“First thing: you win the Races. You’re the daughter of two former champions. Fulfill their prophecies for you, and almost all of this will go away. Just ask the Longhands or the Dividian. The only thing that matters in the Empire is who wins. Do that and this all goes away.”

You nod. “Consider it done.”

Zeta says, “You won’t like the next one.”

“Why not?”

“You need to throw the spotlight somewhere else. Even if it’s just for a few hours.”

She’s right. You don’t like it. “Fine, who?”

“Have you ever heard of the Alchemist?”

Zeta pulls the video you saw the other day. You watch the girl leap through the air and land on the reappearing horse. You’re nodding, but not understanding what Zeta wants.

“And?”

“We did some research,” Zeta says. “In the last fifteen years, fourteen of the Qualifiers have been boys. The Empire Racing Board always talks about how equitable the Races are.”

“And they are,” you reply. “Girls always outnumber the boys in the Races. They win more often, too.”

“Which is true,” Zeta counters. “But in the one instance that the Empire Racing Board gets to select a participant, they’re completely biased against Dividian girls. So all you have to do is talk up the girl’s video. Say it shows the kind of brilliant riders the Empire Board’s been unfairly keeping out of the Races. Make it about the advancement of women. I’ll write up something about how this is their chance to put the most competent scholarship rider in the Races, regardless of gender.”

You’re nodding now, seeing the genius of Zeta’s plan.

“So the spotlight is on the Dividian girl and the Empire Racing Board. What will that get us? An hour of newscasts without those blurred creeps claiming me as their mistress?”

“An hour or two,” Zeta says. “We just need to stop the bleeding long enough to get us to the Races. Once we’re there, the talk won’t be about the way you look. It’ll be about how you ride.”

You know that’s not entirely true, but no point correcting Zeta now. She’s done her job. It’s time for you to do yours. “Set up the interview,” you say. “Let’s get it over with.”

The interview’s arranged, and brief. You recite the memorized script, and Zeta’s plan sets everything into flawless motion. As you sit in your room, alone for the first time all day, the talking heads hound representatives of the Empire Board about sexism. Ten minutes pass without your name on anyone’s lips, and that’s the freest you’ve felt all day.

Until your burner phone vibrates. It’s from the phone you gave Bravos a few weeks ago.