You squint at the substance. “Absolution? I didn’t know it was such a dark powder.”

“Me neither,” he says, snapping the case shut. “Feels like I wasted one, though, doesn’t it? I just hope our final leg doesn’t depend on it. I’ll feel like a fool if we lose because of that.”

Absolution is the only known cleansing powder. A healthy dose added to ashes will birth a horse without any increased or decreased attributes. Some more defensive alchemists even know how to add the substance to remove negative effects without negating their original combination. It’s useful in the Races, especially if someone manages to taint your ashes with a poisonous component. You’ve never had your ashes compromised, but you’ve seen enough footage of horses tainted by wormwood, or rend, or powdered glass to know the damage they do to a racer’s chances.

“Having a fail-safe is smart, Bravos. We have no idea which riders we’ll run into on the second or third legs. Absolution might be what wins the Races for us.”

“Speaking of other riders,” Bravos says. “We’ve got about thirty minutes before sunrise hits. Want to scout out the valley? I’d love to know who survived the night.”

Your camp is set alongside a rising shoulder of rocky spires. Above, the plateau runs flat and far until dead-ending. In the valley on the right, all the campsites of your competitors will be waiting. The light isn’t perfect, but you know anything you learn could be valuable in the next few days. Your eyes are drawn to the waiting spirit. You’d like a moment alone with her.

“I’ll go,” you offer. “Guard the camp while I take a look.”

Bravos nods. “Just don’t take too long. I want to ride at first rise.”

It’s funny, hearing him push you on timetables and logistics. He said the sun would hit the ashes in thirty minutes, but you know it will really strike in forty-four. Still, it’s nice to see him acting so professional and focused. You lean down and kiss him on the forehead.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Carefully skirting the ashes, you head for the upper plain. You give Quinn a little wave and you’re pleased to see her stand and smile. It’s hard not to like her a little. Together, you make your way through the vague morning, sidestepping knuckled stones and stopping at the cliff’s edge. Only as the lower valley comes into sight does the girl speak.

“You like him.”

“I want to marry him.”

“I’m surprised he can’t see me.” Quinn makes a thoughtful noise. “Better not to tell him.”

“Why not?”

“I’m your spirit, not his.”