She slides the cup across and starts to scold me about the heat. Too late. I’ve already disappeared behind the mug’s alabaster rim. It tastes rich, smooth. A little weaker than what Father makes, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling like a step in the right direction.

Ayala waits for me to resurface. “I’ve brought a few training gifts.”

From one of the bags, she removes a set of clothes. I see three pairs of riding pants and matching tops to go with them. At the bottom of the pile, an official Empire Racing Board jacket.

“Looks fancy,” I manage to say.

“Expensive,” she counters. “All the very best gear. The undergarments are a new flame-resistant line from Dominus. It might take you a few days to get used to reading your phoenix’s temp with them on, but it saves you from the wear and tear of a full day’s ride. Each of the shirts has breathable hoods to shade the sun. I’d guess you recognize the riding jacket.”

Of course I do. It’s the same one that’s been worn for the last two decades. A simple black piece with the Empire Racing Board’s echoing horse emblem on the right breast. The joints and shoulders are made of a stretching, smoke-gray material. Protection without sacrificing flexibility. It’s the kind of outfit I’ve seen in all the pre-race advertisements. Only the models have always been Ashlord racers: Pippa, Bravos, Revel, Etzli.

This set belongs to me.

“Do they fit?”

Ayala looks offended. “No, you’ll have to roll up the sleeves a few times.”

I almost snort my coffee. Standing, I unfold one of the shirts. Ayala did her homework. The sleeves ride out perfectly. Even accounted for my shorter torso.

“It’s a reactive fabric,” she says. “It will wick your sweat during the day and keep in the warmth at night. On the house. But the last gift is something to borrow. I’ll need it back.”

She slides a wooden box across the table. The coffee is starting to kick in. I suppose if I have to wake up before dawn, I’d rather do it by opening very expensive and thoughtful presents. I’ll have to let Farian know that a new bar has been set for our morning adventures.

My fingers find the edges of the wooden lid. It slides down along carved grooves and reveals something I’ve been waiting to get my hands on since arriving in Furia.

“A switch.”