He’s pushed up on his elbows. I watch him reach and fumble the canteen. He tries to open his hands, then tries to close them around the body of the container. He manages enough force to almost knock the thing over into the sand. There’s no chance of him lifting it up and taking a drink.

There are three full days of riding left. I consider the odds of him surviving in the shadow of these cliffs, without water or food, his infected wound attacking him from the inside out. I look back down at him and he looks like he’s considering the same odds as me.

“Don’t leave me,” he says. “Please. Don’t leave me.”

I kneel down next to him and heft the canteen. Carefully, I tilt it so water runs down into his mouth. He drinks, half choking, but when I tilt the canteen away, he looks relieved, like the water is my promise to stay with him. “You left me the first night.”

His eyes widen. “This is different.”

“How?” I ask. “You didn’t know if I’d survive or not.”

His chest heaves now. He understands I could really leave him. He understands, maybe for the first time in his life, that his decisions have consequences. The utter surprise there makes me want to leave. It is the Ashlord way to rule without looking down.

I turn my back on him and start saddling my phoenix. He moans the whole time. I ignore his pleas, letting the fear steal through him, letting the Empire see one of their blessed ones beg for his life. The noise goes on and on until I’ve pulled the final strap tight.

“Your name is Capri, isn’t it?”

He nods at me.

“Capri, if I leave you, you’ll die. Agreed?”

He bites his lip and nods again.

“If I leave you, no one will come for you. They could send help. But I think they’d rather see me disqualified than see you live. Agreed?”

A third nod. The Ashlords have no mercy for their weak and wounded.

“There are three more days of riding. I’ll take you with me today. Once someone crosses the finish line, they’ll come to get you. Two rules. You keep your mouth shut. Not a word. To me or to anyone. Just because I’m riding with you doesn’t mean I want to listen to what you have to say. Second, don’t touch my horse. It’s a purebred. I’m guessing you know what purebreds do to horse thieves?”

He squints past me like he’s trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth about the horse.

“They burn them,” he says finally.

“You’ve been warned. Try to steal my horse and your death is on your head.”