She would win the race, and Audric would sweep her into his arms, laughing. He would congratulate her, beaming with pride, and then leave her to dine privately with Ludivine, and a part of Rielle would die, as it always did when she was reminded of the simple, terrible truth of their engagement. Rielle caught a scent on the wind—singed hair, scorched horseflesh. It had been no dream. How could she have done this? How had she done this? Her father was right. Tal was right. She should spend the rest of her life in a quiet room, dulled with poison. She could not be trusted. She fell to her knees,
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