Chapter Two #2
They stepped together beneath the arch into shadow.
The air shifted at once—cool and heavy with leather and hay, carrying the warm musk of horses.
Somewhere beyond, unseen hooves struck stone in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each strike echoing against the high, whitewashed vaults above.
Even the sound seemed ceremonial, as though it belonged not to animals at all, but to emperors and centuries.
Maisie tightened her grip by the smallest fraction, unwilling to let go.
“This way,” Alfie called, striding ahead with Deena skipping at his side. Framed engravings lined the passage: stallions frozen mid-leap, hooves tucked, riders stern.
And then—the passage ended, and the hall revealed itself.
Maisie stopped where she stood.
Light cascaded from tall arched windows, spilling across sand raked into perfect lines.
Chandeliers dripped overhead like frozen rain.
Crimson draperies fell in rich folds against the bright walls, and the marble columns stood in solemn rows, giving the whole place the sensation of a cathedral.
Even the air smelled sanctified—clean sand, polished leather, a faint sweetness of hay.
Deena gasped and tugged on Alfie’s sleeve. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Her voice carried in the vast hush, and then she was off again, leaning over the railing as if she could drink the scene straight into her bones.
Four riders already circled the arena, each astride a gleaming white Lipizzaner.
The men’s boots gleamed, coats sharp at the waist, bicorne hats shadowing eyes that never strayed from their horses.
The stallions’ tails had been braided with ribbon; their forelegs lifted and fell with a precision that made Maisie’s heart stumble.
The air seemed to pulse with the rhythm—thud of hooves, jingle of harness, soft snort of a stallion.
She let out a quiet gasp. “It’s… like something out of a fairy tale.”
Turning to share the wonder, she found Faivish watching her, not the horses.
The chandeliers caught in his eyes, scattering flecks of gold through the dark brown. The warmth there unsettled her, loosening something deep inside. He didn’t look away. Neither did she.
Somewhere, Deena resumed questioning Alfie about peppermint oil. Somewhere, the horses struck their rhythm into the sand. But between her hand resting on his arm and the weight of his gaze, Maisie felt the air alter around them. She should have withdrawn. She didn’t.
And he gave her no reason to.
*
Maisie noticed right away that the back stables were cooler than the grand hall.
The air smelled of hay, saddle oil, and warm animal breath.
Afternoon light streamed through narrow windows, stripping the stalls in gold.
Somewhere behind her, Deena gave a small sneeze, and Maisie thought—not for the first time and with a heavy heart—that soon Faivish would insist on taking them home.
A tall rider in a spotless brown tailcoat appeared from the shadows, boots clicking on the stone as if every sound were meant to remind them who owned the space. His chin tipped at an angle of entitlement like that of a man accustomed to others stepping aside.
“Collins,” he said, eyes darting to the crate in Alfie’s arms.
Alfie set it down without hurry. “My lord,” he answered, calm and unbothered. “The salve for the Lipizzaner’s joints, as you ordered.”
The man’s gaze shifted, landing on Faivish. The flicker of politeness vanished. His lips curled faintly. “Best mind yourself. This stallion belongs to Baron von List, Rector Hofst?tter’s nephew. He wouldn’t take kindly to…” He let the sentence dangle, but the look that accompanied it was enough.
Maisie’s stomach pinched tight at the mention of Hofst?tter. The one with the sneer she’d never forgotten, who measured worth by lineage and nothing more, no matter how hard father worked and how many times he’d proved he was indispensable to the faculty.
Yet, Alfie seemed to ignore the insult. He crouched, uncorked one of the jars, and let the sharp, resinous scent of herbs spill into the air. The horse shifted, ears flicking, a tremor racing through its foreleg.
“Step back,” Faivish murmured, quiet but firm, and Maisie found herself pulling Deena behind her, skirts whispering through straw.
The stallion tossed his head, muscles bunching.
Alfie looked up quickly. “Careful, Faivish—”
“Better if you call off the Jew,” the rider cut in, tone sharp.
Maisie’s face went hot. She saw Faivish’s jaw tighten, the faint tic of restraint, but before he could reply, Alfie rose smoothly, voice bright as if to mask steel.
“Not my position, my lord. He’s a doctor—and my best friend. Almost a doctor, if you must be exact, but always the better man.”
“Almost?” The rider’s tone cut like a whip. “And yet he touches the horse?”
Alfie’s brows climbed. “Are you a doctor tending your horse? Or the stableboys? If titles are the only requirement, perhaps the Emperor should do it himself.”
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring.
Again, the horse shifted, growing visibly restless.
Faivish didn’t step back. Instead, he moved closer, steady, his hand rising to rest against the stallion’s forehead and with each slow stroke down the white blaze of its face, the tremors eased.
“Easy, boy,” he whispered, voice low, coaxing. “That’s it. Easy now.”
The stallion’s breath steadied. The tension melted out of his frame as though thawing from ice.
Maisie couldn’t look away from Faivish because he exuded such calm and certainty. In that moment, she felt as if she’d glimpsed the truest part of him, something no slur could diminish. He healed.
*
After they left the Riding School, the city swallowed them again.
Vienna’s streets were narrower here, caught between tall facades that still held the warmth of the day.
The wooden crate was back in Alfie’s arms, though this time only the empty jars he’d exchange for the full ones clinked together as he shifted the weight when they neared Maisie’s home.
“Well then,” he said, tipping his hat with a grin that included all three of them. “Goodnight, you two. And you, young lady.” He gave Deena a little bow as though she were a duchess, and she burst into giggles, curtsying before darting ahead toward their door.
You two? The words caught Maisie squarely in the stomach. Did Alfie know something she hadn’t yet admitted, even to herself? Best friends always knew but she couldn’t even name it yet.
Before she could collect her thoughts, the crate and Alfie’s easy demeanor faded down the lane. The door clicked shut behind Deena, leaving Maisie and Faivish standing alone in the cooler early evening air.
He looked at her, then offered his arm again. “Let me see you home.” There were five, perhaps six steps, left to the door.
Still, she didn’t hesitate. Her hand slid into place as if they could stretch the moment, and together they walked beneath the lamps just flickering to life.
Their glow stretched long over the cobblestones.
The air smelled faintly of roasting chestnuts and river damp from the Danube drifting through the alleys.
She loved this city—its carved palaces, glittering shop windows, gardens spilling roses. And yet none of it was ever truly hers. For Jews, Vienna was a stage on which they were permitted to play but never to own.
At the corner, crickets began their steady song. She turned to Faivish, words slipping out before she could stop them. “I was afraid, back in the stables. That the horse might have kicked you.”
He smiled slowly, the sort of smile that made her knees feel unreliable. “If he had, I’d have kicked back.”
She laughed—bubbled, unguarded—and the sound seemed to draw his eyes to her mouth. “You wouldn’t,” she teased, breath catching. Heat rushed low in her belly.
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wouldn’t I?”
“You’re a healer,” she said softly, still smiling. “You calmed him like no one else could. You were…” She faltered, then finished with a truth that made her cheeks heat. “Wonderful.”
“Me? Wonderful?” he asked, quiet now, teasing threaded with something deeper.
She couldn’t look away. “You know you are.”
He stepped closer, and the lamplight caught the hard line of his jaw, the bronze warmth of his skin. She gripped her skirts to stop her hand from rising to his cheek.
“You’ve no idea,” he said, voice low, “how long I’ve wanted to see you outside the practice.”
Her heart kicked. “Since you started the apprenticeship in May?” she whispered.
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “No. Since that day in the amphitheater—when you carried your father’s notes. Almost four years ago.”
Her breath stalled. “Four years?”
“Yes.” The single syllable felt like a vow. “I worked harder every year because of it. Because I liked you then, and I never stopped.”
Her throat tightened. “Faivish…”
He reached for her hand. Tentative, giving her the chance to pull away. She didn’t. His fingers closed around hers, his thumb tracing slow circles across her knuckles.
“I’ve been more grateful than I could say, for every time you’ve asked me to stay for dinner,” he said softly. “Not only because of the food but because I could linger near you.”
She smiled, lips trembling. “I… always hoped you’d say yes.”
The quiet between them thickened, heavy with things unsaid.
“And if your father caught us in… less than a proper moment?” he asked, half teasing, half daring.
Her breath hitched. “I think… I’d be afraid.”
“So would I,” he admitted, leaning closer. “But only because I want the chance to ask him—to ask you—properly.”
Her heart pounded wildly and recklessly, but now she had to know, or she thought she’d faint right then. “You want to court me?”
“For months, I didn’t dare ask,” he said. “But tonight… may I?”
She didn’t answer with words. She lifted her chin and he was already so close. His lips brushed hers, tentative at first, offering her every chance to pull back. But she’d never! And then, he deepened the kiss, gentle and certain, and her knees went weak.
His hand cupped her jaw with the care of a man who could heal but never harm. She pressed into him, fingers fisting in his coat, every bit of her coming alive.
When he finally drew back, he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, slow and reverent.
“Goodnight, Maisie,” he whispered.
But she caught his coat, tugged him back down to her, and this time her kiss was urgent, hungry, her voice breaking against his lips. “Teach me how to kiss you properly. I’ve waited long enough.”