Of Fire and Stars

by Audrey Coulthurst

  “Thanks for the warning,” I muttered.

  Amaranthine didn’t answer. A corner of her mouth quirked up, but I couldn’t tell whether it was due to amusement or disdain.

  I jammed my feet into the stirrups and sat up, grateful that Louie seemed so uninspired to move.

  “Keep the stirrup on the ball of your foot if you can. Here.” She wiggled the stirrup out from under the arch of my foot.

  “Like dancing.” I thought back to the welcoming feast, when Amaranthine’s eyes had met mine as I danced with Casmiel. In that moment, doing something that was one of my strengths, I had felt much more her equal.

  “Dancing may help you with riding,” she said. “Balance and coordination are important for both.” She stepped forward and put her hand lightly on my knee. Her touch sent a tingle up my leg that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with nerves.

  “Grip him hard with both knees,” she said. “Yes, like that. See how when you do that your lower leg comes completely off his side? You have no power if you have to ask him to turn or go forward. Now quit gripping with your knees. Good. Relax completely. Use your thigh and calf muscles. That’s where the strength of your seat comes from.”

  She stuck her hand behind my thigh, and a giggle escaped me. No one had ever touched me there.

  “Sorry. I’m not trying to tickle you. This”—she touched me firmly—“is where you are going to have to build a lot of muscle. Now stand up in your stirrups. Any time you’re having trouble with your position, this is a good way to remind yourself where your legs are supposed to be. When you stand up, you’re forced to put your lower legs in the correct position, or you won’t even be able to get yourself out of the saddle.”

  I sat down heavily, my thighs trembling with the effort of holding myself up for even a few seconds. This was not going to be pleasant.

  She sent Louie out on a long rope, clucking at him to move forward.

  “Now feel the way he walks. Pay attention to where his back muscles are pushing you and focus on following that movement. Sit up straight, but relax your hips.”

  I tried to do as she asked. It was strange to have someone talking about my hips. Of course, dance instructors had talked about them before, but they hadn’t been quite so . . . blunt.

  “Chest up, shoulders back. Keep both your lanterns on the road ahead!”

  I might have blushed if I hadn’t been so on edge. The language she used was better suited to the proprietor of a lowbrow tavern than a member of the royal family. Where had she even learned to talk like that?

  Louie and I continued to amble around the arena, Amaranthine firing off instructions more quickly than I could assimilate them. As I struggled to maintain my position, something caught my eye out past the other arenas. The bright shirts of three men stood out against the summer fields, the necks of their mounts dark with sweat. They approached at a brisk trot, the center horse flipping her head, the whites of her eyes stark against her bay coat.

  Instead of slowing as they approached the barn, the lead horse picked up a canter and skittered sideways over the dirt trail between the paddocks. As the riders drew closer, I recognized Prince Thandilimon aboard the unruly mare, a wide grin on his face. I straightened my posture and tried to remember everything Amaranthine had told me to do. It would be good for him and other nobles to see me riding.

  I smiled, raising a hand to wave. Before Thandilimon could return the gesture, the dust kicked up by the horses engulfed us and Louie let out a tremendous sneeze. I tipped forward in the saddle as his head flew down, and I tumbled over his shoulder to land in the dirt. My hip smarted, and I coughed amid the settling dust. Louie had come to an abrupt halt, placid as ever, and peered back at me before turning forward with a sigh.

  “Don’t move,” Amaranthine said, closing the distance between us in a few strides.

  I tensed as she approached, waiting for the inevitable reprimand.

  Instead, she crouched down and put her hand on my shoulder. Her touch comforted me with its balance of certainty and gentleness.

  “Go slow. Make sure everything’s working,” she instructed.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed. Looking stupid in pants was apparently the least of my problems.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, scowling in the direction of the barn. “That idiot brother of mine is going to get someone killed letting his horse run in from the trails. I’ve told him a thousand times not to do that.”

  “I still shouldn’t have fallen off,” I said. “All Louie did was sneeze.”

  “The important thing is that you’re all right.” She pulled me up onto my feet. “If I get you injured, my father, my brother, and both our kingdoms will be after my neck.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, brushing the dirt off my breeches. My hip ached, but she didn’t need to know. “Did the prince see me?” I asked hesitantly.

  Amaranthine rolled her eyes. “Doubt it. Idiot was probably too busy trying to keep his seat on that ill-mannered mare of his.”

  I cast a glance over to the barn, but the men had disappeared inside. I cared what the prince thought, but in a way it was more upsetting to think I’d disappointed Amaranthine.

  “Arms and legs still working?”

  “I suppose so.” I moved all my limbs experimentally, still a little shaky from the fall.

  “Then you’re getting back in the saddle.” Amaranthine gestured impatiently at the left stirrup.

  I quashed my fear, walked to Louie’s side, and let her toss me onto his back again.

  A sunlength later my legs felt as though they were made of pudding. I staggered around like a kitten as Amaranthine showed me how to remove Louie’s saddle and bridle and put away the equipment in the tack room. She did so with ruthless efficiency that allowed no room for small talk, leaving me to dwell on my failure to improve her opinion of me.

  Relief flooded me when we stepped into the barn aisle and I saw Casmiel approaching. He greeted us and kissed my hand. Even Amaranthine smiled to see him. His presence made everything feel lighter.

  “We received some new border reports I thought you’d like to see, so I came to escort you to the castle,” he said, and then turned to Amaranthine. “Are you coming back with us?”

  She shook her head. “You know how it is down here. There’s always shit to shovel.”

  “Keep it off your boots!” he said with a laugh, and touched her shoulder fondly.

  On our way back to the castle, I mumbled a prayer to the wind god, hoping that studying Directorate business would help me forget my utter ineptitude in the saddle.

  Casmiel’s study was even lovelier than I expected. Bookcases lined the walls on either side of his desk, with greenery interspersed among the multicolored spines of the volumes. A small set of the wind god’s chimes jingled softly in one of the windows, and the crystals hanging below the clappers cast shards of light all through the room.

  “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to a circle of heavy leather chairs. He sat across from me once I had selected my own, a strategic position designed to put us on even footing for the conversation to come. In spite of his blithe nature, I could tell that Casmiel should never be underestimated.

  “Thank you,” I said as he handed me a tall glass of pale tea served over crushed ice with a sprig of mint sticking out of the top. It smelled herbal and vibrant, green as spring.

  “How do you feel things are going so far?” he asked.

  “All right. The riding lessons will be challenging.” Or rather, my instructor would. “The breakfasts have been nice, but the conversations have mostly been about parties and fashion. I’d love to learn more about issues important to the crown as well.”

  “The other nobles may try to distract you with tea parties and frippery,” Casmiel said. “You will have to earn your place here. Show my brother, Thandi, and the Directorate that your voice is to be trusted. Queen Mirianna was more than a figurehead and an entertainer. She was the conscience of
the king. His anchor. May she rest with the Six.” He made a fist and placed it over his heart.

  “May her rest be eternally peaceful,” I murmured, mimicking his gesture and sketching the symbol of the shadow god.

  We both took a moment of silent reflection, and I let my eyes wander over Casmiel’s shelves. Most of the volumes in his office were not books but records of the kingdom. He had them categorized by type and year, the colored bindings allowing for quick reference. The man held the reins of the kingdom in his hands.

  “I hope to be worthy of Queen Mirianna’s memory,” I finally said. “And also to make my own future.”

  “In that case, let’s go over those border reports and see what you think. Apparently the bandits are getting hungry, especially in the southeast.” He pushed aside the tea tray, and we spent a sunlength poring over reports and records that the Directorate had reviewed the previous morning, seeing if we could parse out any further information from them. Messengers occasionally interrupted us to bring Casmiel the latest updates on Directorate business, leaving me in awe of how adeptly he handled the competing needs of all who relied on him.

  “You’re a quick study, my lady,” Casmiel said near the end of our session. “Most members of the Directorate don’t have the eastern trade routes memorized as well as you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, delighted. My head swam with information. I’d be up late making notes, but unlike riding, that was something I knew I could do.

  Another knock sounded on the door, and a page entered. “A noble’s house was defaced by the Recusants, and he’s demanding retribution,” the page said. “The king has requested that the Directorate convene in half a sunlength.”

  Casmiel dismissed the page and sighed. “Our time is up, I’m afraid,” he said. Outside, the afternoon was fading into dusk. “If you have time to review those expiring trade agreements, it would be a great help to me.”

  “I’d be happy to,” I said, thrilled that he trusted me with such an important task.

  He bade me farewell with a kiss on the hand, and I left his study with renewed confidence and a sheaf of papers in my arms. I hobbled down the hallway, my legs stiff and aching from sitting still for so long after the punishment of my riding lesson. But a crash sounded before I’d stepped more than ten paces away. I stopped in my tracks, as did a page who was hurrying by. Perhaps Casmiel had knocked something off one of his shelves. He might need help cleaning it up.

  “My lord?” I asked, turning back to tap on the door.

  Silence was the only response. Magic prickled into my fingertips as dread made my pulse pound in my ears.

  I knocked more loudly, then pushed open the door.

  Scattered papers danced across the floor as a breeze gusted in through the open window. Casmiel lay on his back amidst them, one arm thrown out to the side. One of his eyes stared vacantly in my direction. A white arrow protruded from the other, the shaft glimmering with otherworldly light.

  SIX

  Mare

  BY THE TIME I SLIPPED BACK OUT TO TOWN ON FOOT, the afternoon had given way to twilight. Lamps winked on in windows and on the street. I was eager for nightfall, when the lights would glow like fireflies throughout the city—until the mournful call of a hunting horn sounded in the distance.

  Traffic slowed to a stumbling stop. Heads bowed, and hands covered hearts.

  My trembling fingers found their way to my chest as though struggling to contain the heart within. A lone rider cantered down the street through the parted crowd, her horse’s shod hooves sending up dust and sparks. Her white cloak fluttered behind her, the hood pulled up to shroud her face in shadows. She raised a horn to her lips and blew another icy tone, the brass catching flickers of lamplight as blue tassels swung beneath it.

  A great hole opened inside me. The White Riders meant a royal death. Who in the Six Hells could it be?

  The whispering began as soon as the final horn call faded into silence.

  “Surely it’s not the king.”

  “The Havemont princess, perhaps?”

  “No! The White Riders ride only for the Mynarian royal family. She’s not Mynarian yet. Besides, a foreigner is a foreigner no matter how long—”

  “The daughter! It could be the daughter,” a voice interrupted.

  “The magic users must have been behind it,” someone said.

  With those words, the crowd exploded into chaos.

  There wasn’t time for me to end up in a street brawl, or to finish my original mission. I needed to get back to the castle, preferably before anyone discovered my absence. I shoved through the crowd, fighting my way up the street. Closer to the castle wall, liegemen prowled with swords at the ready. I cursed and pushed down a surge of fear and anxiety.

  I extricated myself from the crowd and ducked into a narrow space between two houses. Every shadow seemed to reach for me with dark fingers, and I shuddered as I passed the outline of a white circle on the side of a building, barely visible in the dim lamplight. I crept through backyards until I found what I’d hoped for—an ornate metal trellis that climbed all the way to the top of a house. I latched on before I could lose my nerve.

  The tang of iron and the green scent of crushed cypress leaves tingled in my nose as I scaled the trellis, the metal biting into my hands. My arms ached by the time I reached the roof. I pressed myself flat against the stone tiles and crawled carefully to the peak for a better view.

  A cohort of at least a hundred liegemen stood at attention in front of the main gates of the castle. Onlookers hung back closer to the city streets, wary of the steel that glinted in the liegemen’s hands. Far below me, pinpoints of light sparked in the darkness as sets of vigil candles were lit. Each grouping of six candles drew a small cluster of people. Fools. Vigils provided nothing but bruised knees. Praying to the Six wouldn’t bring back the dead. Having lost my mother, I knew that better than anyone.

  The wide swath of open ground between the city folk and the liegemen scared me. A royal death alone wasn’t reason to keep mourners at such a distance. Foul play must have been involved in whatever had befallen my family. Alone and unarmed outside the castle walls, I’d be an appealing second target. Then again, trying to sneak past that many liegemen was just as likely to end in death. All my options lay somewhere between shit and manure.

  I made my way back down the trellis, relieved when my boots finally hit solid ground. A slightly discordant hymn drifted through the streets as I hurried toward a side entrance to the castle wall. Unsurprisingly, the way was blocked. Four liegemen stood guard over the lone door, torchlight filtering between the iron bars behind them. I let the shadows of the buildings swallow me as I sneaked closer to the entrance. Street traffic was so light and intermittent it couldn’t be used as cover.

  Perhaps I could sneak in with a delivery. Or if I could get close enough to—

  “Heya!” A pair of hands grabbed me from behind, shoving me out into the light.

  I whirled around and struck at my assailant, but my fist flew through empty air.

  “Don’t think so, m’lad,” he said.

  Before I could retaliate, my back hit the cobblestones of the street. A burly liegeman stood over me with the tip of his blade resting on my throat. Hells. I’d forgotten about the perimeter guard.

  “If you think you’re getting in, you’re mistaken.” A sadistic grin was evident in his voice, though I could barely make out his face with the gas lamp shining behind his head. “No one is allowed in or out, by orders of the king.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get in,” I said, racking my brain for an excuse.

  “Sure you weren’t. Why were you sneaking around in the shadows, boy?” He pressed his sword into my neck. The blade stung my flesh.

  “Just looking for a friend, sir.” My voice trembled.

  “You look a mite scrawny for an assassin. Or maybe you’re one of those filthy magic lovers.” He spat beside my head. “Maybe I’ll kill you first and ask questions later.”

>   My heart pounded in my chest. What a stupid way to die. I was going to have to reveal my identity, and my father would never let me out of his sight again.

  “Gammon, what did you turn up?” a familiar voice called from across the street.

  “Nils!” I squeaked.

  “You know this street rat?” Gammon kept his eyes on me as he spoke to Nils.

  “I can’t say I know that many street”—Nils stepped closer and looked down at me, recognition dawning on his face—“rats.”

  I swallowed hard, staring up at him. Standing over me in his uniform, he looked every bit the authoritative liegeman, sheathed sword buckled at his narrow waist. He held his spear at the ready, the strong muscles of his arms visible below the short sleeves of his shirt. Silently, I pleaded with him to think of a way out of the situation—any way that didn’t involve being forced to play the princess card.

  “Stand down, Gammon. I know this one.” Nils sighed and drew his spear back into guard position.

  The blade vanished from my throat. I touched my neck and my fingers came away red with blood.

  “Sometimes I don’t know why I bother,” Gammon muttered, sheathing his weapon.

  “You did good work,” Nils assured him. “No telling what’s out here tonight.”

  Nils pulled me to my feet, frowning as he glimpsed the cut on my neck.

  “What have I told you about leaving the castle grounds without permission?” He squared his stance and glared at me.

  “That it’s inexcusable, sir.” I hung my head, falling into the act.

  “That’s right. I don’t care if it’s your night off. Stable hands only leave the grounds on praise days. Tonight you could have been killed.” His brown eyes bored into me. Had I been a real stable boy, I would have quaked in my boots.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I said.

  He grabbed me by the back of my shirt and shoved me toward the gate. “Back on duty, soldier.” He nodded to Gammon, who saluted before vanishing into the shadows with remarkable stealth for a man of his size.