Chapter 9
The Stable
Elizabeth grew excited as they strode across the grassy fields towards the stable.
The stable door creaked as it opened, and Iago held it, waiting for her to go first.
The stable smelled of hay and leather, and housed three horses: a white horse speckled with gray, a caramel-coloured palomino with a butter-yellow mane, and an enormous black horse in the corner that shifted its feet irritably at their arrival.
“Might I be permitted to ride while I’m here?” she asked gently, already reaching to stroke the palomino’s velvety nose.
“I don’t see why not,” Iago said earnestly.
“I have to head back to the castle soon to attend to my other duties, but we can stop at the kitchens and get a few treats for the horses. You can make use of the stables, but the Master will likely want you to take a guide if you leave the castle grounds.”
She nodded her acknowledgement and tried to hide her glee as they strode back to the castle.
In the kitchens, Iago handed her three apples and Elizabeth said with sincerity, “It’s been a pleasure. Thank you for the tour.”
Iago’s large beetle black eyes brightened, and he swept a clawed paw in front of him in a bow.
She returned to her chamber, where Fiza was dusting the shelves.
“Hello Fiza!” she said cheerfully, setting her book down on her writing desk.
Fiza smiled, and quietly raised a hand in greeting.
Elizabeth ducked behind the dressing screen and changed into something more appropriate for riding, and laced up her boots.
Hesitating at the door, she called, “Fiza! Do you want to come for a ride?” She set her book down on the writing desk. “I’ve been given leave to use the stables.”
Fiza’s brow furrowed for a moment, but Elizabeth made a pleading expression. She figured Fiza counted as a chaperone, and she was itching to explore the trails.
Soon, Fiza sat awkwardly on a stool in the stable, while Elizabeth hunted in the tack room for brushes. Finding one to her liking, Elizabeth walked into the palomino’s stall and began brushing the horse down, ignoring the startled gasp from her maid.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. Fiza looked bewildered at the brush and watched anxiously, wringing her hands in her lap. “I don’t know anything about horses, my lady, but I can fetch a servant who does.” She cringed. “Oh, lady, you’ll ruin your nails doing a servant’s work.”
A wide smile spread across her face. “I’ve brushed horses down hundreds of times, and my nails still look fine.”
Relenting, Fiza bit her lip. While she finished brushing down the horse, she decided to try and make conversation. “Do you have any family here?”
Fiza hesitated. “My sister and I are on loan to Master Caspian to be able to see the mortal realm. The rest of my family is back home in the Underworld.”
“And do you like it here?”
“It's very green and full of light.”
Elizabeth didn't know if that was a positive or negative assessment.
Before Elizabeth could reply, they were interrupted by a slender demon with olive skin and raven hair who introduced himself as Lial, the horsemaster.
Elizabeth smiled warmly at him. “Nice to meet you. We were just going for a ride.”
“My lady, please—” He rushed forward. “It’s—it’s my duty to prepare the horses,” the demon mumbled apologetically.
“Nonsense.” She laughed uneasily. “Brushing the horses down is a labor of love, but by all means, you can check my work on the palomino.”
His cheeks reddened considerably, and he mumbled an apology as he checked the horse she had just finished brushing down.
She watched in amusement; up until a day ago, she would have never thought a demon could blush.
Come to think of it, none whom she had met thus far were nowhere near as brooding and serious as Caspian.
“She’s been groomed very well, my Lady,” the demon horse master said, sounding much too impressed for such a simple task.
She finished brushing down the horse she was working on and smiled. “What are the names of our beautiful steeds?”
“The gray one before you is Icefire. And this is Buttercup,” he explained, fastening a saddle on the palomino. “That black one is Draugr—it means ‘demon’ in the old tongue. The Master is trying to rehabilitate him, but he's dead mean. Best stay clear.”
“Well, aren’t you charming,” Elizabeth said, smiling at the horse before turning back to Lial. “May I give him an apple?”
The horsemaster paused, clearly not wanting her near the horse. “If you must, but please watch out for your fingers. He’s a tricky one.”
Elizabeth smiled at the irony—a demon with a horse named “demon.”
She approached the black stallion with an apple held flat on her palm. The horse lunged, nearly taking her fingers. She pulled back just in time, then tried again more cautiously. This time, Draugr snatched the apple without incident.
She reached out a hand to pat him, and the stallion’s ears went flat back, the whites of his eyes showing.
“Lady!” Lial cried, and yanked her hand out of reach. “He really is mean-spirited. If he cannot bear a rider by the year’s end, we will have to put him down.”
Elizabeth took a step back, giving the horse plenty of space, and did her best to look non-threatening.
Draugr eyed her warily, his ears flicking back and forth cautiously, as if he was sizing her up.
He didn’t seem vicious, only afraid.
They led their horses out of the stable, and after Lial helped Fiza clamber up, Elizabeth clicked her tongue and nudged her heels into Icefire’s sides.
As they made their way through the sloped woodland trails, Fiza gradually relaxed her death grip on the reins, and stopped fidgeting in the saddle. They lapsed into comfortable silence and took the trail at a leisurely pace.
As they came to a break in the trees, Elizabeth straightened in the saddle, drinking in the view of the forest covered mountains in the distance. The wind was cool on her face, pulling strands of her hair loose from her braid.
“It's beautiful,” she murmured, more to herself than to Fiza.
Her maid nodded cautiously. “The Master's lands are vast.”
When they returned to the stables and dismounted, Fiza looked only too happy to be on solid ground again. Elizabeth hummed contentedly and insisted on brushing down both their horses herself, finding peace in the familiar task.
As they prepared to leave the stable, she looked back at Draugr. The stallion reared, his eyes flying wide.
Elizabeth hesitated, heart twisting at the thought of what would happen to him if he was never able to bear a rider.
“My lady?” Fiza called, interrupting Elizabeth’s thoughts.
“Coming!” Elizabeth said quickly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and following Fiza back to the castle.
Her limbs were pleasantly sore as she climbed the steps to her chamber, and she felt sweaty and flushed from the exercise.
Inside her chamber, Elizabeth shed her muddy riding boots and she shimmied out of her riding habit, streaks of dust and horsehair now clinging to the fabric.
“I’ll draw your bath, my lady,” Fiza said quickly, striding towards the bathing chamber.
The demon turned the taps on and began arranging towels and soaps with care.
“Thank you, Fiza,” Elizabeth said, touching the female’s arm. “But I can manage from here. Surely you’d like to bathe as well.”
Fiza’s eyes widened, startled at the suggestion. “It’s my duty to attend you, my lady.”
“Thank you for all your help.” Elizabeth gestured to the door. “But please, take some time for yourself. We’re both covered in dust and grime from the ride.”
Uncertainty flickered across the maid’s face. “The Master would not approve—"
“The Master isn't here,” Elizabeth said, stepping into the warm water, to make her point clear. “I'll see you in an hour.”
Fiza fretted, wringing her hands. “You’re certain you’ll be alright?”
Elizabeth sank deeper into the water, closing her eyes. “Positive. Thank you for coming with me today.”
Fiza hesitated, her fingers lingering on the door handle as if waiting for her to change her mind.
“Go,” Elizabeth insisted. “I’ll be fine. Honest.”
With a final curtsey, Fiza departed.
Elizabeth lounged in the bath for a while, letting the warm water soothe her muscles. She allowed herself to drift, thinking of nothing but the pleasant sensation of being clean after a day spent outdoors.
After scrubbing herself clean, she emerged and towelled herself dry.
She had hoped to read for a while before dressing for dinner, but to her surprise, she found Fiza already waiting by her vanity.
There were fresh clothes laid out for her on her bed, and a set of cosmetics and hair styling tools laid out on the vanity.
“That was hardly an hour,” Elizabeth said, smiling.
Elizabeth donned a pale blue evening gown and Fiza helped lace up the matching blue corset. She sat down at the vanity, and Fiza styled her hair as it dried and applied some cosmetics to her face.
Elizabeth noted with no small sense of wonder that Fiza’s jet-black hair was already neat and dry. “How is your hair dry already?” Elizabeth asked curiously. Hers was still damp.
Fiza smiled. “Trick of the trade, my lady.”
“What do you mean?”
Fiza disappeared into the bathing chamber. The tap ran briefly, and she emerged with sodden hair. Fiza screwed up her eyes in concentration, and when she opened them, her hair was dry again.
Right. The girl had said she was a shapeshifter demon.
“That’s fantastic!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Unlike the other servants with their obvious demonic features, Fiza was definitely the most human-looking—from her warm brown eyes to her large nose.
If Elizabeth hadn’t been told she was a demon, she would have never suspected.
“What do you really look like, then? Your true form?”
Fiza’s fingers stilled in Elizabeth’s hair. “I don’t think—"
“Please? ” she asked, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I’m trying to understand this world better. Only if you are comfortable, that is.”
Fiza’s human appearance disappeared in a wisp of black smoke.
Elizabeth fought to control her expression as she beheld her maid’s true form.
Bottomless black eyes stared from clammy blue-gray skin.
Long, webbed fingers hung at her sides. A wide, flat nose dominated her face, while frilled gills replaced her ears.
Green-blonde hair hung in rope-like strands, framing features that seemed designed for water rather than land.
When Fiza took off her shoes, Elizabeth understood why—her feet were enormous and webbed. The demon bared her teeth in what might have been a smile, revealing rows of pointed, sharp teeth.
“Just as pretty as before,” lied Elizabeth, reining in her shudder.
Fiza features brightened, seeming pleased with that assessment. In a flash, she was back to her usual, well, her familiar human self, and resumed styling Elizabeth’s hair.
As Elizabeth watched those now-ordinary fingers weaving pearls into her braid, a troubling thought emerged. If someone as gentle as Fiza could hide such a monstrous form, she wondered what Caspian’s form really looked like, and if it was just as horrible.