Cas said, “Then why do you look surprised to see me?”
“Why? You didn’t look like this the last time I saw you.” Jon came over and reached out to grab Cas’ upper arms where the muscles rippled. He shook them for emphasis before letting go, so quickly Cas did not have time to step away first. “You were like a stick I could snap in half. Like a praying mantis I could step on.”
They grinned stupidly at each other. Cas wondered about himself, that he could smile after the carnage he had just left behind at supper. But he had worried Jon would not be here. Jon, who had been a boy himself when he taught Cas how to ride a horse.
Jon’s smile dimmed. “I heard you were back. Nothing else, though. The others?”
Cas did not have the heart to repeat the tale. Jon would hear of it from someone else. “Gone.”
Jon was quiet. He crossed himself. “My horses?”
“Taken. They would not have been harmed.” Not horses like those. Chargers, palfreys. Some animals were more valuable than men. And thinking of horses, Cas said, “Have you seen a white mare, with a black star here?” He tapped below his right eye. “She would have been brought in by a man with a little girl.”
The stranger by the lake had seemed an honest sort. Not one to walk away with someone else’s horse.
“That would be the city inspector.” Jon headed down the nearest aisle and Cas followed. “Gaspar. He came by yesterday.” Several horses eyed them over stall doors. Cas was struck once again by a feeling of being in a place both familiar and unfamiliar. They stopped before Cas’ mare. She pushed her nose against his, a gentle scolding. Where did you disappear to?
“Sorry, girl.” Cas opened the door and ran his hand along her side. The name Gaspar was not known to him. “The city inspector, he’s new?”
“Been here a year, maybe a little more. He left your saddlebag, too.” It hung from a hook on the wall. “He’s a competent one. The merchants don’t like him, though.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s competent.” A shrug. “He won’t take their bribes, like the old inspector used to. The butchers can’t pour blood in the streets anymore. They can’t leave pig heads in the alley.” Jon leaned against a post and folded his arms. “Your mare’s a spoiled one. The lady’s been here twice already to brush her down.”
Lady. That brought Cas’ head around. “Lena was here?”
A snort. “Lena to you, maybe. Lady Analena to the rest of us.”
Cas considered every noblewoman he had ever met, in Palmerin and beyond. He did not know her. “Who is she?”
“One of the king’s historians, or so I heard. I’m not sure if that’s true. Aren’t historians all old, bearded men?”
“Not all of them.” A royal historian, he mused. One who dressed as a boy and traveled alone and trusted strangers far too easily.
Cas unhooked a brush from the wall. The horse did not need to be groomed. Lena had done a fine job. He did it anyway, the repetitive motion distracting him from his thoughts, which kept returning to Faro and his severed hand. Do you mean to tell me that you allowed three men of Palmerin to be sent to their deaths, condemned my brother to a Brisan prison, because of a girl?
“What’s her name?” Jon asked, eyeing the horse.
Cas had only ever called her girl. “She doesn’t have one.”
Jon gave him a look but held his peace. Perhaps sensing the dark turn Cas’ thoughts had taken, he stepped back, prepared to leave him to his own company.
“Jon.”
“Hm?”
Cas could hear the grooms working late, saw them here and there with shovels and buckets. But there was no sign of Jon’s brother, who also worked in the stables. He asked, “Where’s Felix?” and instantly regretted the question when he saw Jon’s expression. “I am sorry. So sorry, my friend.”
Jon nodded, the way one does when they’ve been told I’m sorry a thousand times. “He went to the horse fair in Elvira in my place. I’d broken my foot the day before. Fell off a horse. Stupid. When he came home . . . he wasn’t well. We couldn’t let him through the gates.”
“Why not?”
“The city inspector. He kept out anyone who was sick. Even if they looked healthy, he made them camp outside the walls until he was sure. The queen was here by then, you see. With child. He’s cautious, that one.”
Cas was quiet. “Did it help?”
“I think so,” Jon admitted. “They’re saying Trastamar lost half its people. And Salome close to that. But not here.” Saddles lined a shelf behind him. He took one, slung it over his shoulder, and said, “There are bad people out there, Cassia. Cheats, murderers. While my brother lies dead in the ground.” He turned away, but not before offering a smile that no longer reached his eyes. “I’m glad to see you back. Welcome home.”
Cas lost track of how long he remained in the stall. At some point he had shut the door and sat in a corner while the horse rested in the other. He told himself he was not hiding.
His thoughts had turned to what ifs. What if Ventillas had been allowed to pay his ransom? What if Faro had never been born? What if Sorne’s parents still lived? Had they been alive, she would never have come to Palmerin as his family’s ward. Would never have caught Faro’s jealous eye. What if? It was a question that could send a person leaping off the city walls in despair, if he allowed it to consume him.
The door creaked open. He glanced up, expecting Jon, but it was Lena who stood there, looking down at him with his back against the wall, elbows on drawn knees. She wore a black velvet cloak, the hood pushed back. “Here you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Cas had wanted to be left alone. Not discovered in a horse stall, sitting like a lump among the hay and oats. Embarrassment turned his voice surly. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Then we won’t.” In contrast, her tone was light. She hung the cloak on a hook beside his saddlebag, then helped herself to a brush. Red skirts billowed as she lowered herself to the floor. It was not a large space. The hem of her dress covered his boots. Cas watched her kiss the horse on the nose. She produced a shiny apple from a pocket hidden in her skirts, smiling as the mare made quick work of the treat. True to her word, she did not speak. She pulled the brush through the horse’s mane before gathering a section into three equal parts.
Cas guessed her intent. “No braids,” he said.
Lena’s hands stilled. “But she enjoys them,” she protested.
“How can you tell?”
“Just look at her.”
He cast a skeptical glance at the horse. The mare did look pleased, but he thought the apple might be the real reason. Still, he relented. “Just one.”