It takes some work to get him up on his feet. I wrap his arms around my neck and turn so he’s leaning fully against my back. Taking the rope from my pack, I loop it around the two of us until we’re tied together tight enough to be hostages.

Luckily, I’m taller than him by about a head. His face is pressed into my right shoulder, and his feet bounce off the backs of my calves. He could try to choke me, I guess, but he doesn’t have enough strength to light a candle right now.

It’s easy enough to lift him. Thankfully he’s light, but like most Ashlords, his skin burns a little hotter than normal. The heat has me sweating as I struggle to get the two of us onto my phoenix’s back. His legs are the hardest part. They flail and bounce and disagree. I can tell he’s at least trying to help. He pulls up with his arms, but it still takes a few minutes to get us situated in the saddle.

My horse doesn’t love the extra weight, or the scent of the Ashlord, but I get him settled and trotting. We make it out of the first canyon and we’re looping through a second when I finally hear the Ashlord muttering into my back. He says it just loud enough that I can hear him, but not loud enough for the audience to catch the words.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for saving me.”

I give a grunt and push our pace a little faster. He stays quiet after that. Maybe he’s thinking what I’m thinking. If the rules were any different, I’d have left him in a heartbeat.

Chapter 34: Caves

You watch light sift through the staggered stone shelves and rusty pillars. It raises your horse out of the bright dust. Quinn makes an appreciative noise at your side.

“You set the ashes here on purpose,” she says. “So we could start as early as possible.”

“When you’ve been riding as long as I have, it’s the first thing you learn.”

Even in dark of night, you knew how to find the location the sunlight would strike first. You’ve always had an instinct for the little pieces of knowledge that separate great riders from good ones. And you let your love for Bravos blind you to all of that. It is not a mistake you will make again. The newly born horse has a coal-black coat, dappled by thousands of ivory specks. Quinn might not notice the changes, but you see how much shorter and thinner this version is than the previous two. It’s just as healthy, with just as much fire, but you groomed the ashes so it’d be easier to navigate any narrow tunnels in the cave.

“Live or die,” Quinn says, “I will never forget the sight.”