Chapter 2 #4
robes. “I need to get out of these and into some sensible clothes,”
he said, and then grinned like a lad let off from his chores to go
play in the fields. “Your mother and I are riding over to the
Swan’s Pond this afternoon.”
Sahar grabbed a handful of walnuts and made
her own escape out of the kitchens. She tried hard not to imagine
what it was that made the Swan’s Pond, a league outside of the
city’s walls and tucked away to the side of the river by a natural
enclosure of willows and reeds, so special for her parents. Or why
they both would smile for days after their sojourns there.
She had not made it more than halfway across
the inner courtyard when Asim came striding toward her. A serious
look darkened her usually lighthearted brother’s face.
“Is it Rima?” she said.
“No.”
Sahar let out the breath she was holding. It
was still a moon too early for the babe’s birth.
“I must speak with you, sister.”
“About the races?”
“About the Wolf.”
“What about him?”
“You should stay away from him.”
Sahar bristled. “Why?”
“I do not trust him.”
“Do you trust me? My judgment?”
Asim shook his head. “Not when it comes to
men.”
Sahar was speechless.
“You do not know men—”
“I do not know men?” she seethed. “I have
lived my entire life amongst a palace full of men. I spent nine
moons sharing my mother’s womb with you, a man. How can you stand
there and tell me I do not know men?”
“Not like him.”
“What do you mean, not like him?”
“He is an actor playing a part. To what end,
I can’t say. But an actor he is, and a bad one. I see it.”
Much as Halah had inherited her mother’s keen
hearing, Asim had inherited their mother’s gift of sight. He had
the ability with most people to see what was in their hearts, but
not with all people. He’d been prejudiced against Yago the Wolf
since Asim first heard the story of his parents, the Lion and the
Swan.
Still, he was her brother, and he truly cared
for her.
“I will promise you what I promised our
father,” she told him. “I will keep my guard up against Yago the
Wolf, and any other man bold or foolish enough to brave the men in
my family and show any interest in me.”
“Sasa.”
She waved him off. “Go see to your wife,
brother,” she said, walking around him and heading once more for
the stables. “May she give you ten daughters,” she called back over
her shoulder. “All exactly like their Auntie Sasa.”
She found Ratter in the tack room of the
stables set aside for those horses competing in the races, figuring
out who would be situated where. The stables were built to house
thirty horses, each with their own stall, and each stall with a
small antechamber attached to it, large enough to contain a cot, a
wash basin, and a chest or two, along with space to store a saddle
and riding tack. The wealthier riders brought their own help with
them, but for those who had not, the palace provided well-trained
stable hands, if they chose to use them.
“Who is Lasair getting?” Sahar asked as she
handed Ratter the tub of liniment from her sack.
“Me.”
“Why would you live in a cramped little room
for a fortnight?” Ratter had his own roomy, comfortable living
chambers in the main stables, built for him where he ruled his own
little kingdom. “There must be others willing to take care of
her.”
Or were they all too embarrassed to watch
over a mare ridden by a woman?
“All my top ‘ands wanted Lasair as their
charge,” he said, twisting open the tub and sniffing the stringent
balm. He wrinkled his nose and set the tub aside. “But I’m not
trustin’ anyone sides meself to watch over ‘er.” He beaded his gaze
on Sahar. “I’m not takin’ any chances with a certain someone
roamin’ round all free an important like, an’ neither should you.
I’ll niver forget how yer poor mother looked after ‘at bastard Ox
got ahold o’ ‘er, her eyes all bloodshot an’ her throat all
bruised.”
Sahar had heard the story, of course. She had
seen the rage still simmering in her father’s eyes whenever he
spoke of it, and the pain in her mother’s, not only at the memory
of her physical wounds, but at the knowledge that someone had hated
her enough to try to put her in an early grave. Twice. But still.
It was bad enough that her father and brother had thought it
necessary to warn her about the Wolf. Now Ratter too.
“Yago the Wolf is not his father,” she
said.
“No, ‘e’s not. But I don’t trust ‘im just the
same.”
“Fine.” Sahar was not going to argue the
point with him. Ratter had helped foal Lasair. She knew him and was
comfortable with him. If he wanted to sleep on a cot in a cramped
little room beside her, let him. “Who will be in the stables next
to her?”
“Munir an’ ‘is gelding’ll be on ‘er right,
and Maksimillian’s young bastard an’ ‘is stallion’ll be on ‘er
left.”
“Aleksandr?”
“Aye, ‘at’s ‘is name.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I likes ‘is gold stallion.”
Sahar growled low. Ratter had unwittingly put
the one man she had no desire to lay eyes on ever again, despite
his rugged good looks, right next to Lasair’s stall, where she was
bound to run into him.
“When did Munir decide to race?” Sahar said,
rubbing her temples. “He did not stand in the line of riders last
night.”
“When yer father the king asked ‘im to last
night after the feast.”
“To watch over me.” A girl who could not be
trusted to take care of herself.