“What should I do?” she whispered.
He hesitated. “I could . . . ensure he’s not a problem for you.”
Was this what Darby had seen in him? This cold monster who offered casual violence and murder, no strings attached? It was hard to reconcile the image with her friend. She shivered. “I’ll let you know.”
She got up to leave, but before she reached the door, Mikkal’s voice stopped her. “Mara? You’d better know for certain before you use that vial. Once you do, there’s no going back.”
She swallowed.
“You’d better hate whoever its meant for.”
12
The stables were bustling with activity by the time the prince’s carriage rolled up the day of the big race. Stablehands and grooms rushed around like headless chickens as they frantically walked their horses, polished tack, and braided manes and tails in preparation for the day’s races.
Isaac’s nose wrinkled at the sight of a barn boy shoveling manure. “Ugh. Why did you insist on coming here?”
“I wanted to see him beforehand. If I’m going to put a whole gold piece on the animal, I should at least know what my odds are,” Mara said, the lie rolling smoothly off her tongue. She looped the strap of her clutch purse around her wrist. “Besides, it’s not everyday I get to see a champion racehorse up close.”
“You’ll be able to see him in the winner’s circle,” he protested, picking invisible lint off his tailored suit—the latest fashion, he’d assured me. The black fabric was cut in sharp lines that folded around his frame, cumulating in enough buttons to send a Sartor into a coma. He had an odd scrap of fabric around his neck—a bowtie, or so he said. It looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“Haven’t you been here before?”
“Yes, but not wearing my finest clothes. I’ll get dirty!”
Mara rolled her eyes and practically shoved him from the carriage. “We’re already here. Let’s go!”
She waited until he exited the carriage, then took his offered arm, adjusting her hat with the other hand. She tilted her head to the side until it was almost upside down to accommodate the floral monstrosity gracing her head. Despite Mary’s assurances that the hat was expected for the races, she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Especially when the gods-cursed thing couldn’t fit through the door upright. When she’d first climbed into the carriage, the whole thing fell off. It was bright red and as wide as a saddle with a sweeping brim and flowers woven into the top. Mary had braided her hair and pulled it back into a knot at the nape of her neck. Her sleek gown, red to match, was tailored to fit her shape before falling just below her knees. Someone had decided that Mara should wear heeled slippers for the races, and she was planning on murdering the person responsible. If she made it through the day without falling and breaking her neck, she would consider it a victory.
The thought stopped her short, and the vial of heartsbane burned a hole in her clutch. No. If falling and embarrassing herself was the worst thing to happen today, she would consider herself the luckiest Gifted in the continent.
She fiddled with the clutch, then forced herself to stand still. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself, and fidgeting would sabotage her mission. She was here to see the horses. Nothing more. Nothing to see here.
Isaac, with a gloved hand pressed to his nose, picked his way into the stable. Everyone groveled in his path, sinking into deep bows the moment they saw their prince. One groom walked straight into a stall door the moment he caught sight of the monarch. The rest made hasty, if sloppy, bows, and a few approached him with worshipful smiles.
Bringing him was a mistake.
This wasn’t going to work. She needed to be alone if she was going to do this. But how could she ditch the witnesses without raising suspicions? Darby hadn’t given her any pointers—he just expected her to do the job. Think, Mara, think.
Pristine stalls, the result of meticulous cleaning, lined either wall. The ceiling towered above her head. Everything was painted white, which she considered a bold choice. It was almost as if the grooms were daring the horses to make a mess. Brass plates nailed to the stall doors declared each horse’s name, owner and trainer, though she wasn’t experienced enough to know which was which--she doubted a trainer was named ‘Passion of the Ignis,’ but she wasn’t about to judge. The sweet smell of hay and grain permeated the air as she strolled down the aisle, taking in the horses while reading their nameplates like gravestones.
These were no ordinary farm animals. No, these fine specimens were bred for speed, power, and endurance. Their delicately-arched necks hung over the stall doors to watch her pass by. A gray stallion whickered at her softly, maybe hoping she had a tasty treat in her pocket. Oh, she had something tucked away, but he wouldn’t want it. Isaac led her to his horse’s stall and she gasped. If the other horses were impressive, then this one was divine.
The coal-black stallion towered over everyone, peering down his exquisitely-chiseled nose at her. For a moment, she forgot to breath. His thick black mane was braided with ribbons which might have looked silly on any other horse, but on him? He looked regal. Her gaze devoured him from the white star on his face to his muscular haunches and long, graceful legs, searching for flaws and finding none. He was equine perfection.
How was she going to kill such a beautiful creature?
“He’s stunning, isn’t he?” Isaac asked, pride filling his voice, as he stroked the horse’s face.
Mara nodded mutely, not trusting herself to speak. When Isaac had spoken about the races, she hadn’t realized how much they meant to him. She’d assumed he enjoyed it purely for entertainment, like going to the opera. But the way he looked at his horse, it was like he was looking at his best friend. He would be shattered.
Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Isaac said, “Pride of the Saxum. His bloodline has belonged to our family for generations, and each foal is better than the last. His sire was the legendary Gifted’s Revenge and his dam was Farber’s Folly. So far, he’s dominated every field he’s faced so far but today will be the real test. The Emperor’s Stakes is the farthest he’s ever run at a mile and a half. If Manny—that’s Pride’s jockey—doesn’t use him up early on, he should have the endurance to go the distance. The fans love him, and the handicappers hate him.”
Handicapping, or betting on the races as Mara had learned, was the reason why she was here. Betsy had lost a fortune because of this horse, and now they were going to take matters into their own hands. Well, hers. By eliminating Pride of the Saxum, it would blow the field wide open, giving Betsy the opportunity to win back all he’d lost and more. It didn’t make much sense to Mara, but she wasn’t in a position to ask questions.
Her hands worried on her clutch. How was she going to get alone with the animal? And how was she going to live with herself afterward. Mikkal’s words replayed in her head. The poison would cause an agonizing death for Pride. Was it worth it?
Isaac let himself into the stall, running a hand down Pride’s foreleg and lifting up a hoof. Pride twitched his tail and snorted, but otherwise stood still. Isaac let the leg fall back down and straightened, brushing his hands on his trousers. “We’d had some trouble a few months back with his legs. He’d developed splints, but a few months of rest has healed him right up.”
She perked up at the news of an injury. “Are you sure he’s healthy enough to race? Maybe he should wait a little longer.” If he didn’t race today, she’d have no reason to go through with this.
“He’s fine. The vet cleared him to run. The other horses have gotten complacent after not having to face him for so long, but I think they’re in for a wicked surprise.”
Mara’s heart sank. They certainly were.
A scruffy-looking man in faded pants and muddy boots trotted down the aisle toward them. He tipped his wide-brimmed hat at Mara before turning to Isaac and sinking into a deep bow. “Prince Isaac, how fortunate you decided to visit today.”
Isaac smiled broadly. “Silas!
The pleasure is all mine. Please, meet my betrothed, Lady Mara. Mara, this is Silas, Pride’s trainer. He’s been working with him since he was a foal.”
“Glad to meet you, Miss.” Silas pulled a handkerchief from his pocked and dabbed his forehead. “I was there the night he was born. Best horse I ever trained, and the most mild-mannered, too.”
“He’s not vicious?” Mara pressed, searching for anything that could help ease her conscience.
“Certainly not! Not a mean bone in his body. I’d trust him with my newborn granddaughter.”
Her stomach dropped. If he’d been a violent terror, it might have made her job easier, but hearing that he was sweet tempered only made her feel worse.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but I’d like to speak with you a moment,” the trainer said, gesturing down the row of stalls.
Isaac excused himself with a promise of returning soon and followed Silas, leaving Mara alone.
Mara glanced around, but no one was paying attention to her. This was it. This was her chance. Pride watched her with a keen intelligence, as if he knew what she was about to do. But that was silly, right? He was just a horse. She should be grateful that Darby hadn’t asked her to kill a person.
She steeled her resolve and approached the stall, slipping inside. Pride tilted his massive head at her and knickered softly. What could she use? The feed trough was empty, and it wasn’t like she could just pour the poison down his throat. She looked around the stall, her eyes snagging on the water bucket hanging from the wall. She had to do this. If she didn’t, Darby would make good on his threat to reveal her secrets to the emperor. It was as good as a death sentence. Was she really going to risk everything for a horse?
Isaac would hate her, but he would have no way of knowing it was poison, right? They would assume it was natural causes. He’d grow weaker by the minute and collapse during the race. The veterinarian would claim that his heart gave out from the stress of running so far so soon after recovering.
The straw crunched beneath her boots as she edged toward the water bucket, keeping an eye outside the stall. She had to move quickly. There was no telling when Isaac would return, and it would be impossible to explain why she was in here. Hand trembling, she reached into her clutch and her fingers closed over the vial.
It was either her or a horse.
She had to choose herself.
She popped the cork and raised the vial above the bucket.
***
Isaac led Mara to his private box at the top of the grandstand where they could watch the races in comfort without being exposed to the elements. The snow had all melted, and while it was an unseasonably warm day, the wind still carried a bite to it. Isaac had said that the horses could run for a few more weeks before the weather made them close the racetrack until spring.
Mara walked over to the window and peered out over the racetrack, which formed a giant dirt oval around a field of trimmed grass. Musicae stood on a raised platform in the center, playing upbeat music between races. Thousands of spectators gathered under the awning over the grandstand. Even more crowded along the fence, jostling for a better view. For those who could afford them, the boxes provided both privacy and luxury. Isaac was right—nearly every woman wore a ridiculous hat, and hers wasn’t even the most obnoxious. Compared to the woman with a stuffed cat gracing her hat, Mara’s was downright elegant.
“The race isn’t scheduled to begin for another fifteen minutes. Why don’t you come relax? Have a drink.” Isaac reclined on a cushioned chair and waved at a servant dressed in a plain white shirt and black slacks.
Mara perched on her cushion for exactly thirteen seconds before launching herself back toward the window. Her stomach was in knots, and the smell of the spiced meat and cheesy pastries threatened to send her over the edge. She sucked in shallow breaths, trying to calm her nerves.
“Mara? Are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m fine,” she replied, her voice tight from the strain. She gripped the railing with her sweaty hands and tried to focus on the excitement outside. Under normal circumstances, she would have enjoyed the pageantry. “I’m happy to wait here.”
Isaac selected a flute of bubbling liquid from a tray and shrugged. “If you insist.”
Her eyes stayed glued to the gap off the tunnel as the procession of racehorses entered the track, each wearing different colored blankets emblazoned with a number beneath their saddles. The riders—jockeys as Isaac called them—wore colorfully patterned shirts to represent the different owners. A second horse and rider pair led each of the racehorses around the track.
Isaac joined her at the window and handed her a pair of opera glasses. “See that big gray there? That’s Verify! He won the Merrowhaven Derby last month. Pride would have crushed him if he’d been healthy. I can’t believe Luis is running him again already. Oh, and there! That chestnut with the white socks? That’s Caeli Smile! His sire, One Fine Breeze, holds the record for the fastest mile at the track.”
Mara nodded politely, not understanding half of what he said. It was just as well—she wasn’t listening anyway. Seven horses paraded in front of the grandstand, leaving one to go. She held her breath as Pride of the Saxum stepped onto the track.
Where the other horses bounced on their tails, shook their heads, and twitched their tails in agitation, Pride was serene, plodding along slowly as if the world waited on him. He was regal. A king amongst horses. Each step he took was a claim, and he ate up the ground with a massive stride like he was advancing into battle.
The crowd roared their approval. Clearly, he was a favorite among the people.
She was going to throw up.
“Look at him! Wow, I’ve never seen him this calm.”
“Is it too late to pull him from the race?” Her heart spasmed.
“Why would I scratch him?” Isaac peeked at her out of the corner of his eye before turning his attention back to the track. “He’s probably just eating up all the attention he missed while he was recovering.”
“Right.”
The horses quickened into a trot, followed by a loping canter as they warmed up.
“Pride’s a front-runner,” Isaac explained. “He does best when he can set the pace and he’s not getting dirt kicked up in his face. Provided he breaks cleanly, the other horses don’t stand a chance against him. He’s dominated every race he’s entered.”
Soon, the horses lined up and headed toward the starting gate.
A voice boomed over the crowd, “Welcome to the sixty-third running of the Emperor Stakes.”
Mara shrieked and fell backward, catching herself on the railing before she could fall. Isaac laughed. “That’s just Dom Turkin, the announcer. He’s a Caeli, and he uses his Gift to magnify his voice. Nothing to worry about.”
An announcer. Right.
Dom Turkin listed the horses as they entered the starting gate. It took three tries to load a feisty bay named Bear Brutum Brawl before two of the gate crew linked their arms behind his tail and shoved him unceremoniously into the stall. Pride of the Saxum walked in last, not even flinching when the horse next to him tried to bite him through the bars.
“They’re in the gate ready for the start of the Emperor Stakes . . .” the front of the gates swung open and the horses sprang forward, jostling for position, “aaand they’re off!”
Pride broke poorly and stumbled to his knees. For a terrifying moment, Mara thought he’d throw the jockey, but Manny managed to hang on. Isaac made a sound of dismay and pounded on the glass. “Get up!”
Mara pressed a hand to her mouth and held her breath. Pride got his legs underneath him and chased after the other horses.
“Uh, oh, folks! It looks like Pride of the Saxum had a rough start out of the gate. He’s hanging at the back of the pack, ten lengths behind the leaders.”
Isaac shouted, “Come on, Manny!”
“Verify takes the early lead, followed by Wavedancer, Mister Pistor, and Bear Brutum Brawl. In fifth is Irrigo Charm. Cael
i Smile is putting pressure on the inside with Flamecaster close behind. Pride of the Saxum is trailing by eight as they enter the first turn.”
Mara lifted her opera glasses to her eyes and followed the race while Isaac rested his forehead against the window, muttering curses under his breath.
“The pace is sensible at the first quarter mile. Verify maintains his lead by one length. Mister Pistor moves up the rail into second with Wavedancer in third. Bear Brutum Brawl is four lengths back on the outside followed by Caeli Smile. In last place, Pride of the Saxum is struggling eight lengths back. He’ll have a lot of ground to cover if he has a chance.”
“I can’t watch this.” Isaac turned away from the window and flopped down into his seat. Mara was going to vomit. Isaac laughed humorlessly. “You were right, I should have scratched him. He just wasn’t ready to race this soon. He’s going to be humiliated.”
“The field enters the long back stretch. Mister Pistor rallies early and challenges for first. Caeli Smile has moved up to third on the inside. Wavedancer has faded to fourth and will be passed by Bear Brutum Brawl. Flamecaster is right there with him! Pride of the Saxum is now six lengths back.”
Mara swallowed. “Maybe he’s just having a bad day?”
“You don’t understand. It took years to convince Father that I was ready for a horse of my own. He’s very controlling over the bloodline, so when he gave me Pride, I finally had the chance to prove myself.” His head dropped into his hands. “I’ll lose the one thing I love doing the most.”
“And they round the far turn. Caeli Smile and Mister Pistor are neck-and-neck. Verify has nothing left. Bear Brutum Brawl is coming on strong and—wait! What’s this? Pride of the Saxum is rallying strong on the outside. He’s powering by horses in an impressive display!”
Isaac’s head snapped up. He rushed over to the window and peered through his opera glasses. “Come on, boy! Come on!”
Pride must have sprouted wings. Mara watched in awe as he flew by the other horses.
The Dreg Trilogy Omnibus Page 77