by R. J. Blain
“We’re aware. It’s been a source of irritation for all of us over the years. Kelsh’s king has been quite persistent in that regard, despite the Rift’s refusals.”
At the pickets, Ceres was already at work grooming the horses. Ceres took one look at him and his companion and gawked, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
Breton chuckled, waving Kalen’s foal over. “Erissa, this is Ceres.”
“We’ve met,” Lady Delrose murmured, though she inspected the younger Guardian head to toe. “You’re older than Satoren.”
When Ceres hesitated, Breton grinned and said, “Not by much.”
“You’re one of his sons.” Lady Delrose circled Ceres, reminding Breton of a serpent deciding how best to devour her prey.
“I am, Lady Delrose,” Kalen’s foal replied, standing taller.
Armed with a curry comb, Breton went to work on Perin’s coat, watching the two in silence. None of the Guardians, himself included, had spent too much time actually talking with the Delrose herd. Lord Delrose’s volatile temper and the Guardians’ general disapproval of the man’s handling of a much younger Kalen had kept them separate.
After considering Ceres’s interest and Lady Delrose’s curiosity, Breton wondered if he had made a mistake in not encouraging the Guardians to mingle rather than watch from a distance.
Lady Delrose stared into the forest, her eyes as dark as her expression. “Princess Tala has no confidence. She has no belief in herself. She does as she is ordered. She has no inclination to think about what she’s doing or why. She does as told.” Whirling around, Lady Delrose stooped and snatched up one of the curry combs. “Which one can I groom?”
“Try Honey first,” Breton suggested. “She’s usually more open to someone other than Kalen handling her.”
Lady Delrose nodded, and after letting the golden chestnut sniff her, the Kelshite woman went to work. “According to my husband, Her Highness’s Rifter is pretty bad; she speaks Kelshite and Trader. I don’t know what her father has been teaching her, but it hasn’t been how to rule.”
Breton considered the woman’s words, busying himself by brushing Perin. His gelding lipped at his sleeve, both of his delicate ears pricked forward. “That will not settle well with His Majesty.”
“He’s short tempered enough. It might be wise to make certain they don’t meet,” Ceres said, his tone worried. “If she were one of ours, he’d be livid.”
Lady Delrose straightened, pausing in her grooming of Honey. “What do you mean by that?”
Both wary and intrigued by the woman’s cold tone, Breton draped his arms over Perin’s back and watched Kalen’s foal. Ceres lifted his chin and met Lady Delrose’s gaze steadily. “I mean that there is no place for anyone who can’t handle themselves in the Rift. It’s a death sentence, Lady Delrose. Father knows it, and he makes it his responsibility to ensure as many of us survive as possible. It’s one thing to have a shy, quiet personality: he appreciates quiet people; they don’t bother him. But it’s another thing to endanger others. We live and die by the weakest in the herd. All it takes is one serpent bite to kill someone.”
“So I’ve been told,” Kalen’s dam replied, her eyes narrowing. “You make it sound like he is a cruel person.”
Ceres kept brushing his horse and didn’t answer.
All Breton could do was hope that the truth wouldn’t hurt the Kelshite woman too much. Sighing, he nodded. “That’s because he can be, Erissa. He often is. He has to be. The duties of a Rift King are not easy or kind. He lives by the sword, or he dies by it. We of the Rift live or die by our ability to adapt. On the best days, it is difficult to feed everyone. We rely on our horses, but we never butcher one because we’re hungry. They’re either old and already dying or injured. If there’s been a Scouring, there is a high chance of losing many of our foraging grounds. We work together, or we all die. That’s the way of the Rift. He can’t afford to be kind, not to anyone. If he sits idle and doesn’t enforce the Code, even more people die. Yes, he can be quite cruel. It’s necessary.”
Lady Delrose paled, and with a sigh, her slim figure sagged. “I see.”
“Father hates it.” Ceres’s ducked his head. “He has to be cruel, but it’s necessary.”
“So he won’t get along with Kelsh’s princess, will he?” Lady Delrose turned her attention back to Kalen’s mare. “Good. Maybe he can talk sense into her.”
“This isn’t going to end well,” Breton muttered. While Lady Delrose didn’t seem to hear him, Ceres stared at him with wide eyes.
~~*~~
Breton left Lady Delrose under Ceres’s guard. While he appreciated not having to march, he worried that they hadn’t gotten far enough away from the swarm. He stood at the edge of the camp, watching for any sign that the skreed had followed them. While a smoky haze marked where Morinvale had once been, all was quiet and still.
Someone cleared her throat behind him. Breton considered ignoring the person, but he sighed and turned around.
A blond-haired woman dressed in a golden tunic and breeches stood beside a Yadesh. Unlike Satrin, the animal didn’t share many resemblances to a horse, with the exception of its nose. Compared to Rift horses, the creature looked fragile, with too thin legs and narrow build. “Are you Breton?”
When trouble came calling his name, Breton preferred avoiding it. Both the woman and the Yadesh watched him expectantly. “I’m Breton. What do you need?”
Taking several jerky steps forward, she thrust out her hand. Breton swallowed back his desire to sigh at the Kelshite custom, he clasped her hand, letting it go as soon as he touched her.
“I’m Tala. Sil—ah, Captain Silvereye said you could teach me Mithrian.”
“I can teach you the basics, but I’m not fluent in the language. I know enough to get by. I do know a few who can teach you, however.” Breton straightened, aware of the Yadesh’s scrutiny.
“The basics should be fine,” she replied, shrugging.
One of the Yadesh’s ears flicked back, and the animal sighed. Tala reached over and patted its golden shoulder. At the woman’s touch, the Yadesh’s second ear swiveled back.
“Are you really a Rifter?”
The blurted question caught Breton by surprise. Frowning, he turned his attention from the Yadesh to Kelsh’s princess. “Are you really a Kelshite?”
A faint blush washed over the woman’s cheeks. “Of course I am a Kelshite. What else would I be?”
Breton kept his expression as neutral as his voice, wondering if his mocking of her would go unnoticed. “Of course I am a Rifter. What else would I be?”
The Yadesh’s ears snapped forward. Breton got the feeling the doe wanted to say something, but remained silent.
“But you’re not in the Rift where you belong.” The words were delivered in a clipped, annoyed tone, and the woman’s chin rose, as though she wanted to stare down her nose at him, but couldn’t due to his height. “You must be the one I’m supposed to deliver a message to.”
Breton clasped his hands behind his back so she wouldn’t see him drum his fingers as he fought to keep patient with the woman. “What message?”
“It’s stupid, so I’m not sure why I’m bothering, but he told me to inform you that if you touched his boots again, he would beat you senseless with them.”
“You saw my foal before coming here.” While he’d already known because Honey had been with her and led them to Ferethian, the confirmation pleased him—as did the threat. Would the despondent Kalen that Maiten had described be willing to say such things? Breton doubted it.
“The mare belonged—”
“I was speaking of the man, not the horse,” he interrupted, shaking his head.
Confusion furrowed the woman’s brow. “He’s a foal?”
He considered whether or not to explain the concept to her, but decided against it. If Lady Delrose’s complaints were sincere, he’d be wasting his breath. “Was he well?”
Tala scowled as though she was being
forced to swallow something sour. “Well enough.”
All of his frustration surged up, and he couldn’t rein it in. “If he left his horse with you because he was unfit to ride, he was not well enough,” Breton snarled, flexing his hands behind his back.
The princess recoiled as though he had slapped her across the face. The splash of red on her cheeks paled away, and her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
It took him several deep breaths for him to regain his composure. “I mean that he’s one of the best riders in the Rift. He would not have sent his best mare with a Knight unless he was unfit to ride. That means he is not well.”
The Yadesh’s ears flattened back. Kelsh’s princess spluttered, but she otherwise remained silent.
“You have not introduced your Yadesh,” he said when his patience frayed at the woman’s lack of response.
Her blush returned, brighter than before. “Oh. I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound apologetic, but Breton decided to ignore her tone. “This is Relas.”
Breton dipped into a bow as Kalen had taught him. “Your fellow Yadesh have been very helpful. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
~Thank you,~ she replied, her voice a tired whisper in his head. ~I apologize for her behavior. Things have been difficult for us.~
He sighed. “If you’re to learn Mithrian, then you will learn Rifter as well, filly.”
“My name is Tala,” she replied in a curt voice.
Breton watched her, narrowing his eyes as he decided how best to handle her. If he gave her a reason to dislike him, the possibility existed that Kalen would respond by attempting to smooth things over in as diplomatic a fashion was possible. The possibility also existed that the Rift King wouldn’t care about the woman’s pride or dignity, choosing to treat her in the same way he would a recalcitrant mare in the Rift.
He hoped for the latter. If Lady Delrose was correct, Tala needed to be brought into line. Breton drew a deep breath, smiled, and said, “You haven’t earned your name yet, filly. I am under no obligation to teach you anything, although I will respect Captain Silvereye’s wishes in this matter—for now. The best person to teach you isn’t here right now. When he arrives, he will handle your education. In the Rift, names are given as they are earned. Until then, I recommend you learn to respond to filly, because that’s what you are. Typically, someone proves themselves when they have earned their first horse, though we’ll make an exception for you, seeing as you won’t be earning a Rift horse.”
Breton couldn’t imagine any one of their horses allowing the princess to groom them. It amazed him that Honey had left Kalen at all for the woman.
Once again, the woman looked like she had been slapped across the face. When she didn’t say anything, he glanced at Relas. The Yadesh’s ears were pricked forward, her head held high.
~What will be expected of us?~
“Us? I wasn’t aware you needed to learn languages. If you would like to learn, we would be glad to teach. That is our way.”
~I would like to learn.~
“Then you shall. What is the form of address suited for you? Are you a mare? A doe?”
~Doe,~ she replied. ~How do we earn our names?~
The Kelshite princess fidgeted; her head lowered with her gaze locked on the ground at her feet. When she didn’t speak, Breton turned his attention back towards the smoking ruins of Morinvale. “You listen, and then you act. For you, doe, either the king’s stallion will accept you into the herd or he will not. Unlike the filly here, you have your Yadesh companions to stand for you. Your name will be quickly earned by their judgment. The one the filly has to prove herself to is not as easy to please.”
“Horses are important to you Rifters, aren’t they?” The Kelshite princess lifted her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not a child. Was he your son, then, that you call him a foal? Are you pleased that he wanted to kill me for stealing his horse? I hadn’t. I wasn’t going to. I don’t need his horse. I have Relas.”
“Tell me what happened,” he suggested, forcing himself to relax his stance.
“I found his horse in the forest. I meant to catch her to find her owner and return her. She looked valuable. She led me to him. He wasn’t happy. There’s not much else to tell. Would he have tried to kill me?”
Unable to stop himself, Breton laughed. “Try? No, filly, he would have, if he believed you a threat to himself or his horse. The theft of a horse is a serious violation of the Code. There are a few instances where murder is ignored. Those who are wise do not even think of committing horse theft in the Rift.”
While Relas didn’t say anything, Breton was faintly aware of the Yadesh’s discomfort.
Tala said nothing.
“It was a noble gesture, but you were tricked by the mare. She led you on a merry chase directly to him, didn’t she?”
“Yes,” the Kelshite woman hissed.
“Rift horses are trained to bring help to their Riders if they feel it is necessary. That is what Honey did. For her to go find someone for him, that means there was something wrong. Something happened to cause my foal to order his horse away from him. What?”
With red, glistening eyes, the Kelshite princess stared at him. When the tears started to fall, he forced himself to stay silent, waiting for her to compose herself.
She drew a trembling breath and whispering, “There was a village.”
Breton considered all of the things the Rift King would have done and sighed. “Let me guess. He felt he would slow you down, but he didn’t trust you for one reason or another, so he sent Honey with you.”
“He did say he would slow me down. He told me to tell his horse some command and follow her. She brought me here.”
Breton nodded. “And the village?”
She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s gone.”
In those two words, Breton heard her guilt, as well as the burden of terror and grief. “You saw the swarm.”
“We followed it, and when we passed it, it chased us to the village. Before I could warn them, it…it…”
“It ate them.” Breton spat curses. “I think it’s easy enough to guess what happened next. You ran, which is exactly what you should have done. Did you see where the swarm went?”
“It stopped. When I left, the village had been swallowed by a black lake.” The princess was trembling. “The mare led us here.”
“Kalen had his reasons,” Breton said, as much for himself as it was for her.
“So he has earned his name,” she said, her voice bitter.
“Kalen means ‘the ceaseless wind.’ He was called that long before he earned his horse. He earned it in an entirely different way than most Rifters, but it suits him well. While I am displeased my foal did as he did, I can’t fault him for it. The swarm is not forgiving of weakness.”
“It might have killed him. It was so close behind us,” she whispered.
“He is not dead, filly.”
Her guilt and worry darkened her blue eyes. “How do you know that?”
“Your doe can confirm the truth of my words. Kalen is not dead. I would know. His horses would know. But know this, filly, if you do anything to bring harm to my foal, you will regret it.”
~Truth,~ Relas confirmed, and the doe’s tone was as worried as Tala’s expression.
Chapter Thirteen
Kalen couldn’t sleep, not that he wanted to. The First lingered in his head, and whenever he thought too long on why his right hand hurt so much, a frigid numbness spread through him. Eventually, he was able to look at the splint without feeling like he was suffocating. It helped a little, knowing that Crysallis slept unaware of his enduring anxiety, curled up on the ground. Her snores were as raspy as serpent scales on stone.
The mystery of why the witch slept distracted him. As she was already dead and over a thousand years old, why did she need to rest at all? Why did she breathe when she hadn’t needed to near Morinvale? Kalen wanted to ask her, but instead of waking her, he paced. The hou
rs dragged, and when the horizon lightened with the dawn, he forced himself to stand still and watch the colors of the sunrise through the trees.
As he basked in the little light penetrating the gray haze wafting from the smoking swarm trail, the First murmured its contentment. Kalen closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Beneath the fading acrid fumes was the moist scent of the forest. The air no longer burned his throat and lungs, nor did he feel the need to cough.
The tension flowed out of him, and as he relaxed, the First’s chill warmed. He closed his eyes, ignoring his aches and pains in favor of enjoying the simple pleasure of the sunlight on his face.
Something touched his back, feather-light and gentle, but enough to startle Kalen into whirling around, gasping. An arm circled him before picking him up and swinging him around. Before he could lash out, the First intervened, and in the brief time it took him to fight off the creature’s control, he’d lost his chance to retaliate. It didn’t stop him from yelping, shocked at the fact someone had managed to sneak up on him without his knowing.
“Father!”
By voice alone, Kalen couldn’t tell if it was Ceres or Varest. Kalen struggled to catch his breath, his heart hammering in his throat. “Don’t do that!”
His Guardian laughed. “Sorry, Father. I couldn’t resist.”
Mumbling curses, Kalen wiggled out of his foal’s grip. He blinked and had to squint to force his eyes to focus. Ceres wouldn’t have grinned quite so much, nor would he have looked quite as smug. Varest’s gelding snorted, stepping forward to nuzzle Kalen’s chest, grabbing hold of one of his braids and chewing on it. After freeing his hair from the slobbering horse, he awkwardly stroked the animal’s soft nose with his splinted hand. “Varest.”
“Good guess,” his Guardian replied.
Kalen cocked his head to the side before turning to Crysallis. “Up, witch. If I can’t sleep, neither can you. And it wasn’t a guess, Varest.”
A sleepy mumble answered him, and Crysallis rolled over, covering her head with her arm.