Page 5

K ian

It’s hot. Sweat drips down my brow. The sound of revelry has already begun. There is singing and laughter. Before long, the feast will be in full swing.

“Is this the last horse for the day?” I ask my striker, who is stoking the fire.

“Yes.” He nods, excitement dancing in his eyes.

“Pack away the tools, and you can go,” I tell him, wanting privacy to carry out our plan.

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking at me quizzically. “I don’t mind helping you finish up. Then we can go to the feast together.”

“I’m sure. I know that your lady is waiting for you.”

He grins. “Yes, she is, and I can’t wait to see her.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

“Thank you, Sir,” he tells me, running to do as instructed.

I smile. “Have fun,” I tell him as soon as he finishes up. I watch as my young striker almost falls he dashes off so quickly. Then I take the smoldering horseshoe from the fire and start hitting it to finish shaping it, placing it in a basin of cold water, where it sizzles as it cools.

The horse nickers and stomps. I put my hand on the beast’s neck. “Easy,” I tell him, and he settles.

After checking the fit of the shoe, I pick up my trusty hammer and a few nails, putting three between my teeth. Then I get to work.

I lose myself in the rhythm of it, the clang of metal against metal echoing in the small space.

I quench the hot metal in the water, the satisfying hiss filling the silence.

My mind is consumed with thoughts of escape, of the risks we are about to take.

A glimmer of hope shines through the darkness that has clouded my days for so long.

As I finish up the last shoe, I wipe my brow with the back of my hand, smudging black soot across my skin.

I tidy up my tools, taking my hammer and pushing it through my belt. Then, I untie the horse and make my way to the stables.

There is laughter and shouting. Someone is playing on a lute. Several people start singing a well-known folk tune. A man turns the corner; he staggers, spilling mead from a cup. He grabs the wall, laughing, and then goes back down the alleyway he came from. He doesn’t seem to notice me.

This is going just as I hoped it would.

Once the horse I just shod is safely in his stable, I tack up the two horses I earmarked for our journey.

They’re smaller than the fae steeds. Surefooted in rugged terrain and able to cope with the difficult conditions that await us outside the dome barrier around the Court.

I get the saddlebags I stashed earlier and have just placed one on the first horse when I hear footfalls. Someone has just entered the barn, and they’re coming this way.

Their steps are sure and true.

Kakara help me. No! I don’t need this. Not now. I had banked on everyone being at the feast.

I stand still, putting my hand against the horse’s shoulder. I practically hold my breath, hoping whoever it is will go away.

They don’t.

They keep walking between the stalls. It’s like they’re searching for something, and they’re coming this way.

Perhaps they won’t look into this particular stall. Maybe I’ll get away with it. I go down on my haunches at the horse’s front leg, facing away.

I pray to the gods that I won’t be found out so soon. I pray that whoever it is isn’t a fae. That it’s one of the human stable hands.

Of course, the person stops when they reach the stall I am in.

I run my hand down the horse’s leg.

“Alaric.” I recognize the voice; it’s the stable master. He’s an older fae. Not as bad as many of the others. I would go so far as to say that I call him a friend.

I lift the horse’s hoof, inspecting it.

Then I look up, turning over my shoulder. “Tyron.” I smile, hoping it isn’t as tense as it feels. “You’re still working? I thought everyone was at the feast. I should be, too.” I make it sound like I’m grumbling.

His gaze moves to the saddlebag on the horse’s back and then to the one on the ground at my feet.

“I thought I would check on the horses first. Is everything alright?” He narrows his eyes. I see suspicion there.

God’s bones, but this is bad. At this rate, I’m going to be caught before I’ve even left the barn.

Stay calm. Keep your cool!

“Everything is just fine. Some travelers arrived not so long ago. In fact, you must have just missed them. I was told that this horse was lame on the right front, and I wanted to make sure that all was well. I offered to untack them,” I lie.

The stable master furrows his brow and steps closer to the horse, his eye moving over the beast. “That’s odd. This looks like one of the horses that came in yesterday.”

“These shaggy ponies all look the same.” I chuckle. Thankfully, it’s brown without any markings, just like many of the beasts used to navigate through the realm between Courts.

He makes a noise of agreement, but it’s clear that he isn’t fully buying it.

“I can’t see any reason why it would be lame. Nothing stuck in the hoof, no noticeable swellings or heat.” I shrug. “Perhaps you’re just tired, hey, boy?” I speak to the animal, who doesn’t pay me any attention. He keeps eating his hay.

“Looks clean for one who just arrived after a long journey.” He lifts his brows, once again looking skeptical.

“I sprayed his legs down.” I wince inwardly because the horse’s legs are dry as a bone in the desert.

He makes another noise like he’s thinking it through.

I remove the saddlebag and start to untack the animal. “Perhaps tell your stable hands to keep an eye on him. I’ll check on him again in the morning. It might help to trot him out, just to be safe.”

“I will tell Simon to give him the once-over when he feeds them their oats a little later,” Tyron tells me.

I nod, starting to breathe a little easier. I remove the saddle, placing it on the door.

“It sounds like you’re coming to the feast?” he asks.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it. I just wanted to finish up here first.”

“It would seem that great minds think alike. It’s a pity they are sending you back to the mines. With a little training, you would make a fine smithy. You have a way with horses.”

“I’m also strong and move many baskets of coal per day. I am far more valuable down there than up here.” I sigh, wiping my brow. Then I slip the bridle from the beast’s head, placing that over the saddle.

“I, for one, will be sorry to lose you.”

“Thank you, Tyron. The mines are the last place I want to be. It’s awful down there.”

“So, I’ve heard.” He looks solemn. “I’d better check on the rest of the horses.” He smiles, and I smile back.

I hoist the saddle over my arm, leaving the stable. Then I make my way to the tack room and start to pack it away. I’ll quickly re-tack the horse as soon as Tyron leaves.

“I will see you at the feast,” Tyron calls from the front of the stall.

“Yes. I’m right behind you,” I yell back.

“Blankets are too thin,” Tyron says. “You should take bedrolls, as well. There are a few packed away in the chest in the corner.”

My eyes go wide, and the air catches in my lungs.

He knows.

Of course he does.

Tyron is no fool.

“Goodbye, Alaric.”

“Goodbye.” My voice hitches just a little. He’s letting me go. I can scarcely believe it.

I hear the sound of his receding footfalls.

He’s gone. I’m grateful and lucky. Very lucky. Kakara be thanked. Perhaps there are some good fae, after all.

I push out a heavy breath and get to work. There’s a lot to do before noon.