Onyx & Ivory Read online

  “Seventy valens,” the magist said.

  A wrench went through Kate’s stomach. That was nearly as much as it would cost to replace the horse, and she knew what Deacon’s answer would be.

  Forgetting her position, Kate touched Deacon’s arm. “Please, Master Lewis, let me pay for it. If you hold back my wages this month and the next, maybe—”

  Deacon brushed her off and raised a hand for silence. He turned to the green robe. “Thank you for your services. We’ll pass on further treatment.”

  The green nodded, then stooped to untie the piece of leather around Pip’s injured foot. The glow in the magestone faded the moment it was removed.

  Once the green robe had gone, Kate wheeled on Deacon, unable to stay silent a moment longer. “Please reconsider. Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll give up a month’s salary. I’ll do extra rides for free, muck out the stables for the next year. Anything. Please, Master Lewis.”

  Deacon turned to Kate, meeting her gaze for the first time, it seemed. “I’m sorry, Kate, but I can’t let you.”

  “But, sir . . .” Tears burned in her eyes, making her cheeks flush. If she didn’t stop speaking she wouldn’t be able to hold them back. “He’s a good horse, and it’s my fault. I didn’t mean—”

  “Hush now. There’s no place for such foolishness here.” Deacon folded his arms, fingers worrying at his scars again. “I know he’s your favorite, but Pip’s a working horse and only as good as his legs. If he were a mare, it would be a different story, but a lame gelding is worth more dead than alive.”

  “But, sir, given time he could be sound again. He’s still young. If you just let me buy him, then maybe—”

  “I said no, and that’s final.” Deacon glared down at her now, his dark eyes sharp enough to cut. “How would you feed him? Where would you keep him? He can’t stay here, and don’t tell me you’re paid so handsomely that you can afford to be wasteful with your coin, because I know better. No, I won’t let you sacrifice for nothing.”

  Kate flinched at every point he made, each harsh truth laid bare. He was right. She couldn’t afford the coin, and a part of her even understood the practicality of his reasoning. Saving a lame horse was more than pointless—it was wasted space, a great selfishness in a city already overfull with humans and animals both. There wasn’t room for anything that didn’t serve a purpose. Even the elderly and infirm were encouraged by the priests and priestesses to give their lives in sacrifice to the gods. But the rest of her had touched Pip’s very essence, had caressed his soul with her magic. That part couldn’t bear the idea of his death. A piece of her would die with him.

  But she couldn’t tell Deacon any of that, not in a way that he would understand and accept. Although Deacon always treated her fairly, even after he learned who she really was, he wouldn’t tolerate her wilder magic if he ever found out. Wilders were outlaws, subject to the Inquisition.

  Sagging in defeat, Kate swallowed. “Yes, sir.” She reached for Pip’s lead. He was her charge, and it was her responsibility to take him to the slaughterhouse. She’d never had to take a horse there before, and her fingers shook as she untied the rope.

  Deacon took the lead from her, his expression softening. “Go home, Kate. I’ll see it done.”

  Kate looked up at him, torn between what she knew she ought to do and what she wanted to do. But in the end, she couldn’t refuse his kind offer, the escape too welcome, too easy a path to choose any other.

  She turned to Pip and ran a hand over his sleek neck, wishing she could touch his mind one more time, to give him the peace he deserved. He leaned into her touch, burying his muzzle in her belly. She stroked his nose for a moment, whispered good-bye into one velvety ear, then turned and walked away.

  Shame and regret dogged each step she took on the way to her rented room, a few miles from the Relay house. Cort’s taunts echoed in her mind, taking on weight. It was true—as a Relay rider, she had vowed to always bring Pip back safely, to hold his life equal to her own. But she had broken that vow tonight, an act of betrayal as sure as any other.

  Have I become my father? Did oath breaking run in her blood? She was so much like him. Even her magic was inherited from him. Hale Brighton had been master of horse to the high king, a position he’d earned with the help of his secret, forbidden gift. He’d been the king’s friend and liegeman, and yet he had tried to kill him. Kate didn’t know why, but there was no denying her father’s guilt. Just as there’s no denying mine. Traitor’s daughter. Traitor Kate.

  Once again, she had lived up to her name.

  2

  Kate

  THE MORNING CAME TOO EARLY, as it always did, night slipping away like a thief afraid of discovery. Fingers of sunlight pressed against Kate’s eyelids, and she rolled over out of their reach. It was more comfortable on this side, cooler, though the bed remained hard, nothing like the beds she used to sleep in. Memories disguised as dreams—of feathered mattresses wrapped in silken sheets and long luxurious mornings spent dozing only to be awakened by the smell of sugar-glazed sweet rolls—started to lull her back to sleep.

  Then a more recent memory slid through her mind—of Pip, and the disaster of the night before. Kate groaned, coming fully awake. She forced her eyes open, breaking apart the crust of dried tears that had sealed her lashes together. The urge to renew that crying rose up in her, only to be shoved aside by a sudden jolt of alarm. The sun beyond the narrow window shone too brightly and too high in the sky, more than an hour past dawn. But the dawn bell didn’t ring! She was sure of it. She never slept through the loud gong that signaled the opening of the gates.

  Panicked, Kate scrambled out of bed just as the door swung open and her roommate stepped in, carrying with her the faint, sweet stench of barberry wine.

  “You’re still in bed?” Signe’s pale eyebrows climbed her forehead, almost disappearing into her golden-blond hair. “What happened?” Yawning, she gestured to Kate’s unmade bed. She wore a sleeveless jerkin and breeches, both disheveled from whatever activity had kept Signe away all night from their shared room.

  “I don’t know.” Kate stooped and picked up the clothes she’d discarded on the floor the night before, their presence there, instead of carefully folded and put away, a telling sign of her distressed state of mind. Scowling at the soiled state of her Relay rider’s tunic—whoever thought light blue and horses was a good pairing should be drawn and quartered—she slid it on over her shift. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly eight.” Signe stepped in and dropped onto the bed nearest the door. There wasn’t much room for standing and the two narrow beds were the only places for sitting. “If you hurry, you should make it to roll call.” Signe was a Relay rider too, and both of them knew the consequences of a late arrival. Fortunately for Signe, it was her day off.

  “Gods, let it be so.” Kate pulled on the rest of her uniform of black breeches and overskirt, wishing she had time to rebraid her hair and wash the dirt from her face.

  “Did you hear?” Signe asked, a gleam in her voice. “There’s a royal in the city.”

  “What?” Kate’s hand stilled in the act of fastening her belt over the tunic.

  Signe nodded, raising one leg to pull out the knife tucked inside her boot. She leaned back on the bed and idly began to toss the knife in one hand. “I don’t know who, but it must be someone important.”

  “Obviously,” Kate said, breathless. A royal was in the city. A Tormane. But who? She shook the thought from her head. Whoever it might be was not her concern anymore. She’d left that life behind. “That explains it, though. The dawn bell doesn’t ring when there’s a royal in the city.”

  “It doesn’t?” Signe cocked her head, birdlike. Even with her gaze fixed on Kate, she didn’t stop juggling the knife, catching it absentmindedly. Although they’d been friends for more than two years now, Kate had no idea where Signe had learned such a skill. She was from the Esh Islands and never talked about her life there or what had brought her to Rime, bu
t Kate often suspected she’d either been a circus performer or a thief. “If I’d known that,” she continued, “I would’ve come home sooner to wake you. Why doesn’t it ring?”

  Kate made a face. “Because royals don’t like to have their sleep disturbed so early.” That wasn’t precisely true, but she didn’t have time to explain the political nuances involved. Although there were kings in Esh, there weren’t sealed city gates. All the islands were free of the nightdrakes that plagued Rime after sunset.

  Why did you ever leave? Kate wanted to ask, the memory of Pip ambushing her again. If the horse had been reared in Esh, he would still be alive.

  She shoved the regret down deep inside her and headed for the door. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait,” Signe said. “I brought you a gift.”

  Kate turned back automatically, unable to resist her friend’s infectious enthusiasm. She gaped as she saw the object in Signe’s hand, a silver chain with a series of small colored stones fastened between the links. The magestones glowed faintly, the enchantment on them strong and new. “A moonbelt?”

  Signe grinned. “I swore I would find you one.” She thrust out her hand. “Take it. And learn to enjoy life. Like I do.”

  Against her better instincts, Kate accepted the moonbelt. The very hint of its purpose made her insides squirm like she’d swallowed a jar full of worms. It was indecent for an unmarried woman to possess one, let alone wear it.

  “Uh, thanks, Sig, but I enjoy life enough already.” Kate tried to hand it back.

  Signe brandished a finger at her like a whip. “Working all the time is not enjoyment.”

  “It is if you’re me.” There was nothing Kate liked more than riding, and—last night aside—she loved working for the Relay. “Besides,” she added, “you know I’ve no need for it.”

  A suggestive smile stretched across Signe’s face. “Yes, so now you must choose a nice boy for a plaything and create the need.”

  Ignoring the blush creeping up her neck, Kate shoved the moonbelt into the single outside pocket on her overskirt, making sure it was hidden from view. She would put it on—or not—at the Relay house.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  Signe shooed her toward the door. “Yes, yes, may the luck of Aslar be with you.”

  With a determined bent, Kate hoisted her overskirt and trotted down the narrow hallway to the even narrower staircase. If she was late to morning roll call, she would get bumped from her route by one of the other riders to either a less lucrative one or a more difficult one. The latter was the last thing she wanted, especially after the tragedy with Pip.

  Grease hung thick as smoke in the air as Kate descended, the walls and railing slick with it. She would be slick with it too by the time she made it outside. A greasy face and hair were an inevitable consequence of renting a room in the Crook and Cup. So was the stench of boiling meat and ripe onion (a smell she despised) that lingered on her clothes nearly as strong as the ever-present scent of horse (a smell she loved). She and Signe would’ve preferred staying at the Relay house, but there wasn’t a bunk for women riders, only the men, who vastly outnumbered them.

  Turning right into the kitchen, Kate darted between a cook and a serving girl on her way to the alley door. The cook shouted that she wasn’t supposed to be in here, but Kate batted her eyes at him and smiled before heading outside. She turned left down the alley, her boots splashing mud over the hem of her overskirt with each step, and soon reached Bakers Row.

  “Oh hells,” she muttered at the congestion in the street. Always a little crowded, this morning Bakers Row looked like a fisherman’s net after a good catch, full of flailing, chattering people piled one next to the other. There were women in brightly colored gowns embroidered with lace and with long gaped sleeves, and men sporting velvet or silk tunics and boots polished to a high sheen. Jewelry hung from belts and around necks, some glowing with mage magic designed to enhance beauty or hide disfiguration, others merely glinting in the sun. Kate clucked her tongue in dismay. Such finery had no business in a marketplace as common as Bakers Row.

  One man, a merchant by the looks of him, wore a sash made from the carcass of a small nightdrake. The reptilian head hung over the man’s shoulder with its fanged mouth fastened to the scaly tail, and its body wrapped crossways over his back and chest. Shiny black stones had been placed in the eye sockets, making it look alive. Kate suppressed a laugh at the absurdity of such a person wearing such a trophy. No one would believe this portly, gray-bearded man had actually killed the drake.

  She pushed her way into the crowd, elbowing sides and stepping on toes without care. The royal is to blame for this, she realized. Why else would everyone bother with such finery if not with the hope of impressing whichever of the Tormanes was here? Not that they’re likely to be seen right now. In her experience, the nobility preferred to breakfast late in the quiet comfort of whatever palace or stately home was grand enough to host them.

  With her agitation building, Kate couldn’t keep the glare from her face. Some of the people stepped out of the way at the sight of her blue tunic with the silver galloping horse on the left breast, but most did not. A Relay rider uniform commanded respect only from atop a horse and with a full mail pouch in tow—the contents of those pouches too important to impede, containing everything from personal missives to newsletters to royal decrees.

  Booths and vendor carts lined both sides of the streets, some beneath canopies, some leaning with off-angled sides, but all displaying savory wares like sweet buns, pumpkin-glazed crumpets, or flatbreads slathered with butter and honey. The smell of yeast and sugar filled Kate’s nose, making her stomach quiver. She’d been too distraught last night to eat, and hunger sabotaged her now when there was no time to assuage it.

  As she reached the end of Bakers Row, turning onto Copperfield, Kate began to silently curse the royal for all the congestion. Nothing brought out a crowd as quickly as the chance to ogle one of the Tormanes, especially way out here in Farhold, where they so rarely journeyed. She wanted to scream aloud how foolish everyone was being, that they were wasting their time—and hers.

  But when she reached the intersection with Main Street, she realized she might be the foolish one. A row of city guardsmen standing at parade rest blocked the road ahead. In the distance Kate heard the trill of trumpets, sounding the approach of a royal procession.

  Damn them all, she thought, picturing every member of the Tormane family in her mind. Well, not everyone. There was one she refused to picture. One she chose to believe did not exist.

  Kate glanced behind her, weighing her options. Nearly everyone towered above her, and they were all pushing forward, vying for a spot near the intersection. The only option was to sneak across Main Street somehow, and her short stature would be an advantage. She ducked under the arm of the woman in front of her, then jostled her way forward until she reached the guardsmen. They stood with their backs to her, their cloaks so dark a shade of green they were almost black. Kate couldn’t see beyond to determine how far the procession still was, but it didn’t matter. She refused to be late, especially after last night. Taking a deep breath, she dashed between the guards onto the empty street.

  “Stop!” someone shouted, but Kate plunged on, counting on her size and quickness to keep her from being caught.

  Once again, her assumption proved wrong. Whether motivated by the approaching royal or perhaps just favored by the gods, one of the guards managed to grab the end of her braid. The sudden jerk against her scalp yanked her off-balance, and she landed hard on her rump, a shock arching up her spine and into her neck. Her teeth clanked together, catching her bottom lip, and the iron taste of blood filled her mouth.

  “Get her up,” one of the men yelled. “Prince Corwin is almost here.”

  Prince Corwin.

  The sound of that name struck Kate like a cattle whip. She clambered to her feet, ready to claw and bite her way free if she had to. Anything to get out of here before the procession re
ached them.

  But it wasn’t to be. The guard still had hold of her braid, his fingers twisted cruelly around her black hair. “What were you thinking?” He gave the braid another jerk. “And you, a Relay rider. You ought to know better.”

  “Let me go.” Kate craned her neck, pulling uselessly against his hold.

  “Get her off the street!” another guard called. “They’re here.”

  Kate stopped fighting and let herself be dragged off to the side, where two of the guards stepped in front of her, shielding her from view.

  “Please let me go,” Kate said, hating the plea in her voice but desperate for escape. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble. I’m going to be late. I’m—”

  “Be quiet.” Another tug on her braid, this one hard enough to make her yelp.

  She bit back the sound, her heart sinking as she realized it was too late anyway. The procession had reached them. As always, the prince rode up front, flanked by a dozen men on horseback. Some wore the livery of the governor of Farhold and some wore that of Norgard, the home city of the royal family. Kate’s home city.

  No, not anymore.

  Dropping her gaze, she fixed her eyes on the prince’s warhorse, a tall bay with a white strip on its face. An ache squeezed her chest at the sight of it. The horse had been sired by Shadowdancer, her father’s prized stallion. She would’ve known the breeding anywhere. Looking away, she told herself she would be all right once they passed.

  The discordant clop of steel-shod hooves striking the cobblestones halted. Again, Kate refused to look up. Dear gods, make me small. Sweet Farrah, goddess of night and shadows, make me invisible.