Kathryn was shaking her head. “Everything has piled up, and the situation is so confusing! I can’t figure it out myself!”
“It’s clear enough,” Suzanne said, her voice rough with a sort of restrained impatience. “Duke William wants to close the Academy, and to that end he has taxed the people beyond their endurance and called up the militia to enforce it. And then—to make matters worse—infuriated the Klee by kidnapping Amelia Rys.”
Philippa said, “I gather no one knows where the Duke has been?”
“We have nothing but rumors,” Suzanne said. “His school at Fleckham House is ready, and he has four young men there waiting to be bonded to winged horses.”
“Do they know what that’s going to require?” Philippa asked dryly.
Suzanne shrugged. Kathryn began to speak, but she was interrupted by the roar of a carronade from the harbor. She cried out, and Larkyn pressed her hands to her ears.
Philippa frowned. “Has anyone been hurt?”
Suzanne nodded. “Matron’s sister is a bonesetter, and she was called from her apothecary shop to tend to two men who were wounded. Those cannons shatter the decks of the boats, if they hit, and send shards of wood everywhere. Fortunately, they’re not very accurate.”
“I must,” Philippa said, “see Lord Francis. We need a coordinated approach.”
“Can we keep our girls out of it?” Suzanne said. “Perhaps the Prince will allow the horsemistresses to return from Arlton to assist . . .”
Philippa shook her head. “We’re more likely to receive help from the Klee Baron than our own Prince.”
AFTERsome discussion, the horsemistresses came to an uneasy agreement that they should try, for the moment, to go on with life as usual at the Academy. Accordingly, they gathered in the Hall for the evening meal, and Philippa sat in her old place at the high table.
She understood immediately that any semblance of normal life was superficial. It was not only the explosions from the harbor that made the girls and women sit in tense silence, but the conflict inside the Hall. As the soup was served, Philippa eyed the students at their long tables. They had, it seemed, divided themselves. It was subtle, not so much a rearrangement of their chairs as an attitude, a shoulder turned away here, a head averted there, bodies adjusted so that eyes would not meet.
“Kalla’s teeth,” Philippa muttered. “Is there civil war even within our own walls?”
“There is,” Suzanne answered grimly. “Even among the first-level girls, who haven’t begun riding yet.
They adopt their parents’ position, whatever that might be. I hear them arguing, when they don’t know I’m there, debating fealty and obedience.”
“Have you spoken to them?” Philippa asked.
Suzanne gave her a glance full of misery and guilt. “Philippa, I’m so glad you’re here. I haven’t known what to say, and Kathryn and I, as you see—I just don’t know what will happen to us!” She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, and her eyes, wreathed with the lines that were the badge of every working horsemistress, glittered with unshed tears.
Philippa pressed her own lips hard together and gritted her teeth against the wave of fury that swelled and broke in her breast. When she dared speak, she said tightly, “Suzanne. My dear. May I speak to your students?”
Suzanne nodded. Past her, Philippa saw Kathryn watching the two of them, her mouth, too, pulled tight.
Philippa nodded to her. “Kathryn, I think I should have your agreement, too. This is not good for the girls or for us . . . or for our horses. They have to be our first concern.”
Kathryn sat very still for a moment, then her shoulders sagged. “I know, Philippa. I keep wondering what Margareth might have said, what she would have done . . .”
“She would never allow us to split like this,” Philippa said. “It goes against everything she believed in, everything she devoted her life to.”
Suzanne said shakily, “I never wanted to be Headmistress, Philippa; you know that.”
Philippa, in an unusual gesture for her, touched Suzanne’s shoulder. “You’re doing your best, and so is Kathryn.” After a pause, in which she tried to breathe away her anger, to sort out her thoughts, she added softly, “And so am I.”
She waited until the soup was cleared away, and the little rainbow array of lettuce and autumn vegetables had been set in front of the girls and the horsemistresses. Then she stood, smoothed her tabard, and spoke in a clear, carrying voice. “May I have your attention, please?”
The girls turned startled faces up to her. She looked at them for a painful moment, and her anger burned afresh. William had a great deal to answer for. She promised herself she would demand that answer very soon.
She thought of the beautiful horses resting now in the stables across the courtyard. She thought of the centuries of careful breeding, the husbandry of dukes, of generations of horsemistresses dedicated to the care and training of Kalla’s creatures. She thought of the miracle of flight, that precious gift of Kalla, and her throat closed.
She swallowed, and straightened. She had shed no tears since her dear friend Margareth’s death, and she was not about to shed them now. When the familiar pain started in the back of her neck, she welcomed it.
She spoke in a voice that cut through the weighted silence in the hall like the slash of a sword. “It is not to a duke or a lord that we owe our loyalty,” she said. “It is to the winged horses. We serve our bondmates, and we protect the bloodlines.” She paused, scanning the faces below her. “If we must fight, we must fight side by side.”
Several of the girls stirred in their chairs, frowning. Some nodded, and Philippa heard Suzanne, beside
her, release a held breath.
“I can think of nothing worse,” Philippa went on, “than to see horsemistresses take flight against each other, or to ask a winged horse to oppose one of his own.”
There was a pause, then a third-level girl, Beryl, stood up. She inclined her head courteously to Philippa, but she spoke harshly. “Mistress Winter, my father says we’re bound to obey our Duke’s orders. He says it’s our duty.”
Several of the students and one or two of those at the high table murmured agreement.
Philippa waited until silence fell over the room again, then she said slowly, “I think, Beryl, that it depends on what those orders are. We don’t train for six years here at the Academy, and dedicate thirty or more years of our lives to the winged horses, to practice blind obedience. What duty could ask us to thrust away everything we know because someone in a high position tells us to?”
There was a stir at this, and several other girls jumped up, their chairs scraping against the tiled floor.
Philippa saw that some girls whispered to each other, their heads bent together, while others began to snap at each other across their untouched salads. The servers stood uncertainly in the doorway, holding trays with the cooling fish course, as the noise rose in the hall.
Suzanne stood slowly, leaning on the table. Philippa remembered Margareth doing just the same, supporting herself with her hands, as if the weight of responsibility were a physical burden. Suzanne Star was too young to move that way. It was another thing William should answer for, although Philippa doubted he would care.
“Quiet!” Suzanne called, across the hubbub. When the noise did not die down, she slapped the table with the flat of her hand, making the flatware jump. “Silence, please!”
Gradually, the voices quieted, and the girls, though they still looked angry, took their seats. Suzanne waved to the servers, and they started to move among the tables again. She and Philippa sat down.
“I don’t know what else I can say,” Philippa said. “I’ve been no help at all.”
“This conflict runs too deep,” Suzanne said.
Sarah Runner, one of the junior horsemistresses, said, “I never thought to see such a thing in our own duchy.”
“I don’t know if we can survive it,” Philippa said grimly. “Prince Nicolas would love to
take over the bloodlines, and Oc would lose its only real claim to independence.”
There was a movement at the far end of the hall, and someone came in through the big doors. Philippa said, “Isn’t that Felicity Baron?”
Suzanne said, “Yes. The Duke assigned Sky Baron to mentor his filly. Felicity’s been posted to the Ducal Palace.”
The older horsemistress strode toward the high table with a purposeful step. Her weathered face was drawn, and Philippa felt a premonitory apprehension.
“Really,” Suzanne said quietly, as the older horsemistress came closer, “I thought by now the Duke would have sent Felicity down. She’s always been outspoken.”
“I suppose he has to have someone.”
They broke off their exchange as Felicity Baron stepped up on the dais and came to them. She inclined her head to Philippa, and said without preamble, “He’s ridden her.”
Suzanne said, “What? Who’s ridden?”
Philippa said, “It’s Diamond, isn’t it? The Duke has ridden his filly.”
“Yes,” Felicity said.
There was a moment of stunned silence at the high table. “I can hardly believe it! I didn’t really think . . .”
Suzanne began.
Philippa said, “I had hoped she wouldn’t allow it. It hardly seems possible.”
“I know.” Felicity nodded. “But he’s done it now.”
“How did it go?” Philippa asked.
Felicity shrugged her bony shoulders. “That’s a confused young horse. She blows hot and cold with him.”
“And how does the Duke look?”
“Very odd, Philippa. And he acts even more strange.”
“What’s going to happen?” Suzanne asked. The other horsemistresses at the high table were watching and listening, and Felicity included them in her hard glance.
“He won’t listen to me,” she said. “He’s going to try to fly. If he does, more of the lords will come over to his side, I’m afraid.”
“And does anyone have the slightest idea where he’s keeping Amelia Rys?” Philippa asked in an undertone.
Felicity shook her head. “I never saw her.”
TWENTY-TWO
THEnight air bit into Amelia’s lungs, making them ache. The sleeves of her too-large tabard hung loosely around her wrists, letting in the chill. It was damp from perspiration on the chest and the back, and under the arms, and as it dried, she grew even colder. She tightened the belt around her waist and tried not to shiver. She thought she might feel warmer if she walked, but Mahogany made such good time on the road that it seemed best to ride. She could never keep pace with his ground-eating running walk.
She judged the time to be past midnight. It had taken her and Mahogany hours to work their way through the woods, sometimes having to backtrack when they came to an impenetrable thicket, at others having to crack branches and twigs to force themselves forward. She had been dripping with perspiration then.
It had been a relief to break out of the trees and bushes, to see the main road twisting between the hedgerows, starlight gleaming on its smooth surface.
The sounds of guns from the harbor reverberated through the icy air, seeming louder in the darkness than they had during the day. Mahogany flinched beneath her at first, each explosion seeming to jar his nerves, but he had soon steadied. His running walk was a lovely gait, easy to ride, and it sped them steadily and swiftly on through the night. The copper dome of the Tower of the Seasons glistened with reflected stars, giving them a clear goal. For perhaps half an hour they had the road to themselves, with the wintry wind in their faces.
When Amelia heard men’s voices behind her, she urged Mahogany off the road, and slipped down to hold his bridle. She stood in the shadows of the hedgerow, hoping that the lantern the men carried would blind their eyes to the darkness.
There were only four of them, hurrying along the road on foot, urging each other to a faster speed. “
’Twill all be over if we don’t get there soon,” one of them said. Another answered, but Amelia couldn’t understand his words.
There was a great flash of light to the east, from the bay.
The voice said again, “There! You see? ’Tis already under way. We’re going to miss it!”
A different voice said, “ ’Tis only the ships, you fool! We don’t know what’s happening on the shore.”
They were almost past. Amelia cupped Mahogany’s nose with her fingers and pressed his head close to her. The men wore the black uniforms of the Duke’s militia, and they were so close she could smell their sweaty clothes and the stale fragrance of tobacco. She felt Mahogany’s nostrils quiver beneath her hand.
She willed him to tolerate the scent, just for the moment. He blew into her palm, but he stood as still as ice.
Just as the men trotted past, she heard another voice. “Just get me there in time to shoot once at the damned Klee! Just once!” And then they were past, and hurrying down the road away from her.
Amelia’s knees shook with tension, and she spent a weak moment leaning on Mahogany’s neck, letting her cold cheek absorb some of the warmth of his body. He turned his head to her, sniffing, and she knew he was exchanging her own familiar scent for that of the strange men. She stroked his muzzle, and whispered, “Mahogany, you are worthy of the Rys name! Kalla bless you!”
She let a few moments pass before she led him back up on the road. She led him for a while, thinking the walk would warm her, then, when she felt that the militiamen had a good lead, she jumped up onto his back again. He didn’t flinch this time at her weight and resumed his steady pace. From time to time they
heard the carronade, and saw the flashes, and twice Amelia thought she heard the sounds of smaller guns, but she could not be sure.
The people of Oc, evidently, were staying close to their homes. She saw no other travelers, and few lights in the houses she passed. She had just begun to shiver again when the uneven clatter of a horse’s hooves sounded behind her.
This time Mahogany didn’t wait to be told. His eyes were sharper than hers, and he spotted a break in the hedgerow, where a narrow lane twisted away from the road. In a flash he ducked through the open space, scraping her knees only a little on the bare branches of the hedge, and slid down into the little vale behind it. She didn’t dismount this time but leaned far forward to cling to his neck, hiding herself from the eyes of the rider coming so fast toward them.
It was only one horse, but there was something familiar about the sound of those hooves, the unevenness of the gait, the creak of the saddle leather. The rider was keeping up a steady stream of curses, aimed at the horse, at life in general, and once she heard Duke William’s name. Amelia thought it was strange the man would waste his breath cursing with no one to hear him, but when the horse had galloped past, grunting and panting, she sat up straight.
Above the dark silhouette of the hedgerow, outlined against the stars, she recognized the hunched shoulders and the flapping greatcoat of Slater.
She held her breath, watching him make his noisy, graceless way toward the city. He had escaped, or had been let go. Perhaps Duke William had even given the order to set him free. Jinson’s death, she supposed, would be only a minor inconvenience, whereas Slater . . .
She reined Mahogany back onto the road, and as they set off again, she said softly, “Mark my words, Mahogany. It is a great weakness in a leader to be dependent. The Duke of Oc has put himself in a precarious position.”
Mahogany’s ears flickered back to her voice, then forward again, and his head bobbed neatly from side to side as he pressed on toward Osham.
THEstars had begun to fade by the time they crossed the New Bridge and found themselves in the inner city. The explosions had died away. When Mahogany topped a little rise, Amelia looked out toward the harbor and drew a sharp breath. The Marinan , its blue banners barely visible in the gray dawn, its sails neatly furled, rocked quietly at anchor in the mouth of the harbor. She pressed a hand to her heart, caught off guard b
y a sudden longing to see her father, to hand over the burden she carried.
“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not yet. But soon!”
Around her the houses were quiet, the shops shuttered. She began to shiver again, not so much with the cold as with exhaustion. She pressed her tabard close to her neck, and a whiff of her own body offended her nostrils. She smelled little better than the militiamen who had passed her hours before.
She tightened the halter lead to rein Mahogany in, to keep his hoofbeats a little quieter on the cobbled streets of Osham. As if they had been riding together like this for months instead of just the long hours of a solitary night, and even though it was a single rope instead of two leather reins, he slowed his pace. For the hundredth time, Amelia thought what a miraculous creature he was. All the winged horses were smarter, stronger, wiser than any other beast.
At that thought, she managed a small chuckle and patted Mahogany’s mane, tangled from their foray through the forest. “You’re no beast, are you, Mahogany?” she said softly. “It was wrong even to think it! You’re practically as human as I am.”
The streets narrowed as they moved toward the bay. The Tower of the Seasons bulked against the graying sky behind them, and the buildings leaned close to each other, keeping the lanes in thick shadow even as the sky began to brighten. The Rotunda, Amelia knew, was not far from the Tower of the Seasons, and there the avenues were wide and open, but she would avoid that part of the city. She meant to find her way to the docks, and to the lighthouse.
Amelia knew a good deal about the North Tower. She had passed its slender column with her father once and had looked out the carriage window to see its great light glowing across the fishing boats tethered to long, narrow docks. The boats that patrolled the harbor docked just beneath it. Her father
had pointed them out, and told her the story of the previous war between Klee and Oc, when the South Tower had become a place of misery and death. “This one,” he had said, “will never be a prison for hostages. Only the lightkeeper climbs those stairs. It was part of our pact with Isamar, when we resumed exporting our goods, that the North Tower would never be used that way. Prince Nicolas’s father signed that pact with your grandfather.”
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