Toby Bishop - Horse Mistress 01

by Airs Beneath the Moon

  Petra made an exasperated sound and stalked out of the stables. Beside Lark, Tup relaxed his muscles and lowered his head. She stroked his cheek. Molly trotted across the stall to press against her knees.

  “Is Seraph all right?” Hester put her elbows on the gate, leaning into the stall.

  Tup’s ears flicked forward at her voice, at ease now. “Aye,” Lark said. “But I worry about what he’ll do.”

  “Seraph, or the Duke?” Hester asked.

  Lark said bitterly, “Both.” She crossed the stall to take Tup’s blanket from its shelf, and shook it out.

  “The Duke hates me,” she said. “Because I stopped him getting what he wanted. And Tup hates the Duke because he beat him.”

  “You, at least,” Hester said, straightening, “will be protected by the Council. Mamá assures me the Council will draw the line at allowing the Duke to interfere with one of the girls of the Academy.”

  Lark buckled Tup’s blanket around him and checked to see that his water bucket was full. “But our farm,” she said, as she gave the brown goat one last pat, and opened the half-gate to step through. “The Duke has the power to take it right away from the Hamleys, after we’ve held it for more than three hundred years.”

  “Try not to worry, Black. Mamá and Papá will do their best.”

  “I know. I’m grateful.”

  “Now, come help me with Goldie,” Hester said. “We’ll be late.”

  “Aye,” Lark said.

  She filled Golden Morning’s water bucket while Hester blanketed her. As they turned to leave the stables, the oc-hound, Bramble, came pacing toward them.

  Hester stroked her silky head. “Where have you been, Bramble?”

  Lark patted the dog, too, and said, “She’s been watching the Duke.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “’Tis what she does. Ever since he stole Tup from the stables.” She knelt in the sawdust, and murmured,

  “You’re a lovely fine dog, Bramble. Watch over my Tup, now will you?”

  Bramble’s plumy tail waved gently, and she turned toward Tup’s stall. As Lark stood, Bramble settled herself just outside the stall gate.

  “That’s amazing, Black,” Hester said. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Talk to animals that way. You do it with Bramble, with Pig, with Molly. And they always seem to understand!”

  Lark gave a small laugh. “I don’t think Pig always understood!”

  “Well—he’s a difficult pony,” Hester admitted. “But still.”

  Lark considered this as they crossed the courtyard. The lights of the Hall were on, and the aromas of supper reached them through the chill air. Despite her sadness, Lark was hungry. “I think,” she said to Hester, as they climbed the steps, “that it’s because I grew up with animals. No mother, no father—my brothers were wonderful to me, but they were always working. I had the goats, the cows, the chickens.”

  They reached the tall doors, and Hester opened one. “And I had Char, for a time,” Lark added sadly.

  “Oh, Black,” Hester said. “You’ve had a hard time of it.”

  Lark managed a smile up at her tall friend. “We grieve for a thousand days. ’Tis better now,” she said.

  Hester smiled back. “Yes, I think so.”

  But Lark couldn’t help the thought, as they found their seats, that it would never get better for Rosellen.

  She doubted she would ever cease mourning her friend. Or Char, her magical little mare, or the mother she had never known. The world seemed full of grief. If only something could be done for the bereft parents of Onmarin!

  Lark looked up at the high table, where the instructors sat. The Headmistress’s seat was empty, and so, she saw, was Philippa Winter’s. As Lark gazed at their empty chairs, the icon that hung around her neck, the little carved image of the horse goddess, grew warm against her skin. She touched it with her fingers and wondered what Kalla was trying to tell her.

  SEVEN

  THEday after Philippa’s return from Arlton, a horsemistress arrived with a message for the Academy.

  It was a cool afternoon, the shadows already beginning to slant across the Academy grounds. Philippa was in the flight paddock with her students when she saw the dun Ocmarin approaching from the south.

  She knew the horse, Sky Mouse, and knew the courier who flew him. She excused herself from her class and hurried to the return paddock, calling for Erna.

  By the time the stable-girl plodded out, the courier was already leaping down from her horse, tapping his shoulder with her quirt, touching her cap to Philippa. As Sky Mouse folded his wings, Philippa said, “It’s always good to see you, Catherine, but I suspect your errand is urgent.”

  “It is.” Catherine Sky gave her reins to Erna.

  Erna turned away, yanking on the reins, and Sky Mouse tossed his head in complaint.

  Philippa said sternly, “Erna! Don’t pull a horse’s head that way.”

  Erna flashed her a sullen look. “Yes, Horsemistress.” “Mouse has flown a long way. He needs a walk

  and a rubdown. When he’s cool—and not till then—give him water, and a feed of oats and flake of hay.

  Do you understand me?”

  The girl nodded and set off toward the stables with the horse at her heels. As the two horsemistresses crossed the courtyard, Philippa said, “Erna hasn’t been here long, and she makes mistakes. I’ll send one of the girls out to check on Mouse.”

  “Thank you.”

  Philippa said bitterly, “We miss Rosellen even more when Erna gives us trouble.”

  “Was Rosellen the one killed in Onmarin?”

  Philippa nodded. “I still can hardly believe it. It was an awful thing. Brutal.”

  “Lord Francis told me,” Catherine said.

  “You’ve come from him, I gather?”

  “Yes.” Catherine touched the leather pouch at her belt. “I have a letter for Duke William from Prince Nicolas. But my message for you and Margareth is from Lord Francis. Private.”

  “Come,” Philippa said, opening the tall door to the Hall. “You can tell us together.”

  Both horsemistresses pulled off their caps and gloves as they crossed the foyer of the Hall. Philippa saw how Catherine scanned the familiar paintings, how she breathed in the old, comforting scents of polish and wax and leather. Before she knocked on Margareth’s door, she said, “It’s good to be back, isn’t it?”

  Catherine breathed a sigh of pleasure. “It feels more like home than my own.”

  Margareth was at her desk when they entered her office. She looked up, and smiled, but she didn’t rise.

  She had grown thinner in the past weeks. Philippa wished she could believe it was only her worry over the current troubles, but she feared it was worse than that. Over the past two years, the Headmistress had grown increasingly weak, tiring easily, and she had a poor appetite. It was time and past time for her to retire, Philippa thought, but for her own sake, she dreaded that day.

  “Catherine Sky,” Margareth said. “What a pleasure to see you, my dear.”

  Catherine inclined her head to Margareth. If she, too, noticed that Margareth did not look well, she hid her feelings about it. “Headmistress,” she said, “I was glad to know that my errand would bring me here.”

  “Catherine has a message for us from Francis,” Philippa said.

  Margareth indicated the chairs across from her desk, and they seated themselves. Catherine glanced at the door to be certain it was closed before she said, “Lord Francis has arranged a war party to go in search of the children.”

  “Ah,” Margareth said. “The agreement with Klee.”

  Catherine nodded. “Depending, of course, on whether you will accept Amelia Rys as a bondmate to one of the winged horses.”

  “Philippa explained this to me,” Margareth said. “And she has persuaded me to endorse the plan. But the Duke may not, and the Master Breeder is his puppet.”

  “Yes, Lord Franc
is understands that.” Catherine touched the messenger pouch at her belt. “I carry a letter for the Duke. But Lord Francis wants Philippa to deliver it.”

  “Philippa? But she and the Duke—” Margareth sat back in her chair, shaking her head. “I don’t understand.”

  Philippa closed her eyes briefly, feeling the weight of responsibility. “I do, Margareth,” she said heavily.

  “Francis knows I can put pressure on his brother.”

  Catherine untied the pouch and held it out to Philippa. “Lord Francis said he knew you would understand.”

  Philippa crossed to her and accepted the pouch. “I could wish I did not,” she said. “But this must be done. Not only for the kidnapped children, but for the honor of Oc.”

  Margareth, with difficulty, came to her feet. “Be cautious, Philippa.”

  Philippa said, “It is far too late for that, Margareth. William has set himself against me. And our conflict has old roots.” She tied the pouch to her own belt and nodded to Catherine and to Margareth. “He will be angry with me, no doubt. But there is no going back now. And what can he do, really? I’m a horsemistress of Oc. I have my own rights.”

  Afew unseasonable snowflakes drifted around Philippa as she and Sunny came to ground in the park of the Ducal Palace. Sunny blew and danced as she trotted up the ride toward the stables. A few morsels of glittering white caught on her red mane and quickly vanished.

  Philippa stroked her neck. “You like the cold weather, don’t you, my girl?”

  The mare came to a stop, tossing her head. Jolinda, the old stable-girl who had been in the Ducal stables since Frederick’s day, came across the frosty grass to meet them. She smiled, a hundred wrinkles creasing her face. “Acting like a filly, isn’t she, Mistress?”

  “She is, Jolinda.” Philippa swung one leg over the cantle and jumped to the ground. She winced a little, feeling the jolt in her knees. “I guess neither one of us is a filly anymore, though,” she said wryly.

  “Nineteen years in the saddle this season.”

  Jolinda took Sunny’s reins and clucked to her. Over her shoulder she said, “Thirty in the stables for me, Mistress Winter. Sorry to tell you, the knees is what feels it first.”

  Philippa laughed. “Thanks for the encouragement!”

  Jolinda grinned and led Sunny off in the direction of the stables. Philippa watched them go, then turned to her left to cross the circular courtyard to the Palace steps.

  Everything about the Palace grounds was painfully familiar. The window of Frederick’s old apartment was just above the entryway, and the room where she herself had lived, so long ago, was to her right, around the corner and through the garden. She remembered the flush of excitement she had felt when she first arrived here to take up her duties in the Duke’s service. She and Sunny had both been young then, nervous and proud at the same time. They had served well, Philippa thought, served both the Duke and the Duchy.

  She climbed the steps, stripping off her gloves as she went. Tension gripped the back of her neck. In some strange way, she thought, she still served Frederick, though he had been gone more than a year.

  She knew what his dreams and ambitions had been, all for Oc, and for the winged horses. By tradition, she owed loyalty to William, because he was now the Duke. She had been taught that principle since childhood, and her training at the Academy had reinforced it. But, she reflected, she was incapable of blind loyalty.

  “Kalla’s teeth,” she muttered under her breath. “If the Duke doesn’t serve the Duchy, who will?”

  There was no answer, of course. The heavy doors before her opened, and Parkson, William’s steward, was bowing to her. She took off her cap as she followed him inside, and moments later, found herself in a comfortable study, warm with heat from a sturdy fire. She tucked her cap into her belt and paced back and forth before the study’s wide window, pleating her gloves between her fingers.

  William did not keep her waiting long. He stood just inside the room, one hand on a lean hip, the fingers of the other tucked into the pocket of his elaborate vest. Keeping his distance, Philippa thought. As if that would make a difference.

  “I have a letter for you from Arlton,” she said without preamble.

  William’s expression didn’t change or his eyelids flicker. He said icily, “Why, Philippa. When did you become a courier for the Prince?”

  “I have not done so,” Philippa said. “This message is from your brother. The courier brought it to the Academy, at Lord Francis’ express wish.” She untied the messenger pouch from her belt and crossed the room, holding it out.

  William did not move his feet, but Philippa could have sworn he leaned back, away from her. He stretched out his long arm and took the pouch. She eyed him a moment, one brow raised, then went to the hearth to stand near the warmth of the flames.

  William started to undo the leather thongs, but stopped with the ties dangling from his fingers. His narrowed eyes lifted to Philippa’s face. “Why you, Philippa? Surely Francis understands there is no love lost between us.”

  “I have not read the letter,” she said. “Perhaps when you do, you will understand.”

  “I can guess.”

  “Yes,” she said with deliberation. “I suppose you can.”

  William pulled the letter from its carrier. He moved to a velvet sofa and smoothed the pages on the small table beside it. Philippa watched as he read it, then read it again. There was a long silence as he rerolled the letter and tucked it inside his vest. He stood and walked to the fireplace to stand opposite her, staring into the flames.

  She waited. After perhaps a minute, he drew a slow breath and lifted his head. His eyes glittered. Like a snake’s, she thought. Like one of the Old Ones.

  “I dislike having my private affairs discussed,” he said at last. His tone was tight, his face like stone.

  “Especially because you have used them to manipulate me.”

  “I told Francis you have shirked your responsibility.”

  “You mean to those yokels of Onmarin?” he spat at her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Philippa! I have greater things to worry about than that.”

  “You are the Duke,” Philippa said. “Your duty to your people should come first.”

  His face flooded with dark color. “How dare you presume to tell me my duty?”

  Philippa folded her arms and tapped her fingers irritably on her elbows. “Your father would be appalled to know that you care nothing for your citizens, however low their station.”

  “I care for Oc,” he snapped. “Everything I do is for the Duchy.”

  “Indeed?” She unfolded her arms and raised one hand, the palm out as if to touch his breast. “Does that include changing your body, William?” Her omission of the title was deliberate, and she saw by the flicker of his eyelids that he knew it. “Are you violating the bloodlines for the people’s sake, or because you wish to shatter the traditions of the winged horses? I hardly think that’s the act of an altruist.”

  “Why not expose me, then? You have friends in the Council, I believe.”

  Philippa dropped her hand. “I’m concerned about our Duchy, of course. What will become of Oc if the rest of Isamar learns of your depravity?”

  He sucked in a breath. She saw that his hand went to his belt, but it came away empty. The quirt, the one Larkyn was convinced was magicked, was not there.

  Philippa stepped back, and she, too, drew a deep breath. “Your Grace,” she said, in as moderate a tone as she could manage in the tense atmosphere. “It’s not too late. Give up this madness, let your body return to its natural state. Restore the Master Breeder.” His silence encouraged her, and she said swiftly,

  “You could make peace with your sister as well.”

  He threw up his head and fixed her with a furious gaze. “You go too far,” he said, his voice so tight it was barely audible. “What has passed between Pamella and me is none of your business.”

  “It is my business, I’m sorry to say,” she said heavily.
“In the ordinary way of things, I wouldn’t care. But of course you fear what she can tell us, and that gives me power over you.” His mouth twisted, and she shrugged. “I wouldn’t care about that, either, if it were not for your interference with the winged horses.”

  He folded his arms, outlining the slight but unmistakable swell of his bosom beneath the extravagant vest.

  The sight made Philippa feel faintly queasy. It seemed to her that his lips were fuller, his jaw narrower, than when she had last seen him. He made an odd picture, as if painted by someone of perverse talent.

  He said stiffly, “I will allow my brother to accept the offer of Baron Rys. And I will inform Jinson—Master Jinson, that is—that the Baron’s daughter is to be bonded to a winged foal. However,”

  he added, “you are forbidden to mention these other matters ever again.”

  “Or what, William?” Philippa said wearily. “There’s nothing you can do to me.”

  “Oh,” he said, “but there is.” He leaned forward a little, his thin lips curving. “There is that farm in the Uplands—Deeping Farm, I believe. The little Hamley girl is from there.”

  The familiar pain began to radiate up Philippa’s neck. She grimaced and rubbed at it.

  He gave a hollow chuckle. “Yes, I see that you understand. A single word from me, and the Hamleys lose Deeping Farm.”

  “The Hamleys are caring for your sister,” Philippa said. “And for her child. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  “Ah, Philippa, I’ve shocked you. Did you think, because they took Pamella in, that they would be spared?”

  “Of course I did,” Philippa said.

  He gave an elegant shrug. “Then you were wrong. These are the things that give a leader power, and I will use them if I must.”

  Philippa pulled her cap from her belt and smoothed it over her head. She moved toward the door and opened it, then stopped, the latch still in her hand. She looked at him over her shoulder. “Your father would be ashamed.”

  “My father was a weakling.”

  “He was a man of honor,” Philippa said.

  “Why? Because he wouldn’t lift a finger without the approval of that lot of old men on the Council?”