It is what I want, what I’ve wanted since I was little. Martial always terrified me. Not because he’s scary or anything ridiculous like that. Looking at him is like looking at the impossible. Farian and I could play as riders on holy days, but I never let myself believe it’d be anything more than a game. “Yes,” I finally answer. “This is what I want.”

Ayala smiles. “Good, because you’re the one, Imelda. There have been discussions all day. The Empire Racing Board wants you to be the scholarship rider in the Races. The others will interview tomorrow, but you’ve already been chosen. You’re going to ride in the most prestigious event the Empire’s ever known. We start training tomorrow. And with my help?”

She sets a firm hand on my shoulder.

“I think you could actually win it.”

Chapter 8: Ten Faces

Furia.

The whole place is a clogged artery. Bodies, people, noise. Antonio’s standing out on the balcony of our hotel. Daddy’s tasked him with getting me to the start of the Races in one piece.

We arrived a few hours earlier by carriage, which felt every kind of wrong. Sitting and bouncing around in a box? Antonio’s just being smart about it. We don’t need every news outlet outside the hotel before I can settle in. Half the waitstaff is already casting sideways glances at us.

Besides, the carriage was practice for the city. The whole place is just one big box. Our room’s tight as a noose. The hotel’s in a confusing borough of claustrophobic streets and shops. We’re on the top floor, but you look out and all you can see are more buildings. It’s like a million people forgot the beauty of open space. Antonio saw I was restless and offered to take me out for a stroll, but I told him I’d rather sit in bed than knock knees with half the world.

When night comes, the noise is still there. Voices echo up from the alley below. People shouting and laughing, flirting and yelling. The Reach settles its bones before dark. If there’s something that needs doing, it can be done at dawn. I lie there, turning from side to side, until Antonio knocks on my door. I glance out. It’s still the middle of the night.

He looks in. “It’s time. Come with me.”

We walk through empty hallways. The front desk attendant has vanished. The lights in all the common rooms are low. Only our boots make any noise. Antonio leads me to the kitchen. It’s empty, too. Great rows of plates and piles of spoons are set out to dry. He kneels in front of a brick-fire oven and lifts the latch. It leads down into the dark.