I nod, but the embarrassment still colors my cheeks. I set the switch down and it doesn’t look dangerous on its own. It only becomes deadly when the hand that holds it can make it a deadly thing. My mind flashes back to previous Races. I’ve spent my whole life watching them, dreaming of being one of the riders. In all the excitement of the past few days, I somehow forgot the basic truth. There are three measures for every racer.

Alchemy. Riding. Fighting.

I was born for the first two, but I’ve never spent much time on the third. I trace back through all the Races I’ve seen and I can’t remember too many champions who won without winning at least one fight. Some riders get out to big leads, sure. Others are clever enough to trail the group and make their move at the end. I can try to avoid duels, but what happens when I’m on the back of a horse coming down a tight stretch? Or in the dark of night with my back to my ashes, staring down an opponent? I’ll have to fight.

I nod to Ayala. “When do we start?”

“Now.”

I’m not tired anymore. The adrenaline running through me tastes a lot like fear. Ayala waits while I slide into uniform. We gather the equipment and leave. The hallways are empty. The lobby boasts a lone Dividian bellhop at the front desk. He bows as Ayala breezes by him. The second she’s past, he glances up and winks at me. I smile back.

The streets are alive still. Not bursting with the same life and noise they were when we arrived, but far from abandoned. We pass a pair of swaying girls. Both have their dancing shoes in hand, and dust coats their ankles. It is the end of the evening for them, but the beginning of a new day for others. Delivery carts take advantage of the empty streets. A pair of Dividian boys—no older than Prosper—hustle back and forth, setting little crates on the doorsteps of towering tenement buildings before leaping back onto the still-moving vehicles. Cats scurry down alleyways. An elderly woman taps out a cigarette on the balcony above us.

We earn a few looks. At first, I think people recognize me. Maybe they saw the video Farian posted. But then I realize that Ayala is the only Ashlord making her way through the quiet morning traffic. “Come on,” she says, leading me off the main drag.

Streets intersect ahead. She guides us to the western edge of the city. I’ve only been through the city once, but I recognize the direction we’re heading.

“The temples are this way.”