I hope you choke on your own spit, Cort Allgood, she thought after him.
By the time Kate managed to get Pip inside the stable, the foreman had arrived. Small and lean as a tree branch, Deacon Lewis looked fit enough to still outride any of the riders in his charge, despite his years. Short-cropped black hair, tinged with silver, framed his angular face, his brown skin leathered with age. He was intimidating on a normal day, but in this moment, Kate could barely bring herself to look at him for fear of his judgment. Over and over again, she ran her hands down the front of her tunic, trying to make it lie flat, trying to give herself the shield a good appearance could bring.
At first, he stood examining the horse from a few feet away, acknowledging Kate with a glance. Then he came forward and ran his hand down Pip’s injured leg. The gelding hopped sideways, protesting the touch.
Sighing, Deacon let go of the leg and straightened up. “I’ll summon a healer,” he said, and his doubtful tone felt like a punch to Kate’s gut.
“I might be able to mend the bone,” the magist healer said sometime later. “But I doubt he’ll ever be sound for hard work again.” He straightened from his hunched position and smoothed his green robes, the mark of his order. The magestone he’d used to diagnose the horse’s injury remained fastened around Pip’s pastern on a piece of leather. It glowed bright red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Kate stared at the green robe, frustrated that she couldn’t read his expression behind the mask he wore and despising his matter-of-fact tone. All magists wore masks, the cut and coverage of them signifying rank. This one’s covered his whole face, marking him a master, the very best of his order—and the most expensive.
“How much?” Deacon said, his face as expressionless as the magist’s. Nevertheless, the way he kept rubbing his fingers along the four scars on his left forearm betrayed his concern. The scars ran so deep, they made the muscles beneath look permanently twisted in a cramp. There weren’t many riders who survived a nightdrake attack, but Deacon had come through two in his long years with the Relay.
“Seventy valens,” the magist said.
A wrench went through Kate’s stomach. That was nearly as much as it would cost to replace the horse, and she knew what Deacon’s answer would be.
Forgetting her position, Kate touched Deacon’s arm. “Please, Master Lewis, let me pay for it. If you hold back my wages this month and the next, maybe—”
Deacon brushed her off and raised a hand for silence. He turned to the green robe. “Thank you for your services. We’ll pass on further treatment.”
The green nodded, then stooped to untie the piece of leather around Pip’s injured foot. The glow in the magestone faded the moment it was removed.
Once the green robe had gone, Kate wheeled on Deacon, unable to stay silent a moment longer. “Please reconsider. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll give up a month’s salary. I’ll do extra rides for free, muck out the stables for the next year. Anything. Please, Master Lewis.”
Deacon turned to Kate, meeting her gaze for the first time, it seemed. “I’m sorry, Kate, but I can’t let you.”
“But, sir . . .” Tears burned in her eyes, making her cheeks flush. If she didn’t stop speaking she wouldn’t be able to hold them back. “He’s a good horse, and it’s my fault. I didn’t mean—”
“Hush now. There’s no place for such foolishness here.” Deacon folded his arms, fingers worrying at his scars again. “I know he’s your favorite, but Pip’s a working horse and only as good as his legs. If he were a mare, it would be a different story, but a lame gelding is worth more dead than alive.”
“But, sir, given time he could be sound again. He’s still young. If you just let me buy him, then maybe—”
“I said no, and that’s final.” Deacon glared down at her now, his dark eyes sharp enough to cut. “How would you feed him? Where would you keep him? He can’t stay here, and don’t tell me you’re paid so handsomely that you can afford to be wasteful with your coin, because I know better. No, I won’t let you sacrifice for nothing.”
Kate flinched at every point he made, each harsh truth laid bare. He was right. She couldn’t afford the coin, and a part of her even understood the practicality of his reasoning. Saving a lame horse was more than pointless—it was wasted space, a great selfishness in a city already overfull with humans and animals both. There wasn’t room for anything that didn’t serve a purpose. Even the elderly and infirm were encouraged by the priests and priestesses to give their lives in sacrifice to the gods. But the rest of her had touched Pip’s very essence, had caressed his soul with her magic. That part couldn’t bear the idea of his death. A piece of her would die with him.
But she couldn’t tell Deacon any of that, not in a way that he would understand and accept. Although Deacon always treated her fairly, even after he learned who she really was, he wouldn’t tolerate her wilder magic if he ever found out. Wilders were outlaws, subject to the Inquisition.
Sagging in defeat, Kate swallowed. “Yes, sir.” She reached for Pip’s lead. He was her charge, and it was her responsibility to take him to the slaughterhouse. She’d never had to take a horse there before, and her fingers shook as she untied the rope.
Deacon took the lead from her, his expression softening. “Go home, Kate. I’ll see it done.”
Kate looked up at him, torn between what she knew she ought to do and what she wanted to do. But in the end, she couldn’t refuse his kind offer, the escape too welcome, too easy a path to choose any other.
She turned to Pip and ran a hand over his sleek neck, wishing she could touch his mind one more time, to give him the peace he deserved. He leaned into her touch, burying his muzzle in her belly. She stroked his nose for a moment, whispered good-bye into one velvety ear, then turned and walked away.
Shame and regret dogged each step she took on the way to her rented room, a few miles from the Relay house. Cort’s taunts echoed in her mind, taking on weight. It was true—as a Relay rider, she had vowed to always bring Pip back safely, to hold his life equal to her own. But she had broken that vow tonight, an act of betrayal as sure as any other.
Have I become my father? Did oath breaking run in her blood? She was so much like him. Even her magic was inherited from him. Hale Brighton had been master of horse to the high king, a position he’d earned with the help of his secret, forbidden gift. He’d been the king’s friend and liegeman, and yet he had tried to kill him. Kate didn’t know why, but there was no denying her father’s guilt. Just as there’s no denying mine. Traitor’s daughter. Traitor Kate.
Once again, she had lived up to her name.
2
Kate
THE MORNING CAME TOO EARLY, as it always did, night slipping away like a thief afraid of discovery. Fingers of sunlight pressed against Kate’s eyelids, and she rolled over out of their reach. It was more comfortable on this side, cooler, though the bed remained hard, nothing like the beds she used to sleep in. Memories disguised as dreams—of feathered mattresses wrapped in silken sheets and long luxurious mornings spent dozing only to be awakened by the smell of sugar-glazed sweet rolls—started to lull her back to sleep.
Then a more recent memory slid through her mind—of Pip, and the disaster of the night before. Kate groaned, coming fully awake. She forced her eyes open, breaking apart the crust of dried tears that had sealed her lashes together. The urge to renew that crying rose up in her, only to be shoved aside by a sudden jolt of alarm. The sun beyond the narrow window shone too brightly and too high in the sky, more than an hour past dawn. But the dawn bell didn’t ring! She was sure of it. She never slept through the loud gong that signaled the opening of the gates.