champions aren’t crowned for giving a good interview.

Words are wind.

Father would tell you that a champion has to be as wicked as they are quick. Mother would say that every detail matters. The difference between glory and ruin can be measured in a single stride. You take both of their lessons into account today, because the Races don’t start with a gunshot. They start now, your boots coated in red-desert dust, at the Great Display.

A crowd of five hundred gathers. Each of them purchased an absurdly expensive ticket in order to attend. You scan the ranks and recognize a good number of the waiting faces. It’s a crowd of royal cousins, influential gamblers, renowned journalists. These are the tastemakers who will curate the Races for public consumption. They’ll take back the information they learn today and spread it like a flame across the Empire.

An announcer begins. You half listen to his rendition of the story of the Great Display. Every part of the Races is a reminder. Each ceremony is a nod to the gods and the wars your people won with them at your side. The Great Display honors one of their very first gifts: the phoenix horses.

You have heard this story thousands of times. In past years you have stood where the gathered crowd stands now, proud of your lineage. But this year the presence of the Longhand and the Dividian serve as a reminder. It is not a story about one group of people, but three. It begins with the Dividian ancestors arriving at your shores. Invaders. Their great ships numbering in the thousands and their soldiers pouring into the coastal cities with every intent of conquering your ancestors. Until the gods answered.

The Madness opened the gates of the underworld. The Fury honored your people’s blood sacrifices and sent thousands of flaming horses stampeding into battle. Those horses were the ancestors of the same phoenixes your people ride today. Their arrival marked a turning point for all three cultures. The Ashlords became rulers. The Dividian were defeated, abandoned on foreign soil, and eventually subjugated. Lastly, a group of disgruntled Ashlords headed north after the war, disliking their people’s sudden taste for the gods. Proud men and women who refused to be dependent on something bigger than themselves. The town they founded grew into a city, which grew into a state, which blossomed into a country: the Reach.

It’s a story you will never forget, and so as this year’s announcer retells it, your eyes drift instead to your competition. Etzli stands on your right. She’s shorter than you by a breath. Everything about her is reserved. She wears the Race-standard jacket, little makeup, her hair up in a tidy ponytail. She doesn’t smile. Her hands do not shake. Like you, she was born for this.

On your other side, Adrian Ford. You try not to notice the way he looms over everything like a second sun. You note the sharp line of his jaw, the sprawl of his shoulders, the veined backs of his hands. He looks like he was carved by the gods themselves. Instead of fear, you feel adrenaline pulsing in your chest. You were born to ride, but you were also born to fight. Looking at Adrian Ford makes one thing clear: a worthy challenger has arrived.

“And we honor that day,” the announcer is saying, “with a Great Display of our own. Behold your riders. Behold their horses. There are placards along each barrier that describe the chosen components for each summoning. As a reminder, these will be the first combinations that each rider has locked in for the opening of the Races. It’s the first hint of what might unfold after the gunshot sounds. Come forward, witnesses! Let’s see how this changes the gambling lines!”

You raise your chin and smile. Money and power have bought each person in the crowd access. It is their chance to ask questions and inspect the horses. The first patrons make a line straight for you. A well-dressed Dividian nods in greeting, pen and notepad in hand. Clearly a journalist. He kneels and inspects the waiting placard. You watch as he scribbles down components and reads the inscription. Others are circling curiously.

“Vibrancy,” he notes with surprise. “That was your father’s opening rebirth, no?”

Your smile widens. He’s done his research. After a long deliberation, you decided to open the Races with the combination your father made famous. It was the one that helped him storm to an opening lead on the first day. You’ve trained with it for months. Vibrancy horses are known for two things: long strides and building speed. The longer they ride uninterrupted, the higher their top speed climbs. It is a summoning that has risks, too, though.

“So you’re hoping to jump out into first?” the reporter guesses.

It’s always better to let them wonder. You’ve learned that much from previous Races.

“Starting first is fine, but it’s finishing first I care about.”

He grins at that. “A summoning like Vibrancy depends on not bumping shoulders with other riders, right? Pretty risky considering the presence of Adrian Ford. Not to mention the recent breakup with Bravos. Tight quarters will slow you down.”

“Nothing slows me down.”

He scribbles that line on his pad before tipping his cap and heading on. The rest of the crowd presses forward. One of your father’s friends waves to get your attention. You shake his hand before answering more questions. You know that the crowd has only a short time to inspect the horses and make their interrogations. Some are just here for fun, but others will report back to newspapers and spread the word for gambling dens to make more informed bets.

You smile, answer questions, and do your best to shine as bright as the sun.

Finally, the announcer calls the crowd back. Some of the royal princes start chants for their favorite riders. You smile a little when your name begins to drown out the rest. The whole crowd weaves back toward the city gates as the announcer turns to address the contestants.

“Riders,” he says. “You now have exactly ten clockturns to inspect rival horses. As is the custom, no writing materials are allowed. Anyone caught with eye-cameras or recording devices forfeits their right to participate in the Races. You may begin.”

And so the Races begin.

You move with methodical precision. You do not spare glances for the other riders, because you only have so much time to take in all the details. Naturally, you head straight for Adrian’s horse first. You’re more sure than ever that he is your greatest threat. And gods, the thing is massive. You ignore the placard and circle the horse yourself. You want to drink it in with your own eyes. It’s a lovely creature. No surprise there. You’ve always wondered if Adrian’s size might work against him. Bravos has always had similar troubles. Both of them are too big. You are the right size and make for a proper rider. Adding thirty more pounds really tests a horse down the final stretches. But on a horse like this one…

“It’s perfect for him.”

Across the clearing, Adrian has made his way to your horse. There’s an intensity to the way he circles and studies, digging for the answers that might help him succeed on the first stretch. Clearly he’s more than a finely carved statue. The thought has you smiling.

You refocus, circling back to the front of his horse. The creature shuffles inside of the barrier and you take note of the almost-hidden claws. There are telling bulges along the backs of the legs, too. Your eyes flick down to the placard, and the written description confirms your guess. He’s chosen to start the Races with a Ravenous rebirth.

Pretty damn clever. It’s the kind of rebirth that’s built for riding tight. His horse will thrive in a more predatory role. It will welcome contact and interlopers, and after his interview, Adrian Ford is sure to have plenty of both. You watch for a few seconds. The unsettled horse pulls back its lips long enough to flash dagger-sharp teeth to match the razor-like claws. Anyone who presses Adrian on the first day is in for a nasty surprise. You know the only weakness to this particular rebirth is that they can be a little rebellious. Weaker riders can’t hold them on a steady course, but you saw Adrian without a shirt on. He’s not going to have a problem reining a horse in.

You nod once before moving on to the others. Etzli is next. You can’t help shaking your eyes when you see it. It’s a protective rebirth. Armored shoulders and neck. It’s such a conservative choice. You thought the girl might break loose in time for the real Races. Make a bold move for once, but clearly you were wrong about that. She’s after second place, again.

Revel’s got a true burner of a horse. Built for sprinting and little else. He’s tested you on a few of the shorter courses. No one gets off the line quite like him, but the Races are almost always four or five legs. You’ll never fear a man who doesn’t know how to finish.

Imelda Beru doesn’t disappoint. Her first rebirth is one you’ve never heard of before. The placard calls it “Changing Skies.” The description is just as enigmatic: “Allows the horse to defy gravity.” It sounds cool, but you’re also thinking it just means the horse can jump high? You look around long enough to find Imelda roaming through the other horses. Most of the group cycles quickly past, memorizing details, but Imelda almost looks like she’s touring a museum. You shake your head again. Poor girl doesn’t stand a chance.

Bravos’s horse draws your eye next. Its coat has darkened to a midnight purple that verges on black. Razor-sharp spikes rise from each shoulder. You can’t help smiling. Bravos is such a brawler. His first instinct has always been to lower a shoulder, hit someone hard, and trust that he’ll be the one standing when the dust settles. You’re pleased to see that he’s taken your advice, though. This horse combination isn’t just a bruiser. It’s a hunting horse. Designed to follow a trail—even your trail. It’s actually perfect.

Beyond his phoenix, you find the horses that belong to the only two relatives in the Races—Thyma and Capri. The siblings have disappointed on the amateur circuit. Capri was heralded for years as a riding prodigy. He snuck into an amateur event when he was seven years old and was leading the first two legs until his mother figured out where he was. The officials pulled him from that race, but not before his face was made famous on the Chats. Like you, he entered the amateur circuit with a crown already half on his head. The only difference is that you’ve worked hard to make sure yours still fits.

Thyma is his violent half sister. She just finished serving a one-year suspension after breaking the contact laws on the amateur circuit. You remember the race well. It was one of your fastest times, overshadowed by the fact that she’d shoved some unfortunate soul off a cliff.

Unsurprisingly, the two of them have elected to go with the exact same stamina rebirth. You’ve assumed they would team up ever since they announced their eligibility. An identical summoning just acts as confirmation. They’ll work together. Pairings are common enough.

You lift an eyebrow, though, when you inspect Darvin’s horse. He’s from out on the coast. The son of a famous general in the Helio Wars. Too bad his father didn’t teach him the basics of the Races. His combination is the exact same as the siblings. Teams of two? Normal. But three riders all working together? That borders on embarrassment.

The final two riders are barely worth the effort, but Mother would insist on thoroughness. Everything a rider doesn’t know is a potential weakness waiting to be exploited. So you circle around to get a look at Ashtaki’s horse. He’s finished last in every single amateur race to date. The favorite cousin of the Brightness himself. Entering the Races is more a fashion statement for him, and sure enough he’s gone with a flashy rebirth that will make him invisible on the horse’s back. It’s about the most useless idea you’ve ever heard.

Last is Nelli. Her paper-brown horse looks the same way it always does. It’s a thin thing built for a much slower burn because Nelli is the only slow-rider in the field. Really, she’s the only slow-rider in decades. She’s beloved by some of the alternative newspapers as the only rider who does not sprint. Instead, she’ll marathon her way through each night. A slow pace. No deaths. No rebirths. No switches. She treats the phoenix like it’s a lesser breed, carefully observing the limitations that their magic allows the rest of us to break. Too bad her method has been disproven. Her own record proves that. You know she’s never finished higher than fourth.

You circle back to your own horse and smile. It’s nice of Nelli, you suppose, to donate one hundred thousand to the winner. Bravos is already back by his horse. Same for Adrian and Etzli. Some of the others are still memorizing details when the announcer steps forward.

“The time has ended,” he says. “Teams are standing by to collect your horses and return them to the proper stables. You are free until this evening. Tonight you will join us in the Hall of Maps for the Unveiling. Rest well until then!”

The adrenaline in your chest pulses. Eleven riders. Eleven horses.

You briefly lock eyes with Bravos.

Only one winner.