Martial appears an hour before I’m scheduled to leave.

Yesterday was my last day with all of them. Farian and I walked around the entire city, laughing and eating the kind of food they would only ever serve in a city like Furia.

After, I sat down with Martial and Ayala. A final strategy session. They both had some great ideas. I let them talk me through it even though I have my own plan now.

Change the game.

If I’m going to win, I have to win my way.

Ayala is scheduled to escort me in thirty minutes. She’s the last person I’ll talk to before the Races begin, which is why I asked Martial to wake up early and pay me a private visit. I can’t share my plan with Ayala. It would break her heart, and I’ve actually started to like the woman. But Martial? He’ll understand exactly what I’m going to do and why I’m going to do it. And I need him if my plan is going to have any chance of working.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Morning.” I usher him in and lock the door. I’m about to unload my plan when he shakes his head. Quietly, he leads me into the bathroom. He runs the dueling faucets in the massive bath, filling the room with noise, before giving a nod.

“Never know who might be listening.”

I lower my voice to a whisper. “I need your help.”

“I figured you had a plan of your own.”

“I know where the course is.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“During the revelation, I kept getting distracted. I was seeing the edges of the map and not focusing on the highlighted course. It just looked so familiar.” I pull the folded map from my back pocket and point to a western corner. “It looked familiar because it is familiar. My cousin married a girl in one of these mountain villages. We all had to travel there in secret for the wedding.” I trace a section of the map with a finger. “This is the course.”

Martial looks at me uncertainly. “That’s great, Imelda. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but most of the other riders will know that, too. If they don’t know where it is, they’ll probably have redrawn the course from memory. That’s how the Ashlords are trained. Most of the good ones can take mental pictures. They go home after the revelation and draw the whole thing. Some of them are trained so well that they don’t even have to draw it. They just have it in here.” He taps his temple. “It’s a standard talent among their kind.”

I shake my head. “My advantage isn’t knowing the course.”

He frowns in confusion. “Now you’ve lost me.”

“My advantage is how well I know the outskirts. The Gravitas Mountain chain, Martial. I rode through these areas during the week of my cousin’s wedding. The two families rented out phoenixes from a nearby ranch. Weddings are boring, so I spent most of my time riding. I’ve been through some of these passes before. I know the terrain.”

Martial frowns. “Look, Ayala should have told you this….Really, you should know this from watching it every year. The course is enclosed. They raise these huge metal barriers around the whole area. From start to finish. So you can’t get out. And what good would it really do to get outside the walls? The paths on the course are always more direct than going around.”

“Not for what I have planned.”

I reach into my other pocket and pull out a small square of paper. The instructions I’ve written on it are absolutely thorough. I hand the slip to Martial and watch as his pale eyes scan the contents. The longer he reads, the wider his eyes get. When he reaches the end, he sets a hand on the marble frame of the bathtub to keep himself steady.

“You can’t be serious.”

“It will work. I just need your help.”

He’s stunned. “You’re asking a lot of me, Imelda.”

“Don’t just do it for me, then,” I reply. “Do it for my family. Do it for Farian.”

He takes a few steadying breaths and finally nods.

“I’ll send the letters today. What happens if they figure out what you’re doing?”

“They won’t. It will work. Trust me, it’s going to work.”

“Great. Then what? What if it works?” he asks. “Ashlord law…”

“Is very clear on the subject. The crime I’m committing can’t be extended to anyone but the person who commits it. I spent half the night going through their standard book of laws just to make sure it wouldn’t echo back to my family.”

The water’s still running loudly behind him. I hate asking this of Martial, but if there’s anyone who will understand what I’m trying to do, it’s him. He reads the instructions two more times, shreds the little paper, and tosses it into the bath. We both watch the flowing water snatch the paper, curling and darkening it before sucking it down to the sewers.

“It’s risky.” He smiles, looking ten years younger. “But if anyone can do it…”

We go over a few more details before he leaves. His absence makes me nervous. All that’s left is execution. No more planning or dreaming or hoping. I just have to do the impossible. I have to make something out of nothing. Farian’s always called me the Alchemist.

It’s time to take the title seriously.

Ayala arrives. She spends five minutes fluttering around the room like a mother hen. I smile at her. It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling affection for any Ashlord. She’s nervous. Today marks the last ceremony before the Races begin.

Today is the Longest Ride. It’s a classic Ashlord tradition. The one time in this whole process where cameras aren’t permitted. It’s a raw moment of showing strengths, revealing weaknesses. All the riders are packed into a massive carriage and ushered to the racing location. Ayala explains that conversation inside is forbidden. It’s a sizing up, a staring down.

Who will break? Who can’t handle the heat?

She explained that it’s symbolic. Ashlord myth claims the bravest warriors used to ride in carriages that took them through the underworlds. For that reason, our ride today will have no windows. That way the symbolic warriors will not have to see how vast and dark the underworld really is.

I take my box of ashes and follow Ayala through the streets. I’ve put on all the provided gear she gave me, except the boots. Farian will get a good laugh when he sees that.

I should be nervous about the crowds that watch us march past, about the voices that call out my name. But I’m more worried about making my plan work. I’ve only been riding with my horse for six days. There’s a relationship now, but that doesn’t change the fact that he could spook over something completely random. My plans should mitigate some of the potential damage.

But there are still so many ways to fail.

The crowd of reporters parts for us. Ayala walks proudly at my side. She’s all confidence, even though I’ve given her no reason to believe I can win. I smile to a Dividian reporter and give a polite wave to everyone else. Most of the other riders are already standing in the great square. The temple bells ring out from their gilded towers. The waiting carriage is massive. Everything about it screams opulence. As I eye the riders, the crowd, I realize how normal all of this is for them. They’re accustomed to riding in finery. They’ve never known a life without riches. Each of them had one hundred thousand spare legions to spend on this event. My family would kill for that kind of money. I stand there in line with the others, and I have never felt so sure of myself.

Pippa’s the last to arrive. For the first time since meeting her, she looks disheveled. Nothing horrible, but her hair’s not perfect, and her eyes are a little bloodshot. Her mother and father stride beside her, unblinking as the cameras turn their way. I watch Pippa for a little longer, and it’s clear she’s not at the top of her game. That’s a good thing. Ideally, the eyes of every spectator will be drawn to an exciting, competitive race. Distractions will help me.

The Brightness doesn’t appear this time, but an official opens the carriage door. Her voice rings out over the gathered audience. “Bravos. Enter!”

The strapping rider raises a fist to the cheering crowd and ducks inside the carriage. Its frame shakes as he vanishes from sight. The official calls another name and I know mine will be called soon.

Ayala leans close and whispers, “I believe in you, Imelda. Show them what the Dividian can do.”

I don’t nod or whisper back. Instead, I stare at the gathered crowds and wonder what she means. What the Dividian can do? How will the world ever know what we can do? We’re made poor and her kind keep us poor. We’re supposed to do as much with half as the Ashlords do with double. I find the face of a young Dividian girl in the crowd. She’s standing with her father. He wears a finer suit than my father ever wore, but even these city-born Dividian observe the gathering of Ashlords with awe. The Races have always been a spectacle. One more chance to see the glory of the people we are made to worship. The Ashlords and their gods.

“Imelda Beru.”

I smile as I walk to the carriage. It is not forced or fake. I’m seeing the undeniable righteousness of my plan. I’m going to break their rules. I’m going to win their precious spectacle my own way. Maybe then they’ll see just what the Dividian can do.