“Aye,” Nick said. “And he wants to ruin the Hamleys.”
Francis sighed. “There’s little enough honor left to the Fleckhams,” he said, “but upon what there is, I swear to you, he won’t take your farm. I won’t allow it.”
ONthe eve of Estian, Francis walked with Larkyn to the river that formed the northern border of Deeping Farm. She pointed to a shallow place where the water ran as clear as crystal over the blackstones of the riverbed.
“She stood right there, my Char,” she said. “Up to her hocks in the water, every bone showing. I hardly thought she would make it to the barn.”
“What a shame you lost her,” Francis said.
“It was terrible.” She turned her eyes up to his. They were the violet of hyacinths, he thought, or delphiniums like the ones that edged the paths at the Palace. “Lovely sweet she was, Lord Francis. But Kalla brought her to me so she could live long enough to give me Tup.”
They strolled along the riverbank, where long grasses dipped into the swirling water. Butterflies, gold and white and black, flitted near a willow tree. “Your family has done mine a great service,” Francis said. “I owe my recuperation to your brothers. And—” he laughed, “to Peony’s pottage, I think!”
“You do look strong now,” Larkyn said, brightening. “’Tis wonderful to see you working around Deeping Farm.”
He chuckled. “When I first came,” he said, with a little laugh, “I felt as out of place as a fish tossed out of this river.”
She smiled. “Aye. ’Tis different to what you’re used to.”
“That it is. But I began to feel better almost immediately. And I have come to love the Uplands as you do. I think even Pamella may one day heal if she stays here.”
Larkyn bit her lip, then said, in a rush, “My lord—I don’t know what you’ll think—but I believe Edmar means to marry her!”
Francis stopped where he was, staring at her. “What?”
Larkyn laughed a little, and the ready color surged in her cheeks. “It seems my quiet brother loves them both, Pamella and Brandon. Edmar wants to marry her, and take Brandon as his own son, but he fears—well. She’s a duke’s daughter, and Edmar only cuts stone in a blackstone quarry.”
“And what does Pamella say?”
Larkyn shrugged. “She says naught to me, my lord. But it seems she and Edmar speak enough to come to an understanding. And Brye approves.” She grinned. “Someone of the Hamleys should marry! And though Peony tries so hard, I don’t think it will be Nick!”
Francis started walking again, shaking his head. Even after all these months, he still could hardly reconcile the quiet hardworking woman Pamella was now with the flighty young sister he remembered.
“Do you disapprove, then?” Larkyn asked quietly as she walked beside him.
“No, it’s not that at all!” Francis said quickly. “I am just startled by the idea.”
“You’re the only family she has to ask a blessing of,” Larkyn said.
He smiled down at her. “It will be an honor to see my sister become a Hamley,” he said firmly. “I have never known a more upstanding family.”
She glowed with pleasure. “I’ll tell Brye, then,” she said with relish. “And he can break the news to Edmar. You must return to Willakeep for the wedding, my lord!”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
FORTY-THREE
RIBBONDay dawned to a perfect autumn sky. The hills to the west blazed with gold and red and rust.
Puffs of white cloud floated high above the Academy, and a gentle wind carried the faint fragrance of burning leaves into the courtyard. Jittery girls hurried through breakfast in order to see to their horses.
Even the horsemistresses seemed fidgety, walking through the stables to check the fit of every bridle, the length of every stirrup, the buckle of every cinch.
Lark had brushed Tup’s tail until it shone, but she did it again, knowing that in flight it would flow like a banner of black silk. She had just turned to comb through his mane a third time when Headmistress Star appeared at the stall gate.
“Good morning, Larkyn,” she said.
Lark inclined her head. “Good morning, Mistress.”
“I’m here to make certain you’re using your flying saddle,” Mistress Star said.
“Oh, aye, of course.”
“Good. I understand there was some—irregularity—on your first Ribbon Day.”
Lark’s cheeks warmed. “My saddle is right here, Mistress,” she said. “I’ll put it on as soon as the third-levels are done. Tup and I have worked hard on the Graces.”
“I look forward to seeing them.”
Mistress Star walked on to the next stall, and Lark turned back to Tup. He tossed his head, and his feet rustled the clean straw. “Easy, Tup,” Lark murmured. “We have time yet. The third-levels go first. Don’t fuss, or you’ll be worn-out by the time the drill starts.”
He lifted one gleaming back hoof as if to add to the dozens of dents he had already kicked in the wall.
Lark said, “No! Tup, no! Not today. Herbert will be furious!”
Tup whickered and pushed at Lark’s shoulder with his nose, making her stumble. “Stop teasing me!” It felt good to laugh, to release some of the tension in her chest. “Now you behave yourself, Tup. We have a big day ahead.”
The carriages had begun to arrive, bringing the nobility to watch the trials that would make horsemistresses of the third-level girls. The ladies’ jeweled caps glittered in the mild sunshine, and their long skirts pooled around the padded chairs that had been set for them in the courtyard. The lords bent their heads together, talking and joking. The very air of the Academy seemed to sparkle with anticipation.
Duke William had not appeared by the time the sun was high in the sky, but Lord Francis had come home from Arlton for the occasion, and he offered to bestow the silver wings on the graduates. Mistress Star and Mistress Dancer conferred worriedly over this, and decided, with the aid of several of the Council Lords present, that this plan would serve.
The second- and first-level girls gathered at the fence of the flight paddock to watch the third-levels fly.
As the older girls and their horses passed through the gate, the younger students murmured good wishes.
Lark looked up as Petra and Sweet Reason rode past her. Petra’s face was pinched with nervousness, and Sweet Reason’s tail switched anxiously.
“Sweet,” Lark called softly. Petra looked down at her, and her neck stiffened when she saw Lark. Lark nodded to her. “You’ll be perfect,” she said. “Both of you. I know it.”
Petra’s lips parted, and for a moment Lark thought she might make some sharp retort. But as Sweet
Reason carried her through the gate, she blew a breath through her lips and smiled. She said, in her own natural accent, “Thank you, Black,” as Sweet Reason broke into a trot.
The third-level girls performed competently, if not perfectly. Their Arrows, that final Air that all flyers had to learn before graduating, went well, the horses diving toward the ground, pulling out at the last moment, winning applause from the assembly. Their Graces looked the slightest bit ragged to Lark, but it was understandable. It must have been hard for their flight to lose their senior instructor so close to Ribbon Day.
Lord Francis, smiling, gave each member of the flight her wings and a gracious compliment, and the brand-new horsemistresses, beaming with pride and relief, arrayed themselves behind the rows of chairs to watch their younger classmates fly.
Unlike on her first Ribbon Day, Lark brimmed with confidence. Tup felt it, too, launching into the crisp autumn sky with joyous assurance. Their place was at the end of the formation, with Hester and Goldie at the head. Their flight ran through Half Reverses, a triumphant Grand Reverse designed especially for the Foundations to show their skill, a series of Points patterns meant to show off the agility of the Ocmarins, and then, finally, the Graces. There were three required, and Mistress Star had drilled them mercilessly.
The Graces for second-level flyers included the elliptical pattern of their first Ribbon Day, then an interlocking pattern in which the horses flew one above, one below, circling the Academy courtyard.
Both of these formations went flawlessly, and Lark’s heart swelled, knowing how the horses’ wings would look from the courtyard, a kaleidoscope of color, shifting and changing and re-forming in ever more beautiful patterns. Surely Kalla herself must regard these highly schooled creatures with pride.
And then came the final Grace. The flyers banked to the left, tilting nearly at right angles to the ground, and then, on Mistress Star’s signal, reversed to the right. It was a move designed to prepare flyers to evade arrows or spears, or to dodge other flyers when necessary. It required a deep seat in the flying saddle, a perfect balance between the rider and the winged horse. Lark, as she felt Tup begin to drop his left wing, snugged her thighs beneath the knee rolls, and shifted her weight to compensate. She still would have preferred to be bareback, with only a chest strap to grip, but they had learned it, she and Tup. They flew for a dozen wingbeats, then they leveled out, and dipped to the right for a dozen more.
No formation of birds could have flown with more skill or in better synchrony than this flight of winged horses. They straightened, skimmed the trees at the end of the flight paddock, and circled back over the Academy to begin a triumphant descent. Every girl was smiling into the wind, every horse’s ears turned eagerly forward, hooves tucked, wings vibrant with energy.
Lark hoped Lord Francis was watching.
The flight began to come to ground, first Golden Morning, then Duchess and Lad, Sweet Spring and Sea Girl, Sky Heart and Take a Chance. Lark and Tup were last.
Tup had already stilled his wings, preparing to soar over the hedgerow and down into the return paddock, when they suddenly began to beat again.
“Oh, no, Tup!” Lark cried. “Don’t refuse now!”
Tup turned his head to the left, and Lark followed his gaze, gasping at what she saw.
She was coming fast from the north, silvery wings beating frantically, her little neck stretched, her gray hooves flailing. She must have seen the Academy flights from her paddock at Fleckham House. The sight of the winged horses lifting into the sky, creatures like herself circling and swooping through the air, must have called to her very nature. Her own wingless dam couldn’t help her. Duke William wouldn’t know how to help her.
It was Diamond, William’s winged filly. She had launched herself for the first time, and she had no monitor to show her how it was done. She careened toward the Academy, her wingbeats growing erratic as she tired, her ears flicking forward and back as she grew fearful.
The little filly had no idea how to come to ground.
Lark called to Tup, “Hup! Hup!” but he was already ascending, his wings driving them upward. Lark knew her ribbon was at risk, and this time her punishment might be worse than mucking out stalls or mending tack, but she had no choice, and she and Tup both knew it. They couldn’t let this little filly fall.
What had the Duke been thinking, or Jinson? Diamond wore no halter, no wingclips. She was too young
for her first flight, just as Tup had been.
Tup flew directly above the return paddock, and ascended sharply into the sunshine. High above the roof of the stables, he banked to the left and flew north to meet the filly.
They reached her in moments, but Lark saw with alarm how her silvery hide darkened with sweat, how her immature wings trembled with fatigue. She had flown too far. Lark knew Diamond couldn’t hear her above the wind of her flight, but she called out anyway. “This way, Diamond! This way, little one! Follow Tup!”
The filly’s eyes rolled with panic, showing the whites. Sympathy and fear clutched at Lark’s throat.
Tup whinnied then, the bugling call of a young stallion that cut through the sound of the wind. He made a perfect Half Reverse, a little ahead and above the struggling filly. The muscles across her chest were straining, but she caught his rhythm and matched her wingbeats to his. It seemed to help, as her wings steadied, and her hooves tucked a little tighter beneath her.
She was exquisite, her muzzle narrow and fine, the faint dapples across her croup gleaming like jewels in the sunshine. She was aptly named, a gem among horses. Lark prayed to Kalla that she and Tup could see her safely to ground. They had never monitored a young horse before, and Lark had only her instinct to go on. She had never longed for Mistress Winter and Winter Sunset more than she did at this moment.
But they were not here, and though she saw another horse rise from the Academy, it could not reach Diamond in time.
The return paddock was too far. The filly’s strength was giving out.
Tup caught Lark’s thought in an instant and began to descend. Lark scanned the ground beneath them, looking for a safe place. Especially for a young horse, they needed smooth ground, soft grass, enough room to run off the speed of landing. But where?
Tup’s wings slowed as he lost altitude. The filly’s wings rippled and trembled as she struggled to imitate him. And below them, Lark saw the same farmer’s field where she had found the injured Bramble. There had been hay in that field, but now it was mown flat. The stubble would be stiff, but she knew the ground was even beneath it.
Tup’s black wings spread wide and still, and Diamond, foam flying from her mouth and from her chest, stretched her own fragile silver wings and held them. Lark looked away from her, needing to concentrate on the landing ahead. Tup stretched out his forefeet, gathered his hindquarters, and touched the stub-bled field.
The moment he began to gallop, Lark twisted her head to look over her shoulder.
Diamond’s gray hooves touched. She stumbled, and her wings scraped across the stubble, but she caught herself and broke into an uneven canter, one wing higher than the other, her head weaving. It wasn’t pretty, but she was down. She was safe.
They reached the end of the field, and Lark leaped from her saddle to throw her arms around Tup’s neck. “Lovely, lovely boy! Brave boy! I don’t care what they do to us for ruining Ribbon Day—you saved her!”
Diamond trotted up behind them and stood, sides heaving, wings drooping.
Lark approached her cautiously, holding out a hand for her to sniff, breathing into her pretty face when she was close enough. Diamond leaned against her, trembling, and Lark put her arms around the filly’s slender wet neck. “You poor little thing,” she said. “Poor little Diamond. Here, let me show you. Fold your wings, now.”
With gentle hands, she helped the filly to fold her wings, rib to rib, the silvery membrane darkening to charcoal as it contracted. She dripped with sweat and foam, and Lark had nothing to dry her with.
“Come now, both of you,” Lark said briskly. “You’re both hot. Let’s walk.”
By the time Mistress Star reached them, Diamond was dry and cool, and beginning to recover, but she wouldn’t stir a step from Tup’s side. She pressed as close to him as she possibly could, her nose touching his shoulder, her shoulder tight against his folded wing.
As the Headmistress dismounted Lark blurted, “Mistress Star, I’m sorry, but she was—”
Mistress Star held up a hand. “You were quite right, Larkyn. Well done. And well done to you, too, Seraph. You did just what Star and I would have done myself.”
LARKwalked the two horses back to the Academy on the road. Though Diamond had no halter, they didn’t need it. She clung to Tup’s side while Lark led the way. Mistress Star flew back to finish the Ribbon Day ceremonies. By the time Lark and Tup and Diamond reached the stables, the first-level girls were just finishing their drills, the sun was setting in a haze of gold and scarlet, and Lord Francis was standing on the Hall steps, ready to give them their ribbons.
A few lords and ladies still sat in the courtyard, sipping cups of tea Matron had brought them. Their conversion died as Lark appeared with the two horses.
Duke William arrived moments afterward. He leaped down from a phaeton drawn by two swift-loo
king bays, with Jinson at the reins. Jinson climbed down more slowly, after securing the traces. He had a halter and wingclips in his hands, and a look of shame on his face.
Duke William, evidently, felt no such shame. He swept across the courtyard toward Lark, his open greatcoat swirling around his polished boots. Lark was shocked at his appearance. His face had grown fuller, and his chest, though he wore a tight vest buttoned to his neck, swelled visibly behind the lapels of his coat. He seemed to have gained weight around the hips as well, so that his narrow black trousers pulled across the middle. The angry look in his eyes was familiar, though, and the high timbre of his voice.
He stalked up to Lark, causing Tup to pull back and flatten his ears. Diamond threw up her head, and stared at him.
“So, brat,” the Duke said. “It’s you again.”
“Aye, my lord.” She lifted her chin. “Yon filly was in trouble, sir.”
“ My filly,” he said.
Lark glanced at Diamond, who shrank back against Tup, watching the Duke with wide eyes. As the Duke stepped close to her, one hand out, Tup bared his teeth. The little filly’s ears drooped, and flicked confusedly from Tup to the Duke.
“Diamond,” the Duke said. Lark blinked in surprise at the gentleness in his tone. “Come to me, my little Diamond. Let’s get you home.”
“She must have seen the flights, sir,” Lark said. “You’ll need to wingclip her now, and you’ll need a monitor. She shouldn’t fly alone.”
“A monitor.” He shot a look of fury over her head at Jinson. “Find me one, Jinson.”
“M’lord, I don’t know . . .”
“I’ll take the brat, then,” William said. “Now that she’s already done it.”
“You won’t take her anywhere,” Francis said. Lark caught a swift breath and turned to find that Lord Francis had come up behind them, and stood now at a comfortable distance from Tup and Diamond, but close enough to give his lord brother a steady stare. “Larkyn is now a third-level Academy student, finalizing her training to be a horsemistress. This is hardly a time to take her away from her studies.”
William’s face reddened. “Must I remind you, Francis, that I’m the Duke, and you’re not? If I command one of my flyers to do something, she does it. She can come and stay at Fleckham House—with her little black, of course—and teach my Diamond to fly. In fact, I order it.”
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