Dust plumes around us. I shift my utility belt, waiting until I’m beyond the sight of the course’s cameras, and then I let the precious set of black containers—full of the world’s most expensive components—fall to the ground. Hammer pushes into a gallop, making a line toward the distant mountains. The officials chase, all four in pursuit, but I know it will take them all day to catch me. And even if they do, they’ll return empty-handed. All I have to do is escape.

All I have to do is reach the mountains.

Eyes to the great, iron rises, I ride.

Chapter 33: Setbacks

“I can’t feel my legs. Why can’t I feel my legs?”

The Ashlord hasn’t stopped talking since he woke up. He’s got their dark skin, their dark hair, their dark eyes. During our first fight, I thought he’d shaved matching notches in both eyebrows. But up close, I can see they’re scars. Surgically perfect cuts. Some kind of blood sacrifice when he was born. The kind of Ashlord blessing that’s supposed to protect him from moments like this one.

The worst-case scenario is playing out. He can’t move his legs. His upper body isn’t doing much better. He can make fists with both hands, but moving them functionally is a stretch. I’ve used up the last of my bandages on him. At least the sutures are holding. He stares up at me, and his face is full of hate—but also touched by a growing fear.

“It’s temporary,” I say. “You fell. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“You pushed me,” he says. “You pushed me off the cliff. If I die…”

“You’re not going to die.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

I nod again before glancing up the canyon. The sun has already stirred my ashes back to life. I made a last-minute adjustment. Needed a phoenix that could carry a little more weight. It trots nearby, sniffing loudly and stomping its feet. I realize I’m losing precious minutes. Time that will matter as we race to the finish line on the final day. And I’m wasting it on someone who beat the hell out of me two nights ago. The Ashlord’s dark eyes trace my movements around the camp, following as I gather my belongings.

I broke him. He didn’t fall on his own. He didn’t trip. I pushed him, and the Racing Board will know that. It means I have a decision to make. Either I take him with me and keep him alive, or I race his death to the finish line. Annoyed, I spin the cap of the canteen off and set it down next to him. His eyes flick to it and he licks his lips.

“Drink.”