by Toby Bishop
Nick said nothing, but he didn’t lower the paddle, either. Francis felt a fresh wave of shame at his brother’s behavior. “What are you doing here, William? These good people have work to do. Come to that, surely you do, too.”
“Ah. Now you’re telling me my duty?” William slapped his thigh with his quirt. “Since you’ve been shirking yours, I hardly think that’s appropriate.”
“I’m going back to Arlton after Estian,” Francis said. “I have written to Prince Nicolas, and received a quite gracious letter in reply.”
William’s eyes narrowed. “He said nothing to me.”
“You’ve been to the Palace?” Francis said lightly. “My, you are busy, aren’t you. Deceiving the Council, destroying the bloodlines…quite an agenda.”
“I have business with Nicolas. He’s interested in my new bloodline.”
“Yes, he would be,” Francis said, suddenly weary of the whole exchange. “If he sees a profit in it. Is that what drives you, William? Profit?”
William took another step, close enough that Francis could smell the odd essence of his skin, that slightly sweet, slightly sour smell he had developed. “Where is she, Francis?” he whispered. “Where have you hidden her?”
Francis laughed. “I haven’t hidden her anywhere!” he said. “The first I heard of the whole affair was three days ago. Apparently she’s disappeared.”
“I’ll make these people suffer if you don’t tell me.”
“No, William.” Francis took two long steps forward to stand face-to-face with his brother. He gripped William’s arm and felt the skin give beneath his fingers. He experienced a rush of pride in the labor he had done in the past weeks, work that had made his hands hard and his shoulders stronger than they had ever been. “No, you won’t,” he repeated. And in a tone so low only William could hear, he said, “Because if you do, I will tell the Council, and Mother, and all of Oc—indeed, all of Isamar—what you did to Pamella.”
William’s eyes widened, though he quickly controlled them. He couldn’t control the rush of blood to his face, though, that burned over his cheekbones in two angry red patches. “I don’t know what you mean,” he grated. “If our sister became a slut, it was none of my doing.”
“I don’t know yet,” Francis said through gritted teeth, “if you forced her or seduced her. But I can see for myself who fathered the boy. And I will—I swear by our father’s grave that I will—expose you if you trouble these citizens at all.”
“You’re mad,” William said, but his protest was weak.
“Quite the contrary,” Francis said. “I am the only sane one left in the family.”
William sucked in a breath and wrenched his arm free of Francis’s grasp. “I will call your bluff,” he said. “You haven’t the nerve for this sort of thing.”
“No,” Francis said. “You won’t. And in this case, I do have the nerve, and more. I won’t have our legacy besmirched any more than it already is. What will the Council think of incest, added to your other offenses?”
Larkyn had come near them as she walked the gelding to cool him. She froze, staring at William. Francis nodded to her. “Get the gelding some water, will you, Larkyn? My brother is leaving now.”
William lifted his quirt, and Francis thought he might try again to strike him. But this time, with a sidelong glance at Nick Hamley, and with awareness of Francis’s newly acquired health, he dropped it again. He feigned a laugh and adjusted his hat. “You will regret this one day, Francis,” he said. “My memory is long.”
“Yes, I know that,” Francis said. “It is your character that is short.”
William’s eyes glittered with madness, but there was little he could do now. Larkyn was bringing his horse back, and Nick had come close enough to stand beside Francis, to hear what he had to say. William took the reins of his gelding and put his foot in the stirrup. When he was mounted, he looked down on them all, his lips pulled tight across his teeth. “Have a care, all of you,” he grated. “Diamond will soon fly, and when she does, there will be no one in Oc who will dare defy me!”
He yanked the gelding’s head around, making the poor animal grunt, and he put spurs to him before the horse had taken more than two steps. The exhausted gelding galloped down the lane toward the road, his pace labored and uneven.
Larkyn said sadly, “He will ruin that lovely beast.”
“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.”
ON the 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
RIBBON Day 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 stubbled field.