A second hour passes, and even though she’s sweating and frothing, Burn never slows. We tear through the vast, clay-caked valleys and it’s pure luck that most of the way is straight and safe. I glance at the standings on my bracelet and see the impossible: I’m leading the Races.

1. Imelda: 0 paces
2. Etzli: 573 paces
3. Bravos: 701 paces

Naturally, that’s when Burn’s heart gives out.

I feel it a second before her forelegs snap, and her front end drops. Momentum whips my feet out of the stirrups and sends my body straight over her lunging shoulders. I scrape my way, rolling and cussing, some ten paces past her. Pain sears along my waist and arms and shoulder. I’m still groaning and spitting out dust when the flames course over Burn’s sides. It was a short life, haunted and unfair, but she’ll work her way to ashes and rise stronger. I glance up at the sun and know the other riders will keep moving for another few hours.

My lead will vanish. They’ll be so far ahead that I’ll never have a chance to close the gap.

“You were never in the lead,” I remind myself. “You came to break the Races.”

It helps to say the words out loud. It was nice to flash a little alchemy the day before. It was nice to hold the lead for a few hours, but the ease with which Adrian poisoned my ashes echoes the truth of things. I was never going to win the Races. Not their way.

Eyes to the east, I measure the distance to the course’s metal barrier. A little over half a mile. The sun’s moving, but I have time to get where I need to go. There’s a danger in moving ashes after sundown. As long as the sun’s still up, I can keep moving.

The spectators will wonder what I’m doing, what I’m thinking, but they won’t figure out the plan until it’s too late to stop it. As long as they keep believing in the myth of the Alchemist, the girl with the magic plan, I’ll be fine. So I carefully scoop my ashes into an empty, race-standard container, and when I’m sure I’ve got them all, I start jogging east.

The silver bars of my cage are waiting.

Chapter 29: Hunting Grounds

The second and third days of the Races are about separation and distance.

The Racing Board defines each course by rhythms. Yesterday, they had us snaking through a narrow valley, fighting for room in the most cramped section of the course. Today, there are seven different routes forward, each with its own advantages and pitfalls.

I always knew which way I would go.

A hunter follows its prey.