He nods again, eyes on the fading stars above. “You don’t feel guilty. I might never walk again, but you don’t care. I can see it in your eyes. You’re just doing equations and distances. Not thinking at all about what life will be like for me now. You care more about winning. That’s all my people care about, too. Who wins and who loses. That’s all I was ever taught.”

I weigh his words. I know the Empire’s listening. Officials are sitting in their camps at the start and end of the Races, ready to ride out and arrest me at a moment’s notice. But I also know that Daddy and half the Reach are losing sleep to listen in, each of them hoping I’ll speak with their voice. The Empire is watching. Most of them were born hating people like me.

It gives my voice fire. “I’ve trained my whole life for this.”

“You trained to be like one of us.”

I shake my head, knowing he’s wrong. “I trained to be better than you. Faster than you. Stronger than you. At the end of the day, I trained to be more merciful than you, too.”

“That’s what you call this?” Capri gestures to his legs. “Is this your idea of mercy?”

I stare back at him. Anger’s breathing into my bones, curling hands into fists. The Dread is right. Daddy sent me here not knowing whether I’d live or die. I’m wrestling with that, but it’s still his words that come to mind. I haven’t forgotten why I wanted to come in the first place.

“Nine hundred and seven.”

Capri stares back at me. “What?”

“Nine hundred and seven. That’s how many firstborns the Ashlords killed in the Purge after the Rebellion. Some were infants. Some were elderly. I had nine hundred and seven good reasons to bury you back in that canyon. You’re right. I don’t care what you do after this. I don’t care if you ever walk again. But every breath you take from here on out? Mercy. Every time your parents give you a hug? Mercy. Every time you see the sun rise? Mercy. You’re alive because of me. I gave you everything you have from here on out, and you’ll never forget that.”

I stand as sunlight starts edging through gaps in the scarecrow trees. We’re a little higher up than we were the day before, on a little plateau that precedes the waiting forest. Sunlight cuts a path to my ashes and stirs them, drawing life into my phoenix again. I ignore Capri and start sorting through my gear. It takes time to get my horse settled and saddled.

By the time I turn back, he’s started crying.

“My family won’t take me back,” Capri says. “Not like this.”