Toby Bishop - Horse Mistress 03

by Airs of Night

  She didn’t want pity.

  “Can I help you, Mistress Winter?” Herbert asked.

  “No,” she said shortly, then, regretting her tone, said, “I’m just going to have a look at the horses before I go to bed.”

  “ ’Tis good to have you back,” he said.

  “Thank you, Herbert.” She walked on into the stables. An oc-hound jumped to its feet and came to her side. She stroked it, and it followed her down the aisle.

  She was patting Hester’s mare when she heard a murmur at the far end of one of the aisles. She went to the corner to look past the row of sleepy horses. Amelia was just opening the half-gate to Mahogany’s stall. Philippa cleared her throat to announce herself.

  Amelia paused with her hand on the latch. “Good evening, Mistress Winter.”

  “Amelia,” Philippa said. She walked down the aisle to stand outside the stall. “You’ve left the party, too, I see.”

  “Yes,” she said. Mahogany Master stared across the gate at Philippa as if taking her measure. The two of them, Philippa thought, girl and colt, were as like as two peas.

  “Congratulations on your promotion to the second level,” Philippa said.

  Amelia’s lips curved. “Thank you. We’re very pleased.”

  “Your father will be, as well.” Philippa stood for a moment, letting Mahogany sniff her palm. “Are you lonely here, Amelia?”

  The girl arched one slender eyebrow, which made her look startlingly like the Baron. “Lonely?” she said.

  “Not particularly.”

  “You’ll miss Larkyn, I think.”

  “Of course,” the Klee girl answered. She stroked her colt’s neck, and Philippa thought that for this girl, her horse would always be her only real companion. Amelia said, “But I’m happy here, Mistress Winter.”

  “Are you?”

  “Yes. I’m doing what I’ve always wanted.” She straightened a strand of Mahogany’s mane, then stepped away from him and came out of the stall. “Please don’t worry about us.”

  “Very well, Amelia. I’ll try not to.” But Philippa felt sure that Amelia’s very self-containment would always set her apart from the other girls. As if being Klee were not enough.

  As they turned away from Mahogany’s stall, Philippa heard a ruckus from another aisle, the rhythmic, irritated thumping of a hoof and the rattle of a stall gate.

  “Who’s that?” she asked Amelia. “Not Seraph, still?”

  “No.” Amelia cast a worried glance toward the noise. “It’s Diamond,” she said. “Duke William’s filly.

  No one but Lark can do anything with her.”

  Philippa reached the turning of the aisle. Black Seraph’s stall was halfway down, near Golden Morning and the other horses of the third level. In the neighboring stall the exquisite dapple gray filly tossed her head, then struck at the stall gate with her forefoot. Seraph whickered at her, and Diamond stopped, but she soon started again, turning, switching her tail, striking at the gate.

  Amelia said, “We don’t know what will become of her. It’s such a waste.”

  “It is indeed,” Philippa said. She thought of Sunny, uselessly flexing her wings, begging to fly, and her heart ached anew. “It is precisely that, Amelia. A great waste.”

  PHILIPPArose late the next morning. It was odd to be in her old apartment, which Matron had refused to reassign to one of the junior horsemistresses. Philippa stood in the window to gaze out over the courtyard, just as she had done for so many years. Clouds had rolled in from the sea, turning the day as gray and dull as the day before had been glorious. The trees and hedgerows were nearly bare.

  Students and horsemistresses were streaming out of the hall on their way to the stables and paddocks.

  Philippa sighed as she closed the curtain. She supposed she could stay here and teach. She could petition Duke Francis to rescind Eduard’s order barring Sunny from the stables, and he would surely grant her request. But somehow—without flying—she had no heart for it.

  She dressed, and after begging a cup of coffee from Matron, she wandered outside with the cup in her hand. She felt idle and useless. Brye would come with the oxcart later, to take her back to the Uplands.

  She knew it was time to decide where she and Sunny could go, a place of their own. Sunny needed the company of other horses, even if they were wingless. And for Philippa, the longer she stayed at Deeping Farm, the harder it would be to disentangle herself.

  She heard someone working in the dry paddock behind the stables, and she wandered in that direction, sipping her coffee as she went.

  She found Larkyn in the center of the dry paddock with the filly, Diamond, on a longue line. Diamond cantered around the perimeter of the paddock smoothly enough, but she tossed her head as she ran, and her tail switched irritably. When she saw Philippa she stopped dead in her tracks, throwing up her head and glaring at her. Larkyn gave the longue line a flip, but the filly shook her mane and stamped, refusing to move.

  Larkyn glanced over her shoulder. “Mistress Winter! Good morning. I was afraid you’d leave before I had a chance to say good-bye.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that.” Philippa came to the pole fence and looked through at the silver filly. “She’s a lovely thing, isn’t she? Has she flown since . . . since it happened?”

  “Aye. Tup and I monitor her, or at least we try. Twice she headed off on her own, as if she was looking for something. She turned around and came back soon enough, but ’twas a terrible worry.”

  Larkyn looped the longue line over her arm, drawing it in. Diamond took two steps, then set her feet, refusing the lead. Larkyn tugged, and clicked her tongue, and the filly stamped her forefeet and showed her teeth.

  Philippa frowned. “Does she do that often?”

  “Aye.” Larkyn sighed. “She’s a bit unpredictable.”

  Diamond switched her tail, and backed away, pulling on the longue line, stopping only when she felt the fence behind her.

  “She’s confused,” Philippa said.

  “Aye. I know. I don’t know how to help her.”

  “There may be nothing you can do.”

  “I’m worried about that, Mistress Winter. I’m afraid Master Crisp will put her down.”

  Philippa couldn’t deny that possibility. On an impulse, she set her coffee cup on the ground, and moved to the gate. She let herself into the paddock, and stood just inside.

  “Careful,” Larkyn warned. “She bites. And she kicks, sometimes.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Philippa stood where she was, her hands hanging empty and still beside her. She looked at the silver filly’s delicate muzzle, the arch of her croup and the short curve of her back, and a wave of sadness filled her. She remembered so well how Sunny had looked when she was a two-year-old. How different things had been then! She and Sunny had both been little more than babes, with the road open before them.

  Neither of them had had an idea of how hard a journey it could be, nor how joyous. And here was this filly, this poor damaged Diamond, with no one to help her follow her own path.

  The filly stared at her, the whites showing around her dark eyes. She switched her tail, and she took a hesitant sidestep.

  Larkyn started to move, but Philippa said, “Wait.”

  The filly lifted her hoof to paw at the ground, and Philippa murmured, “No, sweetheart. You don’t need to do that.”

  Diamond lowered the foot and arched her neck, laying her small, perfect ears flat against her head.

  Philippa said again, “No. No, Diamond. It’s all right.”

  The filly tossed her head and backed away, pulling at the longue line. She flicked her tail back and forth, back and forth. She relaxed her ears and turned them to Philippa. She snorted once, then she stood very

  still, her head high, staring at Philippa.

  As Philippa gazed back at her, she thought again of her girlhood. She had been a misfit in her own family, with no one who understood her, no one who knew what she cared about. Not
until she was bonded had she felt she belonged to anyone or anything.

  Diamond must feel just that way. She was a misfit. Abandoned.

  Philippa took a step forward. Larkyn whispered, “Have a care—” just as the filly reared, snorting, flailing with her forefeet.

  Philippa stood her ground. “Steady, Diamond. There’s no need for all this.”

  Breathing hard, the filly glared at her. Philippa took another step, her hands relaxed by her sides.

  Diamond reared again, but this time it was halfhearted, her forefeet barely leaving the ground. She huffed, and stamped, then stood still.

  “That’s my girl,” Philippa said gently. “You’re lonely, I think. A beautiful girl, Diamond, but lonely and frightened.”

  Diamond took a quick look to the side, to see that Larkyn was still there, then her great eyes fixed on Philippa again. Light gleamed in their depths, the spark of spirit and intelligence. Her nostrils flared like the petals of a pink flower edged in silver. Her lashes were so dark a gray they were almost black. They fluttered down over her eyes, and she gave a long, gusty sigh.

  Larkyn laid the longue line down. Diamond turned her head to watch her, and her feet shifted nervously.

  “Should I—” Larkyn began.

  “No,” Philippa said, keeping her voice low. “Let’s let her think. Let her work it out.”

  Distantly, she heard the sounds of the Academy, horses whickering, equipment clattering, voices raised in the stables. The wheels of a carriage rattled on the cobblestones of the courtyard, and a draft horse whinnied.

  Diamond reacted to none of these things. Her eyes were fixed on Philippa, and her tail, bit by bit, ceased its anxious switching. After a long, still moment, she took a step forward, lifting her hooves high, settling them into the dirt with delicate deliberation.

  Philippa waited where she was.

  The filly took another step. She turned her head to Larkyn, then back to Philippa, her nostrils twitching.

  Philippa didn’t move, but she held out her hand. “Come to me, sweetheart,” she whispered. “You poor, abandoned girl. You can come to me.”

  Diamond drew a shallow breath. Like a dancer, she inched closer to Philippa, each step a question and a challenge. When she was only two steps away, she lifted a forefoot as if to strike.

  Philippa murmured, “No, Diamond. No, dear. This is all up to you.”

  A horse whinnied from the stables. Larkyn said ruefully, “Tup. He wants his breakfast.”

  “You can go, Larkyn.”

  “Oh, nay, Mistress Winter. I wouldn’t miss this for anything. Tup can wait for once.”

  Philippa said, “We’re close, I think.” She turned her palm up. “Come along now, little Diamond. You can use a friend, I think.”

  Diamond looked at her, and at her hand. Her nostrils quivered, and she blinked uneasily. She took another step, then another, each as careful as if she were walking on ice.

  At last, gingerly, hesitantly, she stretched her neck to its full length to put her nose into Philippa’s palm.

  Her muzzle was cool and soft, and her indrawn breath tickled.

  Philippa barely breathed.

  Diamond took another step, bringing her close enough to sniff at Philippa’s face, one cheek, then the other. Philippa tousled the filly’s short fluff of mane, keeping her touch featherlight and noncommittal.

  Diamond sighed, a sound that came from deep within her chest. She pulled her head back and looked into Philippa’s eyes as if she could read what lay behind them.

  And then, after a moment’s breathless, wondering pause, she rustled her wings.

  Philippa breathed again. She stroked the speckled gray satin of Diamond’s shoulder. The filly lowered her head, and butted gently at her chest. She flexed her wings, the pinions stretching with the sound of silk unfolding. She took another step, so that she had to bow her neck to keep from pushing Philippa

  over, and she butted her again, like a child trying to get its mother’s attention. A third time, her wings rippled against the wingclips. The invitation was as clear as if it had been written on parchment.

  A strange, welcome sensation of warmth began to spread in Philippa’s chest.

  She touched Diamond’s smooth cheek and breathed, “Oh, yes, my dear. Yes, indeed. I would love to fly.”

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  AIRS OF NIGHT AND SEA

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  Bond unbroken

  Lark sighed. Nothing would matter if Duke William had his way. She had no doubt he meant to stop her from winning her silver wings.

  She ran her hand over Tup’s back and found it dry. She put the blanket back on and swung the saddle up and over. As she buckled the straps, she said, “This is it now, my Tup. We go on to Arlton and hope we can find the Palace, and Baron Rys, without difficulty. After that . . . I can’t tell you.”

  Tup turned his head, and his shining black eye regarded her for a long moment. She stroked his cheek.

  “Aye,” she said softly. “Aye, my lovely, fine boy. Whatever happens, at least we’re together.”

  She leaped into the saddle, adjusted her boots in the stirrups, and they were off . . .

  Ace Books by Toby Bishop

  AIRS BENEATH THE MOON

  AIRS AND GRACES

  AIRS OF NIGHT AND SEA

  PROLOGUE

  DIAMOND’Ssilver wings beat against the hot summer air, lifting the dapple gray filly above the park, beyond the beech grove, and on toward the hills, where the first autumn chill gilded the grasses and bronzed the leaves of ash and oak. Her ears flickered as she flew faster, invigorated by the taste of freedom. The saddle and sa
nd weights, though she carried them for the first time, were no hindrance. Her monitor, a Foundation gelding, flew slowly and steadily beside her, both he and his horsemistress keeping watch over the young horse.

  William of Oc and his Master Breeder watched from the paddock as Diamond darted above her monitor with an exuberant flick of her tail. Her coat caught the sun in brilliant spangles as she carved dazzling spirals above and below the old gelding. From the ground, William heard the horsemistress calling to her, trying to settle her.

  Jinson groaned, “Your Grace! She’s so hard to control!”

  William laughed and tapped his thigh with his quirt. “Nonsense!” he said. “She’s just spirited. Flying with a monitor bores her. I’m bored with it myself! I’ll fly her before winter.”

  “Duke William, I can’t recommend it,” Jinson protested. “She’s so young, and you’re too heavy—”

  “I’m not too heavy,” the Duke said. “I’ve not eaten more than one meal a day for weeks now.” He held his hand up in the sunlight. The fingers were so thin his bones showed beneath the skin. He liked the effect. He liked looking gaunt and hollow-cheeked, and besides, the paucity of food diminished the

  swelling of his chest, as well. “You see, Jinson?” he said. “I’m ready. And so is she.”

  “But—Your Grace—you’ve never flown, and if you can’t control her—” Jinson began.

  William slapped his quirt across his palm. “Enough of your whinging, man! If I can’t control her, I’ll fall and die. Then you’ll have something else to complain about.”

  “My lord, I didn’t mean . . . It’s not as if I want you to . . .”

  William caressed the quirt in his fingers, and eyed Jinson. He said in his silkiest tone, “I don’t doubt your loyalty, man. Why, if something should happen to me, the Council Lords would probably banish you to Aeskland.”

  Jinson paled at that, and William chuckled. The winged horses turned back toward the paddock, the gelding trying to hold the lead, Diamond swerving this way and that, sparkling in the sunlight like her namesake stone. William’s heart beat faster at the sight of her. She delighted him in ways he had never expected, and the affection he felt surprised him.