Chapter 16 Letters From Home
Letters From Home
Draugr snorted, and Elizabeth murmured soft praises until he quieted.
After nearly three weeks of visiting Draugr every day, he finally allowed her to brush and saddle him with minimal rebellion.
Her foot had healed, but she still kept a wary eye on his hooves while brushing him down.
His ears flicked towards her in interest but stayed upright—no longer pinned flat in warning.
Elizabeth clipped a lead rope on his harness, and she took it as a promising sign that Draugr merely snorted instead of snapping his teeth at her fingers.
Taking him by the lead, she walked Draugr out of the stall, his bulk and height dwarfing the other horses in the stable.
Buttercup poked her head out of her stall to watch them walk past, and Elizabeth had to yank the reins as Draugr’s teeth came together in a clack, narrowly avoiding the other horse.
“I am on to you and your mischief,” she sternly told the horse.
Draugr swished his tail lazily, as if to say, I doubt it.
She walked him around the paddock several times without issue. After the third trip around, Draugr tugged on the lead rope and started to trot without any urging. She turned on the spot, holding the lead rope and watching the horse trot around her in a wide circle.
Feeling elated by his progress, she swapped out his harness for a bridle, and Draugr blinked at her warily, but let her do it.
Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth gripped the reins and saddle horn in one hand, positioned her foot in the stirrup, and heaved herself over the horse.
She gripped the reins tightly, as Draugr’s muscles bunched underneath the saddle. To her satisfaction, he walked around the paddock twice without mishap.
She eyed the castle windows. While she didn’t love the idea of riding astride in plain view of the castle, she also didn’t want to be flung off because she was foolish enough to try to ride a half-wild stallion sidesaddle.
But there were no figures in the windows, and the sky had just begun to lighten.
All was quiet, and there was no one to bear witness.
She walked Draugr around the paddock five times without issue, then asked him to trot by gently kneeing his sides as a silent order. Today felt like a good day to try to ride for real.
Draugr’s trot was so jolting that she was almost thrown from her seat.
She slowed him back to a walk and tried to trot several more times.
She didn’t fall off, which was a feat in itself, but bounced around in her saddle like a novice, and was forced to hold onto the saddlehorn for dear life, her knuckles turning white.
Her legs began to ache from the effort of gripping his sides.
She tried to guide him left, but Draugr ignored her and moved right.
“Let’s try that again,” she muttered.
She tugged on the reins, trying to guide Draugr left, and he fought the reins, nodding his head vigorously and looking ill at ease.
“Could you just behave for two seconds?” Elizabeth hissed. Draugr’s ears flicked forward and back before he finally heeded her and stepped grudgingly to the left. “Was that really so hard?”
They trotted several times until Elizabeth was feeling reasonably pleased with their progress. After growing accustomed to his jolting stride, she gently dug her heels in a little, the signal for most horses to speed up to a canter, and he reared, his hooves flailing in the air.
She leaned forward and grabbed onto his mane, questioning her sanity for trying to tame a wild stallion.
Draugr righted himself, looking far too pleased to have nearly stopped her heart, and she sighed.
The moment Elizabeth’s shoulders dropped in relief, Draugr’s hindquarters shot skyward.
Her stomach lurched as she sailed through the air, the paddock spinning below her.
She hit the ground hard, her shoulder taking most of the impact as she tried to roll to break her fall. This brought her perilously close to his hooves, and she had to scamper out of the way in an undignified fashion.
Determined to succeed, she patted his neck and murmured soft praises until he calmed again.
Mounting up again, she was surprised he walked with no problem; however, as soon as she dug her heels into his sides to urge him to go faster, he got an attitude, gave an agitated whinny, and reared, sending her tumbling into the mud.
His meaning could not be clearer—he was done for the day.
Sitting in the mud, she glared up at the big horse.
Draugr snorted, and his tail swished, his ears happily perked forward now that he had been relieved of a rider.
How the horsemaster thought he might someday bear a rider was beyond her.
“We were doing so well, you and I,” she said a little sadly and approached the stallion. She stroked his nose and led him back to the stable.
Elizabeth took stock of her dress and grimaced. The once cream linen was now smeared with dirt. Perfect. She rolled her eyes.
Her mood turned foul as she forewent her morning exercise in favour of staying in.
She scrubbed at the dirt underneath her fingernails with more force than necessary, her jaw clenched.
The morning had been a disaster, and now she was trapped inside again, like some useless ornament.
She paced her chambers twice before the walls felt too close.
The corridors beckoned, and she went for a brisk stroll to expend her restless energy.
Taking the castle halls at random, she found herself in a section of the castle that she had never been to before. Her footsteps echoed in the unfamiliar wing, and a cold draft rolled in from a window that had been left open.
Ancient-looking shields lined the walls, their metal dulled with age, and faded banners hung limp between them.
Elizabeth paused before a torn standard, a silver stag on a blue field, its fabric so fragile it might crumble to the touch.
She had never seen such a standard before.
Come to think of it, she didn’t recognize most of the standards in the hall.
Several were torn and dirty at the edges, as if they had been ripped from ramparts.
A chill crept up her spine as she looked from banner to banner. These weren’t decorations—they were trophies. Each torn standard, each dented shield, told the story of some lord’s defeat.
Elizabeth stopped before a banner set apart from the rest—a golden lion rampant on an emerald-green banner. Her brow furrowed. The house sigil looked familiar. She’d seen it before, but where?
Two suits of armour flanked the green banner like silent sentries, their visors dark and empty.
Unlike the others, the green banner was clearly set in the center of the hall, in a position of pride.
It was the most ragged-looking, and was torn at the edges, with what looked like a muddy handprint in the corner.
She peered closer at the dark stain. Not mud—dried blood, rusty brown against the vibrant green. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. A keepsake from a battle.
A heavy oak door loomed at the end of the hall with two crossed swords gleaming above the iron handle. Elizabeth’s pulse quickened as she approached. What would she find on the other side?
She glanced over her shoulder, but she was alone. She listened carefully and heard something that sounded like a scuff, followed by a series of soft thumps. She brought her ear closer to the wood. The muffled sounds grew louder.
Filled with a sense of apprehension, she carefully cracked open the door and peered inside.
Her eyes widened.
The room was a giant gymnasium, filled with mats and racks of weapons.
Heavy leather bags hung suspended from the ceiling on chains, and there was a pile of pads and dummies in the corner.
Inside the room, she saw firsthand that demons were not just supernaturally gifted with muscle.
Apparently, they had to work for it just the same as mortals, because in the middle of the room, standing on the mats and heaving with exertion, were two demons.
Asmodeus looked sweaty and disheveled but otherwise in fair spirits. He saw her and gave her a friendly nod.
Caspian, on the other hand, didn’t even see her, lost in his focus. He attacked a hanging leather bag with fury as he feinted and came in low. His back muscles rippled under his tunic, soaked with sweat, as his fists collided with the bag over and over. Gods, he was vicious.
Caspian stood and glanced at Asmodeus. Noticing the direction of Asmodeus’s stare, he turned and saw her, blinking in surprise.
As their eyes met, he scowled and brushed a sweaty lock of hair off his face. He was breathing heavily, his chest visibly rising and falling as he caught his breath.
“Elizabeth.”
“Oh, hello,” she said brightly. “My apologies. I was just exploring the castle. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
As she made to leave, Asmodeus said, “We can teach you if you like. We practice every morning.”
Morning? It was nearly evening.
She hesitated. “No, thank you. I fear that it would be unseemly for me to learn how to fight.”
“As you wish,” Caspian said, his tone unsurprised.
“If you won’t join us, then I’ll just have to beat Cas senseless again. I don’t mind!” Asmodeus grinned and made a playful hit to Caspian’s stomach.
Caspian retaliated, and soon, the two were fighting, each trying to land a hit. Asmodeus retreated a few steps and gave a battle cry, trying to headbutt Caspian in the stomach. Caspian was forced two steps back, and then the two demons started to wrestle.
Asmodeus was grinning like a fiend, and even Caspian wore the barest shadow of a smile as he tried to place his friend in a headlock with his elbow.
Asmodeus grunted and threw him off in a strange maneuver that her brain couldn’t make heads or tails of.
Asmodeus swept Caspian’s legs out from under him, and they warred on the mat.
Caspian ended up on the bottom, yet somehow still wrestled him into another headlock.