Of Fire and Stars Page 2

  Beside one of the plush chairs in the receiving room, my maid, Auna, curtsied in greeting. Her familiar face made the room feel a little more like home.

  A page rapped on the door and delivered a whispered message to the prince.

  “I’m sorry, but I have some business to attend to,” Thandilimon said after the page dashed away. “Casmiel will show you around the castle grounds, and I’ll see you later tonight at the welcoming feast. Tomorrow we’ll have a breakfast at which you can meet some of my father’s most important advisers in a more private setting.”

  “I look forward to it, Your Highness.” I curtsied.

  “As do I, my lady.” He bowed and left the room, the liegemen closing it quietly behind him.

  After an entire life of preparation, our first meeting had been too brief and too filled with calamity, leaving me unsure what I should feel. Mostly, I wanted to go home.

  I excused myself to have Auna help me into a fresh, unsinged dress, all too conscious of Casmiel waiting on the other side of the door. The surprise of Amaranthine’s presence had me worried about what other gaps might exist in my knowledge of Mynaria, but her unconventional role intrigued me. Decorum suggested that it would be polite to seek her out and properly thank her for coming to my aid, and it sounded like there was only one place she’d be. I stared out my windows to where the royal stables lay on the hillside. I knew the first place I’d ask Casmiel to take me.

  TWO

  Mare

  I HUMMED A BAWDY TAVERN SONG WHILE DIGGING PACKED dirt out of Flicker’s front hoof, grateful to be back at a familiar task after the disaster of Princess Dennaleia’s arrival. Though my brother’s rotten mare had been responsible, taking the blame didn’t bother me. It meant my father and Thandi wouldn’t want me to help with anything else for a while. That spelled freedom—my favorite thing. But no sooner had I scraped the last of the dirt from alongside Flicker’s shoe than a shriek tore through the stables, shrill enough to make my heart race. Flicker shied and jerked his hoof away, barely missing my toes as he stomped down.

  “Easy, boy,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. If this was another instance of a stable hand showing a kitchen maid the true discomfort of a “roll in the hay,” both of them would need my boots dislodged from their rear ends. Scowling, I wiped my hands on the rough fabric of my breeches and marched out of the stall.

  Princess Dennaleia stood across the aisle, clutching one hand with the other, her face ashen. Lovely. As family scapegoat, whatever had happened would undoubtedly be my fault, despite my uncle Cas standing next to her.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “It bit me,” she said, her voice shaky.

  Dennaleia was half a head shorter than me, the kind of delicate girl who made me feel like a dirty, lumbering oaf. Her yellow silk dress from earlier in the day had been replaced with a ruffled lavender affair, and she looked like she should be on top of a cake instead of in the middle of my barn.

  “Bring her to the tack room,” I said to Cas. We each took an arm, directing the princess out of the aisle to seat her on a trunk. She whimpered a little as I examined the bite. It was only a surface scrape, probably with bruising to follow. I’d seen far worse injuries. Experienced them myself, in fact. She’d heal in less than a week.

  “Mare will get you fixed up and everything will be all right,” Cas said, passing her a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

  I sighed and pulled some cleanser and a poultice from a wound kit. The blood on her hand washed away to reveal soft, white skin marred only by the horse bite and a shadowy ink stain on her middle finger. A scholar, then. No wonder she seemed as out of place in the stables as lace on combat tack. After gently applying the herb poultice, I bound her injury with a strip of clean cotton.

  “All done,” I said, eager for both her and Cas to leave.

  She stared at the floor, her head crowned with brown hair so dark it swallowed the light.

  “I’m so sorry, Your Highness,” the princess said, eyes still downcast. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. But I’ve read so much about Mynaria’s warhorses and their significance to the foundation of the kingdom, and the stables themselves are one of the few remaining examples of early-era stone architecture—”

  My mind drifted almost immediately after she opened her mouth. The girl was word-vomiting a history book I had no interest in reading.

  “It’s fine,” I interrupted her. “You don’t have to apologize. But for the love of the Six, don’t ‘Your Highness’ me. I go by Mare.”

  “Princess Dennaleia of Havemont, at the service of the crown and the Six.” She used her good hand to execute a remarkably graceful seated curtsy.

  I rolled my eyes. Protocol made my head ache, and it wasn’t as though I didn’t already know her name.

  “The bite wasn’t her fault,” Cas said.

  “So how exactly did she end up with her hand in Shadow’s mouth?” I glared at him.

  “I was giving Princess Dennaleia a tour, and she asked to come by the stables. I didn’t think Shadow would be a problem.”

  I sighed. Shadow was well-mannered under saddle, but everyone knew she had a tendency to be mouthy, a habit encouraged by the grooms, who hand-fed her treats. Cas spent enough time around the horses that he should have known better.

  “I assumed Shadow would be her mount for the Gathering and the wedding ceremony,” he continued. “I was trying to introduce them. But Dennaleia has no experience with horses, and—”

  “How in the Six Hells is that even possible?” I interrupted. The idea of a noble who didn’t know how to ride was as ridiculous as a stable hand not knowing how to push a wheelbarrow.

  Cas rubbed his temple. “I visited Havemont about ten years ago. The roads up to Spire City are barely fit for goats, much less horses. They would’ve had to ship her halfway to Mynaria for lessons. Even the carriage that brought her here had to meet her entourage at a town in the foothills. It probably made more sense to wait, but she’ll have to be trained in time for the wedding.”

  The girl finally looked up, her eyes an unexpected shade of pale green.

  “I should get some basic instruction as soon as possible,” she said with surprising resolve, given that she seemed to be cursed where horses were concerned.

  “That’s a splendid idea.” Cas smiled at her and then gave me a pointed look.

  I shook my head and set my jaw. The last thing I wanted was to teach a rank beginner who would constantly be under the watch of my brother and father.

  “Give her to Theeds. He can put her with the liegemen trainees,” I said.

  “That’s not an option. She has only a few moons before the wedding, and you know damn well that putting her in with a mixed class above her level isn’t going to teach her anything. Besides, there’s no better instructor than you.”

  I ignored Cas’s flattery. The earnest tone he used with the more recalcitrant members of the Directorate wasn’t going to work on me. “Not a chance.”

  “Riding with the liegemen is probably fine,” Dennaleia said. She looked about as enthusiastic about the lessons as I felt about being saddled with her. “Surely you know what’s best—”

  I ignored her attempt at diplomacy and spoke directly to Cas. “You can figure it out.”

  I stalked out of the tack room, but Cas caught me by my sleeve outside the door.

  “Mare, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to do this,” he said in a low voice.

  I jerked my arm away.

  “Think how pleased your father will be that you’re doing something to help the princess.”

  “I don’t have time to fix up every delicate flower who wanders through the barn with an idiot for a guide,” I said.

  Cas let my insult roll off him like rain hitting waxed leather and fixed me with a grave look. “You need a different way to occupy your afternoons until the alliance is settled.”

  A jolt went through me. He was breaking our agreement. On afternoons when I
wasn’t occupied with the horses, I often sneaked out of the castle. Cas overlooked my excursions and didn’t tell my father in exchange for the useful information I sometimes brought him.

  “People will be coming from all over the Northern Kingdoms to witness your brother’s wedding. Not all of them will be happy about it,” Cas said. “The city will not be as safe as it once was.”

  He must have known I didn’t always stick to the best parts of town or sources he approved of. Damn him and his spies.

  “Teaching Dennaleia to ride is important,” he continued. “She needs to seem like one of us as soon as possible. Her people may believe in our gods, but that does not undo all the years they’ve turned a blind eye to the Zumordans using Havemont to gain access to our kingdom.”

  “That’s not my problem,” I said.

  “It is now. Don’t give me reason to tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

  “Fine,” I said, furious. He left me no other option. “Just keep her out of here until I teach her which end of a horse will bite her.” Fuming, I stalked back to Flicker’s stall.

  “Mare—” Cas called out, but there was nothing else for him to say. I should have felt guiltier for being so rude—he sympathized with my point of view more than my father or brother, and even advocated for my interests from time to time. Still, he would never understand what it felt like when what little freedom I had was taken from me. Now that my brother had a princess to wear on his wrist like another cachet, there should have been even less pressure on me to be lady of the castle. I had counted on it.

  I made my way to Flicker’s last hoof in need of cleaning. After digging out a pebble wedged alongside his frog, I brushed the hoof clean and set it down gently. He craned his neck around to look at me between bites of hay.

  “Sorry, boy. You’re all done now.” I stroked his neck, his summer coat bright as copper even in the dim light of the barn. Usually I would have lingered, but the sun already rested above the hills, dusting the sky with hints of pink. Tonight I’d be forced into attire I hadn’t worn in years for Princess Dennaleia’s welcoming feast, and my maids had serious work ahead of them with the snarled state of my hair.

  I exited the stables and walked the least traveled path from the barn to the castle, feeling like the walls of the palace gardens were closing in on me. The thought of being trapped for the rest of the summer thanks to Dennaleia’s stupid lessons made me ache for escape—blending into any crowd, teasing out the most valuable information from informants, or haggling with vendors at the market in Cataphract Square. To the street buskers and bar musicians I was a patron like any other, a hand from which to earn a coin for an apple or a heel of bread. Anonymity gave me choices that my title never would. It allowed me to pretend, if only for a moment, that someday I could be a simple horse trainer in a small town somewhere, doing the one thing that mattered to me.

  At least at the feast there would be one place I could put my troubles—at the bottom of a flagon of wine.

  Several sunlengths later I scowled at the silver horses staring back at me from the ends of my dirty flatware as conversations flew over my head. Across the table lay the remains of the summer feast: toppled piles of fresh berries in melted pools of whipped cream, bones from the tender honey-glazed venison, kernelless corncobs, and crumbs of oat bread scattered amidst it all. My stomach lurched at the thought of more food, especially the rich, dark chocolate cream pie covered in imposing spikes of toasted meringue that the chef had come up with to honor Princess Dennaleia’s mountain home. I twisted my cachets, counting the minutes until I could be somewhere—anywhere—else.

  My father lifted his glass and tapped his fork against it in six ringing tones.

  “I would like to give thanks to the Six Gods for the safe arrival of our guest, Princess Dennaleia of Havemont, and for the bounty of the feast we have enjoyed in her honor. We welcome her to our kingdom and look forward to riding with her by our side. May the Six bless the crown and those who serve.”

  As the hall rang with blessings, I raised my glass and took a small sip of wine, studying the princess. Her glass aloft and head held high, she showed no sign of her earlier trauma. The flickering light of a wall sconce warmed her pale skin. Long, loose curls draped over her back, almost black against the burgundy evening dress that swept below her shoulder blades. I briefly entertained the idea of making her clean stalls, relishing the thought of what manure would do to the hemline of a gown like that.

  Her ignorance about horses might have been amusing if she weren’t now my problem. I downed the rest of my cup and poured myself a refill.

  “How do you like the wine tonight?” the man beside me said. His white doublet was of an unusual cut and he wore a thin gold band on the fifth finger of his left hand. He had to be the ambassador from Sonnenborne—the closest thing that kingdom had to a ruler since he’d managed to unite several of its nomadic tribes under his banner. Though he had arrived a moon or two ago, I had not spoken to him before.

  “It’s fine,” I replied, taking another hearty swig. What he didn’t know was that I’d been taught to drink at the common alehouses in town. I was in little danger of being swayed by any charm he possessed, even with the help of alcohol.

  “The new princess is lovely, is she not?”

  “Of course.” I smirked. “More a princess than I’ll ever be.”

  “You know that’s not true, Princess Amaranthine.” He spoke with kindness, not knowing how irritating I found his choice of words.

  “I hate that name,” I muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said I’ll have more of the same.” I held up my half-empty glass.

  “Baron Endalan Kriantz of Sonnenborne, pleased to be of service,” he said, and refilled my cup. “I hear you’re the person to speak to about horses.”

  “Oh?” I sat up straighter. At least someone wanted to talk about something interesting, for a change.

  “One of the men I was introduced to down at the stables mentioned you. He said few others possess such a detailed knowledge of warhorse bloodlines.” He tipped his wineglass lazily in his hand, watching the liquid swirl within. “Can you tell me your opinion of the Flann bloodline? I’m trying to determine whether they might cross well with my desert horses.” He smiled, the edges of his grin lost in a closely cropped black beard.

  “Flann horses have good endurance that would closely complement a desert horse, but they throw height. Since your horses are much shorter than ours, you wouldn’t be able to guarantee much consistency of stature or build. I’d pick a bloodline with a little less endurance but more reliability as far as height. Azura, perhaps?”

  “I’m impressed,” he said, and took a sip from his glass.

  Warmth rushed through me at the praise. “What exactly do you need the horses for?”

  “As my people become less nomadic, we need to prioritize defense,” he said. “Our desert-breds are swift, with great endurance, but less sturdy than your warhorses. Good when one needs to outrun an enemy, but a poor choice for standing one’s ground.”

  “If you’re dealing with skirmishes, definitely keep your horses small,” I said. “You can add muscle without sacrificing speed over short distances.”

  “That’s exactly my hope, Your Highness,” he said.

  “I can’t stand that ‘Your Highness’ nonsense. Save it for the people who care about it.” I jerked my head toward the end of the table, where Dennaleia was smiling insipidly at my fool of a brother.

  “So I should call you . . . ?”

  “Mare.” I held my head high, daring him to mock me.

  “As it pleases you, Mare.” He smiled, no trace of mockery in his tone or expression.

  “Thank you,” I said, impressed with him despite myself. Either Sonnenbornes had remarkable manners for a bunch of mostly lawless tribesmen, or he hadn’t discovered the depths of my reputation yet.

  “Would you like to dance?” he offered.

  “Why not?” I su
rprised myself by agreeing. Usually there wasn’t enough wine in the kingdom to pull me onto the dance floor. I had all the grace of a crippled antelope thanks to dodging most of my lessons.

  Lord Kriantz stood up, unfolding smoothly out of his chair to offer me his arm. I rose and wobbled on my heeled shoes, grabbing the back of my chair until my balance felt steady. I cursed under my breath and vowed to demand flat shoes next time. It baffled me that women could walk in such pointy demon hooves all the time, much less dance. Ridiculous.

  Jewel-toned skirts swirled in hypnotizing patterns across the wooden floor, accompanied by a small chamber orchestra in the corner of the hall. We joined them and twirled through the crowd, with me clumsily following the baron’s lead. Almost immediately, I bumped into a pair of men dancing. They gave us a dirty look, but I didn’t care. In spite of myself, I enjoyed the feeling of lightness as Lord Kriantz spun me. Besides, if the timing worked out, I’d be near the door when the song ended and could make my escape.

  We completed the last steps of the dance smiling and breathless, right near the exit.

  “Thank you,” I said in a tone that made it clear there would not be another turn around the floor.

  “I hope we will meet another time, perhaps for a ride,” Lord Kriantz said. He bowed politely and disappeared into the crowd.

  I had almost made it to the door when the orchestra slowed and began to play a version of one of my favorite pieces. A hush rolled through the room as Princess Dennaleia stepped out for her first dance of the evening with Cas alongside her. She bowed her head in my direction and looked up through her lashes, her eyes catching mine as her gaze followed a flourish of her arm. The intensity of her focus sent a little jolt through me. If her hand still hurt from the horse bite, there was no sign of it in the way she moved. My pulse hammered in my ears until she twirled away, the flames of the sconces seeming to flicker and leap as she passed. If she’d been anything other than a problem to me, I might have found her rather alluring.