Chapter 11
Riding Horses
The next day, Elizabeth tiptoed out of the castle before anyone could stop her. Her hair was braided, and her riding boots were on.
She slid the barn door open, cringing as the wood groaned, but needn’t have worried—there wasn’t anyone inside, not even the horsemaster was up yet.
Pulling treats out of her pockets, she offered them to Buttercup and Icefire, giving them a good pat.
Then, she fixed her attention on the black stallion in the corner.
She held a carrot aloft and waved it back and forth.
The horse tracked the carrot with eyes so dark that they appeared solid black. Draugr, Lial had said his name was.
“Behave,” she ordered firmly.
Draugr shook his head as if to say, I’d like to see you make me.
She grinned. “We are going to have fun, you and I.”
Tucking the carrot back into her pocket, she sat on a stool for a few minutes, waiting patiently.
When Draugr relaxed and acclimatized himself to her presence, she walked over to him slowly, and stood in front of him for several minutes, smiling.
Elizabeth figured that, even if horses couldn’t speak Common, her body language showed him she was not a threat and she was not here to hurt him.
After a moment, she steadily held out her hand.
Draugr eyed her warily and took the carrot, chomping on it. She noted with satisfaction that his ears were now contentedly perked forward.
“You listen here. I am going to put a saddle on you, and we are going to ride.”
Draugr snorted and reared, his hooves flailing in the air.
Such dramatics, she thought, amused at the spirited horse’s antics.
If she could only get him to behave, he would be so fun to ride.
His haunches were large and muscled, and he stood taller than the other horses.
She imagined he would fly across fields faster than any easy-going mare.
With a bit of training, he would put even her father’s warhorse back home to shame.
Taking a bridle, she entered the stall, paying attention to the location of Draugr’s hooves.
She set the harness down in plain sight and began brushing him down, murmuring what a handsome horse he was and how she would give him treats if he behaved.
She stroked his neck and whispered soft praises as she put on the harness.
Smiling widely, she walked over with the saddle.
His ears flattened, but he let her do it.
When she bent over to do the girth strap, he rose a hoof.
She quickly jumped back, and he landed solidly with all of his bulk where her foot would have been.
She scolded him, swatting his rear lightly and smiled.
She was an experienced rider and would not be caught unawares.
Elizabeth snapped a lead rope onto his harness, led Draugr out to the paddock, and began some exercises.
She kept the lead loose and walked him around the enclosure.
They kept an easy pace, and he seemed to be behaving.
She didn’t dare try to ride him, though.
With his temperament, she would be thrown off immediately.
She walked beside Draugr for the better part of an hour before leading him back inside.
He looked at her as if to say, Is that all?
She brushed him down, murmuring what a strong, magnificent horse he was. Just when she was feeling quite pleased with herself, he stomped on her foot.
Stars danced in her vision, and she wanted to shout profanities. But she reined it in, inhaling deeply through her nose. She smiled weakly, her eyes watering.
That hurt.
Elizabeth gritted her teeth, but she didn’t want to show any weakness. Still, for good reason, she kept well away from his hindquarters while she finished brushing him down. She backed out of the stall, keeping her eyes on him the whole time.
Her foot ached as she limped. Elizabeth was certain when she took off her boots, she would find an impressive bruise starting to form there.
Elizabeth grimaced and saddled up Buttercup, a blessedly docile mare, and left the stables.
She rode sidesaddle until she was well out of sight of the castle, and then she hopped off, landing firmly in the grass and wincing slightly at the impact to her injured foot. Then, she mounted up properly, swinging a leg in a wide, graceful arc over the horse’s back.
Readjusting her seat, she smiled broadly and nudged Buttercup into a trot.
Elizabeth urged the mare faster, racing through the forest trails. Grinning widely, she navigated her horse over stones and through mountain trails.
Eventually, the forest thinned and opened into a vast valley, nestled between the mountains. The mountains were everywhere here, and so enormous that it made her feel like an ant in a house of the gods.
She urged Buttercup into a gallop and raced across the plains. She took the field at a run several times until both she and the horse were breathing heavily and covered in sweat. After crossing the field a fourth time, she gently slowed Buttercup to a walk.
They passed a craggy mountain pass where more of those strange flowers with glossy black petals grew. Even in Rhodea, which was widely referred to as the kingdom of flowers, she had never seen their like.
She wandered the fields and valleys, thoughts drifting between the old life she had left behind and the new one she had begun.
After her ride, she brushed Buttercup down and limped back to the castle.
The doors opened before she touched them, and a disgruntled Finnigan strode out of the castle, scowling.
“Lady Elizabeth, what are you doing out so early?” Finnigan inquired sharply by way of greeting.
“I was given leave to use the stables,” she replied slowly.
“And where did you go off to this morning with none the wiser to your whereabouts, I wonder?” Finnigan demanded.
“Begging your pardon, Mister Finnigan, but it sounds as though you are accusing me of something. As I have already said, I’ve been given leave to use the stables. I was out for a ride.”
Finnigan narrowed his eyes. “My apologies then, I was merely curious. I am protective of our household.”
She smiled, relenting easily. “Of course, Finnigan.”
Offering a quick curtsey in farewell, she limped back to her chambers.
Elizabeth cringed as her foot came out of the boot and was alarmed to discover that the middle of her foot was purple. That godsdamned horse.
She bathed and emerged to find Fiza already waiting, laying out products on her vanity.
Fiza styled her hair with skilled fingers and helped her tie up the corset of a velvet gown that trailed on the floor. Finished, Fiza departed with a curtsey, leaving her to her own devices for the afternoon.
After a moment of hesitation, she took out a quill and several sheets of parchment.
She sat at her writing desk in silence, debating what she could possibly say to her family and Charlotte.
Dipping her quill in the pot of ink, she decided to write the easiest letter first. Charlotte.
She kept it light and positive and avoided mentioning that her blood was the price of her stay.
Dipping her quill into the pot of ink once more, she grimaced, and began writing a letter to her parents. She kept it short and to the point, giving her reasons for leaving, and ended the letter by saying she was open to staying in contact if they allowed it.
She sealed the letters with a dribble of sealing wax and watched it harden. It was the first time she had ever sealed a letter without pressing her house sigil into the wax. The unmarked seal was how a commoner, or someone disowned from their family name, would seal a letter.
A nobody.
That’s who she was now.
The sight of the fat drop of wax without the Ashcroft tree and stars made her heart ache.
She hoped that one day, they would find it in their hearts to forgive her.
***
Once her foot healed after a few days rest, she fell into a new routine.
After rising, she would take Draugr out for exercise around the paddock, a tiresome process that involved a lot of coaxing.
Then she would take one of the friendlier horses out on the trails.
She would race her horse through fields until her pent-up energy was spent, and her limbs grew sweaty and trembling from the exercise.
Only then could she don her court mask and return to her quiet, poised existence in the castle.
If she didn’t feel like riding, she would wander the trails on foot and hike far into the mountains.
In the afternoons, she would sit quietly and pretend to be some soft, demure thing, reading in the library or practicing her needlepoint in the lounge.
She spent the day doing exactly as she wished, and for the most part, enjoyed the peace and solitude.
Caspian proved to be very generous. On her fifth day in the castle, a small sack of gold appeared on her writing desk. Fiza explained it was an allowance to buy herself whatever she wished.
After this, she occasionally returned to her chamber to find small gifts waiting for her. A new dress, or piece of jewellery. Some of the dresses he gave her were too small or too big, a reminder that he must have had many mistresses before her.
She wondered what had happened to them, but she was afraid to ask.
In the evening, she would sit at her writing desk and jot down ideas about where her next steps could take her, what she could sell, and what she would need to start anew.
Every time she put a quill to paper to plot her future, she would read over it a few times and burn the pages in her fireplace until nothing but smoldering ashes remained.
She didn’t trust any of the servants. Though she liked Fiza, she wouldn’t put it past her to go through her things and report her every move to the master of the house.
One day in the library, she happened upon a book of maps.
She had grinned at her good fortune but after several fruitless days of trying to memorize all the different roads, she gave up.
Looking around to make sure no one was watching, she slid the book from the shelf and replaced it with one of her own so there wasn’t a gap in the books.
Tucking the book of maps in the crook of her arm, she walked back to her chambers at a casual pace to avoid suspicion. Though Caspian didn’t tell her she couldn’t take out any books from the library, something about it felt wrong.
She kept it in a trunk at the bottom of her closet, ready to say she had borrowed it to learn more about the kingdom. When no one mentioned the missing book in the coming days, she relaxed, pushing away the feeling that she was a child about to be caught misbehaving.
Sometimes, she wondered where Caspian was.
She hardly ever saw him.
Even when she descended to the great hall for dinner, she dined alone. The grinning Asmodeus was gone, and Caspian was nowhere to be found.
When she asked where he was, Fiza had simply said that the master was often not in residence.
She felt a mixture of relief and dread because their week had passed, and he still had not come to seek her out for blood.
From their initial conversations, she knew that there was no way he would have forgotten.