I am not going to die. That hope beats in my chest. I can’t lift my head to watch, but it’s not hard to imagine them leaning over the Dividian’s ashes and poisoning them. I’m starting to feel each individual wound. A few broken ribs. A swollen eye. My clothes are slick with blood, but at least the plan worked. My attackers will walk away thinking they’ve ruined my chances, but my ashes are waiting in the next recess, untouched.

“Welcome to the Races, Longhand.”

I can hear them at the entrance helping Thyma. I’m sure they know what I know. She’s a burden now. They’ll honor their pact, return her to her ashes, but in the morning she’ll be left behind. Even through the pounding pain I can’t help smiling: one down, three to go.

Black threads spin in my vision. I know I need to stop the bleeding. Get back to my saddle and treat the wounds, bandage them. But I spend the next thirty minutes trying to breathe as I stare at the stars. The night grows lonely and quiet. Before long, the world is so still that the only thing I can hear is the pounding in my head….

The stars snap back into focus. It’s not dawn, but it’s getting close. An hour or so has passed. I sit up—half groaning—and realize the pain is bearable, which seems impossible. I thought my ribs were broken. Death was close enough that I could feel it breathing along the back of my neck. I sit up and rub the sorest spots and realize the wounds are all gone.

This isn’t normal.

A figure stirs within the recess. I’m thinking the Dividian has woken up and is coming to take her own vengeance on me. Instead, moonlight traces over reptilian features.

“Could you hear it?” the Dread asks. “The wild beating of their hearts? They were going to kill you, Longhand. Almost did kill you. My gift is the only thing that kept you breathing.”

I spit blood on the ground. “I would have survived.”

He grins. “Would you have? Remember, Longhand. This is but a taste of my power.”

“A power in decline,” I whisper back. “By your own admission. Aren’t you afraid the other gods are watching? The whole Empire can see us right now.”

“They see you,” he replies. “Muttering to yourself after nearly dying. I’ve obscured the words. I am the god of caution. I did not come to be seen by them, but by you. I wanted to tell you that most of my boon is gone. Please use more restraint in the days to come. Unlike your father, I need you alive at the end of all of this.”