My fingers heft the weapon into the air. I marvel at the weight and balance of it. There’s no question of the weapon’s authenticity. It is a Race-standard switch. Not the knockoffs I played with as a little girl. The baton runs about the length of elbow to fingertip. It’s polished brightly, and the wood is that clearly burned color that looks on the edge of flame. Only trees from the Burning Forest look that way. Cheaper vendors will use birch or oak and do their best to dye the material the same color. I’ve owned enough of them to know the paint peels after a few weeks. My fingers settle on the leather grip. I tilt it to get a look at the stamped V at the base of the handle. Versa’s patented sweat-resistant leather. It’s a thing of beauty.

“Give it a try,” Ayala encourages.

I double-squeeze the grip. Ashlord magic snakes through the material and the wooden frame retracts. A leather whip shakes out to the floor. Light catches on the little glass claws dangling dangerously from each strand. I let them dance along the floor before squeezing the grip again. There’s a zip noise as the whip returns to baton form.

“It’s heavy….”

It is beautiful, majestic, pristine.

Ayala nods. “You’ll get used to the weight in training. That one belongs to my family. I wanted you to use it, though. It’s exactly what you’ll be using in the Races. I wondered if you had a style of fighting that you prefer? It will help us make the best use of our time.”

Holding the switch makes everything feel real. I sit back down on unsteady legs and stare across at my mentor. I feel guilty for the first time. She’s here to help me, what? Win the Races?

I might be closer than ever, but it sounds impossible all of a sudden.

“I’m not—I don’t have a style. I’m one of the best alchemists you’ll ever meet. I’ve always had a hand for it. I’m a strong rider, but I haven’t had access to a horse for longer than an afternoon in a few years. As for fighting…” I have a hard time meeting her eye. “I don’t know. We fought as kids, I guess? We were brawlers, though. Schoolyard fights. There’s no style to it.”

“I can work with that,” Ayala assures me. “Sometimes a blank slate is better than a broken one. We’ll run you through the basics. Stop looking so worried.”