“They’ve harmed no one!” Reni declares roughly from atop Liberty.
The harsh tone sends his stallion lurching backwards, nearly slamming into the horse behind him, and I seize the bridle. The moment my fingers are gripping the reins, Liberty stills. My hands stroke the arch of his lathered neck. His breath continues to come like a dragon snorting, sides heaving, but he respects my touch.
Reni doesn’t even seem to notice, his gaze fixed on the protesters. “What is it you wish to say? Your Queen listens.”
Mother snaps her fan in anger. Sweat brightens her face. “I do not.”
“Then if you won’t,” Reni announces, “I will.”
Stars!
I clutch the reins tighter, but a strange silence falls, a long moment where no one moves, not the courtiers gathered in their finery, nor the crowds in their tweed and cotton, nor the guards in their green livery. Even the wicked men in dark coats look stunned. It’s as if we’re all waiting for some balance to shift. Some weight to move one way or another and make it clear how to feel about this unexpected confrontation.
Perhaps that thing is me.
I release Liberty with a last stroke on his shoulder, then step out where all can see. “My Royal Chase is no place for this kind of display,” I say to Reni alone, but loud enough everyone else can hear, too. “This isn’t how we settle things in Etania, is it?”
Reni’s silent gaze begs me to be his ally.
But I can’t. My father, and now Reni, may have allowed such opinions, and perhaps these men have the right to believe them, but it can’t be like this, not now.
I have to stand by Mother.
“No,” I continue louder, “Her Majesty is right. This isn’t the way to express a concern. They won’t ruin our day with incivility. The General is our honourable ally now, a man committed to encouraging peace, and these men seek their own vain attention.”
Everyone stares.
I motion at the guards. “Don’t just stand there. Do as your queen orders!”
They pale at such a blunt order, from me of all people, but lead the men from the lawn quickly. The lords and ladies nod their heads, murmuring agreement, and Reni is wounded. It’s only in his eyes. He still sits proudly on Liberty, shoulders squared, but thick betrayal hangs between us.
How I wish I could explain.
How I wish he knew the truth of Father’s death, of all the things unseen.
But Reni doesn’t even glance at me on his way to the start line, denying me the chance to kiss Liberty’s nose for good luck, to wish him a safe race. He doesn’t even notice Violet and Slick.
I stand bereft beneath the sweltering sun until Mother kisses my cheek. “Thank you, my heart,” she says in Resyan, so no one else will know the depth of her gratitude.
Please, Father, tell me I did the right thing.
But there’s no reply, only a hush falling as seven riders take position at the start.
A gun fires, echoing, and the horses leap forward, earth flying behind. They gallop the lawn at a blistering pace and the first hurdle—a four-foot hedge with ditches on either side—is taken at full tilt. Only one horse refuses to follow through. The rest are up and over, sweeping past us with Reni in the lead. A heart-lurching jump into the river is next, and he doesn’t slow down. Of course he doesn’t. I hear Mother make a tiny, terrified noise as Liberty launches himself over the drop. Two horses follow behind. The crowd gasps, thrilled, and the animals are nearly on top of one another in the water, struggling to find footing and reach the opposite bank. Reni storms up the far side of the river and disappears into the woods. The rest follow in pursuit.
We can see nothing for a few heated moments, only hear the sound of hooves echoing among the oak and chestnut and pine.
No one speaks, waiting.
Then Liberty bursts out of the woods and into the river again like a hurtling star. There’s a gasp from the crowd around us. He’s quickly up the riverbank in a spray of water and sweat, Reni atop with a soaked leather coat. They’re both nearly neck-deep in splattered mud. Liberty reaches forward to stretch into the gallop of the straightaway, breaking for the finish line, but his hoof hits the slop of wet dirt and slips beneath him. He falls forward, shoulder hurling into the earth, and Mother cries out beside me.
My breath disappears.
But Reni hangs on, kicking with his heels. Like an awkward baby deer struggling to stand, Liberty scrambles up just as another horse crashes through the water behind them. Reni senses competition and whacks Liberty with his crop on one heaving flank. The stallion pushes forward, but there’s a limp in his front-right leg. He gallops slightly off-kilter, favouring the injury.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
My brother continues with that wicked sting of his crop. Once, twice. Again and again, Liberty trying so hard to give Reni what he demands. Destroying himself to obey. His ears twist in frustration, in pain. And I did this. I’ve given my brother a reason to push beyond what’s right and win something for himself. I want to run and throw myself in front of him, like those men, and beg him to stop.
But I can only watch as Liberty fights, brutally, for the lead.
He crosses the finish line first.
The trumpet sounds, and everyone claps brightly, congratulating Mother, the spectators on the hill celebrating with loud whistles and applause. My brother doesn’t lift his hand in triumph, though. He pulls Liberty to a halt and swings wildly off, dropping to the ground, kneeling before anyone can stop him, feeling Liberty’s injured leg with desperate hands.
I blink back tears.
No one else seems concerned about the stallion’s state, only watching curiously as the head groom jogs over and joins Reni, the freckled stable boy now holding Liberty’s reins and looking wide-eyed. They walk Liberty forward a few steps and he staggers.
“Might mean a bullet for that one,” Slick observes matter-of-factly to Violet.
Violet covers her mouth and turns away.
I draw closer, shaking with anger and horror. I have to know.
“We’ll need to give him a few days’ rest, Your Highness,” the groom says to Reni, unable to disguise his grief. “We won’t make any decisions until we see what we can do.”
Reni nods, silent, and removes his helmet. His dark hair is matted and wet. I want to hit him and hug him at the same time, the selfish, selfish boy. He’s destroyed his beautiful horse. He did it to win, and yet here he is now, trembling with regret.
They lead Liberty away at an awkward hobble, and I place my hand on Reni’s arm.
He pushes me off. There’s a glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t say it.”
Then he’s striding for the palace, mud-splattered and defeated, and I curse this lovely summer day for being so rotten on the inside.
13
ATHAN
Norvenne, Landore
After eight days of negotiations, Landore approves our base in Thurn.
Father had me record their hours of debate. A discreet way to bring me into the thick of things. I sat silently in the back of their meetings with another young translator, writing down the Landori discussions as Savien words. Every day that the tragedies mounted—first the loss of Hady, then a slaughtered unit outside the city of Beraya, and after that an attack on a Landorian merchant ship off the coast—was a strike against Gawain. His council couldn’t hide their panic. They resented the stalling, and Father’s steady optimism won him allies.
The morning after his victory, Father orders Arrin, Kalt, and me to an early briefing. For the first few minutes, only Kalt and I are present. The clock on the wall ticks the awkward silence. It bears the crest of the Landorian forces—a crowned lion, flames in its growling mouth. I trace the design on my thigh with a finger. Waiting.
The door swings open, and Arrin stumbles through still buttoning his collar.
“Late night?” Father asks, the barest thread of humour in his voice. The dangerous kind.
Arrin’s undeterred. “Entertaining Gawain’s daughter with a trip to the opera. She rather likes me, in case you haven’t noticed. I’m sure that’s been helpful to you.”