“Man. Jeez. Shit! He’s not a horse.”
“An alicorn.” Fallon let out a reverent breath. “His breed is called alicorn. And he’s mine. He’s mine, and I’m his. As he’s Taibhse’s and Faol Ban’s, and they are his. As we are ours.”
She pointed skyward, and color flashed, spread. Joy, she thought again. And laughed as she let hers fly into dozens of rainbows.
She gripped the white mane to launch herself into the golden saddle.
“He—he doesn’t have any reins,” Mick stuttered.
“We don’t need them. Want a ride back?”
“I think I’ll walk. I’m fine down here. Nobody’s going to believe me.”
“Tell them to look up.”
Laughing, she threw her arms up. In one smooth leap, Laoch rose, and with the owl gliding after, the wolf racing below, she rode the alicorn into her own joy.
Mallick watched her streak across the blooming sky on the white horse. A shooting star, he thought, bright and glorious.
The man responsible for the girl felt his heart drop as she dipped and rose, circled and spun. The sorcerer responsible for The One felt his soul lift.
“At least she could hold on,” the man grumbled.
Instead, she flung out an arm for the owl, dived down, and landed a foot away from the charging wolf.
So they came to him. She came to him glowing like the sun.
And the beauty of it, the power of it, all but closed Mallick’s throat.
“I found him! You didn’t say alicorn.”
“It wasn’t for me. Laoch chooses whether to reveal his full nature.”
“Well, he sure did. Mick might’ve wet his pants.” Laughing still, she rubbed a hand over Laoch’s neck. “He’s so beautiful. But he needs some balm. He had a stone in his right front hoof. I got it out, and eased most of the bruising, but it was deep, and he needs more care.”
“We’ll see to him.”
“I know what they are to me, what we are to each other.”
“He would never have allowed you to find him otherwise.”
“We need to add on to the stable, for when he wants to stay.”
She tossed a leg over the horse, dropped down to the ground—a considerable drop—with a kind of careless fluidity.
“Yes.”
“But not a stall. Just a shelter. He wouldn’t like to be shut in. Just a lean-to and bedding and water. He needs to come and go as he pleases.”
As Taibhse flew off to a nearby tree, Fallon gave the wolf a rub before she walked to Laoch’s head. “I understand now. Grace is mine, but she’s not built for war. But he is, and he’s mine, too. I wish he could just fly or run or just be.” She laid her cheek on the horse’s. “That all of us could. But we can’t, can we?”
“There are battles ahead. But not this day.”
“Not today.” She stepped back. “I’ll go get the balm.”
“You’ve said nothing about your great wish.”
“I just said I wished we could just be.”
“The bathroom.”
She stared a moment, then laughed. “I nearly forgot all about it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it. A deal’s a deal. We’re going to need supplies. But Laoch needs the balm. And an apple.”
Mallick stood with the horse, the owl, the wolf under a sky still rioting with color. He watched the girl he would send to war run into the house.
And felt a wild pride and a sick dread.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On a sunny day in June, Fallon knocked Mallick on his ass.
Though her skill with a sword had improved steadily through the spring, the moment stunned them both. Mallick sat on the ground, his breath gone, his sword beside him where it slipped from his hand at the force of her blow. Fallon stood, feet planted, both hands gripping the hilt, as she’d swung back for another strike.
Her own breathing ragged, her face dewed with sweat, she slowly lowered the sword. Then lifted it again, along with her other hand, pumping them toward the pure blue of the sky while she let out hoots. And danced.
“Yes, yes, yes! Finally!” She jiggled her shoulders, shook her butt and, sword in hand, executed a kind of boot-stomping pirouette.
“And with your back turned toward me, your foolish dancing, I could kill you half a dozen times.”
“Oh, let me have it, will you? Let me have my victory!” Then she stopped, swiped at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. “You didn’t let me take you down? You didn’t, did you?”
It shamed him to realize he wanted to claim he had. The girl, who’d come at him both fierce and wily, had wounded his pride and his arse in equal measure. But that was more foolish than her dance. True enough a girl of thirteen had bested him (this once), but he reminded himself he’d trained her.
So the victory was his as well.
“No. What would be the point of that?”
She hooted again, danced a little more, then rolled her shoulders. Set. Smirked. “Let’s go again.”
“When one acts cocky in battle, one loses.”
“I feel cocky, and I’m going to take you down again.”
He shoved to his feet, muttered, “Nid wyf yn credu hynny.”
Grinning, she took a two-handed grip again. “I yn gwybod.”
Mallick shoved his hair back, started to set. Then simply stopped and stared. “What did you say?”
“I said I’m taking you down, again.”
“No, after that.”
“You said you didn’t think so—all grumpy. And I just said I know. Like, I know I will. I’m ready.”
“I spoke in Welsh.”
“What?”
With his sword at his side he stepped toward her. “Ydych chi’n deall?”
She stared a moment, let out a breath. “Dwi’n gwneu.” I do. “How?” she demanded. “I understand the words, but I don’t understand how I understand.”
“An dtuigeann tú?”
“Tá. Same question, same answer, but that was Irish. How do I know that’s Irish?”
“Come ti chiami?”
“I don’t understand that, or what it is.”
“I asked your name in Italian. That will come.”
“What will come? This is crazy.” Panic punched through her. How could she know what she didn’t know? “I haven’t studied those languages, the Welsh or the Irish. How’s Irish a language anyway? How do I know it is? And now I know when you mumble damnar air, you’re saying ‘shit’ in Irish. I figured you were swearing in Welsh because you said you were born in Wales.”
“And I will now have to be more guarded with my cursing.”
“That’s not the stupid point. I don’t understand how I know. Wait, wait.” She squeezed her eyes shut, pressed a hand to the side of her head. “Scots Gaelic, that’s in there, too.”
“They have a root,” Mallick told her. “The root has sprouted in you.”
“How? How do I know what I don’t—didn’t know?”
He planted his sword, leaned on it, a man who’d waited a millennium for moments such as this.
“You are The One, Fallon Swift. It is inside you. The knowledge, the answers, even your ability to knock down your teacher. Do you think all you’ll meet, all friends, all foes, will speak only English? Those you lead, those you fight, those you protect? You must understand them, and they you. Language is only thoughts put into words, after all.”
He rarely touched her, but now put a hand on her shoulder. “This is another victory for you. I hadn’t expected it to come this quickly. That’s to your credit, not mine.”
They swarmed in her head, so many words, like bees building a hive. “I can’t think. It’s all banging in my head.”
“Quiet your mind. Knowledge is a blessing, and a power, and a weapon. For now, while the roots sprout, take the blessing. You can now curse me in several languages.”
That made her smile a little, and the smile pushed back the leading edge of panic.
“Sometimes I feel I’ll be ready. I’ll know what to do, how to do it. And other times … I just want to go home.”
So much, Mallick thought, for one young girl on a bright afternoon. He’d sworn to train and protect, but what were those without some tending?