Chapter Three Abel
Noctu and Diu were first called the Gods of Opposites. They believed it their duty to ensure neither one held total power. A beautiful concept, in theory, but perhaps that is why the Gods’ War was inevitable.
—Sermon on The Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des étoiles), Part I: The Book of Origins
Chapter Three
Abel
On the outskirts of Bourlin, the suns shine on the fenced pastures.
Cows and horses graze as if nothing happened.
Such clear weather would suggest easy travels to anyone else, but not me.
The walk down this dirt path is a challenge with two horses in hand.
The chestnut mare to my right snorts, speckling my face with moisture.
The black gelding to my left rubs his face on my sleeve, which shoves me into the mare.
I tighten my grip on each set of reins and focus on staying upright.
Gods, I hate horses.
Claire waits in the shade of the maple trees, brand-new saddlebags at her feet. Exactly where I left her over an hour ago. I’ve been running errands all morning and here she is, cradling Lucy like a newborn baby. Lucy’s tail wags as if presented with all the fire she can eat. Traitor.
“Took you long enough,” Claire chimes.
“If it weren’t for your pickpocketing, you could’ve gone into town and purchased supplies for yourself.”
“If it weren’t for my pickpocketing, you wouldn’t have the funds to live.” She kisses Lucy’s forehead. “Isn’t that right, ma Luciole?”
I’m starting to think Claire wields invisible puppet strings beneath her fingers—all of which are attached to me and my familiar. If this job didn’t include instant funding, I’d tell her to take a hike.
I offer a set of reins. “The gelding is yours. The salesman said he’s—” He yanks me sideways, diving for a patch of grass. “Testy,” I grumble.
Claire takes the reins and gives them a quick, firm flick. Not hard—just enough to make him perk to attention.
“You need to set limits or they’ll walk all over you,” she says. “Isn’t that rule three of the dragon-hunting guidelines?”
“Rule two.” I flex my stiff hand. “I don’t get along with horses.”
Claire swaps Lucy for her saddlebags. “You prefer dealing with dragons?” She laughs.
I lower my pack and roll my shoulder. Micah’s skull stares back at me. When I carted his dragon form to the cavern, one smoking growl from him spooked the horses. One of them nearly kicked my head off my shoulders to escape. I haven’t touched a horse since.
“I don’t prefer dragons,” I say. “I understand them better.”
“How so?”
“Dragons are predictable. They act on greed. That’s what makes them turn.”
She plucks the halter and lead rope from my pack.
“Come here, ma chérie,” she says, soothing the mare and slipping the muzzle through the halter, then buckling it over the bridle. Gods, no. She plans to lead my horse while we ride.
“You’re not ponying me,” I say.
“You strike me as a tense rider.”
“I’m not tense.”
“You’re clenching those reins so tightly, your hand is shaking.”
I relax my grip. Bad enough that Claire and I need horses to reach Ravinfort by nightfall. Now she’s suggesting I let her treat me like a child?
“Better to relinquish control than get bucked off, no?” she says, placating me with a smirk.
“I’m the hunter, which means I should be the guide. I admit I’m not the best rider, but anyone can pull on the reins.”
“How reassuring. It’s for your own good.”
“It’s humiliating. I’m a grown man.”
“How old are you, Abel?”
“Eighteen in four months.”
“A February baby! Why, you’re only five months younger than me. I’m a grown woman as of September, you know.”
I smack my face and groan, realizing a second too late that her question was rhetorical. I sound like Micah when he insisted he was old enough to decide he didn’t want to be a slayer. I sound like I’m seven.
A challenge sparks in Claire’s cherry-brown eyes.
“Mount from the ground.” She pats the mare’s neck. “If you can do that, you can ride by yourself.”