“I wish to be excused,” she said.
“Of course, Thea,” her uncle said
All the men rose, but Anthea ignored them. Jilly started to get up, but Uncle Andrew shook his head at her. Anthea sailed out with as much dignity as she could muster and went to her room.
She stood in the middle of the floor for a while, not sure what to do with herself. Everyone at dinner had been certain that Anthea’s mother had given the secret of Last Farm to the king. And they hated her for it.
What if they found out it was Anthea’s fault? What if, for the first time, she had a family, but it was Anthea who ruined it?
19
WAITING
The worst part was that nothing happened.
The king knew about Last Farm. People in the south, in Travertine, in the halls of the Royal Palace, knew there were horses alive and well. They must. If the king knew, he would make sure that everyone around him knew.
But nothing happened. There was no official letter from the king. There was no delegation from the south. There was only an unnerving silence.
Uncle Andrew was taking no chances. He had men riding along the outer fence, making sure that the tall stone structure was solid and kept out prying eyes. He had gone to the Wall, and had a long conversation with the small group of guards who were posted there. They all, as Anthea had suspected, looking back at her arrival, knew about the horses.
“You keep to yourselves, we keep to ourselves,” the commander had told Uncle Andrew, and offered him a glass of whiskey.
And there were guns. Rifles. Pistols. All the men were trained to shoot, and now Anthea and Jilly were being shown how to use a pistol as well. Anthea felt sick the first time she had held a gun in her hand, but when her uncle had praised her as being a “natural shot,” she had to admit she felt a little pride.
“We have to defend the horses,” he had told her. “We can’t let anyone hurt them.”
“No,” she had agreed, and learned how to brace her wrist without letting go of the reins.
But two weeks later, there was still nothing happening, and so things had relaxed a little. Enough for the young people to get permission to leave the farm and ride to the cliffs that overlooked the Bren Sea. The cliffs were riddled with holes where seabirds nested, and their raucous calls filled the air while the wind made a hollow music blasting through the holes that weren’t filled with nests.
Anthea loved the sea. It was bottle green, with white-crested waves that looked like lace ruffles as they slapped the shore. She wanted to climb down and run along the sand, but Jilly told her not to even think about it until midsummer. The wind that fanned the waves was cold enough today to let her see the wisdom in that. She tried to do up the top button of her jacket, but Arthur complained. He was snuggled up with his beak and eyes just peering out between the lapels. She sighed; she would have to wear a scarf next time she rode.
Where the cliffs sloped down to meet the rocky shore was the village of Dorling-on-Sea. They weren’t supposed to go there on horseback, even though the villagers were mostly Leanan, and probably knew about the farm, like the soldiers at the Wall.
Anthea looked longingly down the grass-covered slope to the village. There was a confectionary shop there that sold the most delectable marzipan she had ever tasted. The cook had had some brought in last week for Caillin MacRennie’s birthday, and he had shared with them all at dinner.
“Are you sure we can’t go down to the village?”
Just thinking about that marzipan, each piece shaped and painted like a tiny apple or peach, made her mouth water. She looked from Jilly to Finn, thinking that her cousin would certainly not mind some rule breaking, but Finn would probably stop them. Keth could go either way, she knew, depending on his mood.
“Thinking about marzipan?” Jilly’s eyes gleamed.
“They have candied apples, too,” Keth offered.
Finn wheeled his horse around so that he blocked the three of them.
“We are not going down into the village,” Finn stated.
“You’re no fun.” Jilly pouted.
“Your father told us not to,” Finn said.
“My father tells us a lot of things,” Jilly countered, tossing her springy curls.
“Do you not care for the secrecy of the Last Farm?”
Jilly bristled, and spluttered, but finally subsided. She turned Buttercup around.
“Spoilsport,” she muttered.
Anthea, however, did not turn Bluebell. “What secrecy?” she demanded. “We don’t know who the king’s told now!”
Finn’s insistence that they follow Uncle Andrew’s orders had stung her. She was the reason for it, she and her stupid letter, even if the others didn’t know it.
“Hold,” Finn said, reining in Marius.
They were on the hill that overlooked the farm now, and below them horses and men swarmed about in hectic patterns. Constantine was stamping and whinnying challenges, more so than usual.
“What is going on?” Keth said, squinting between his horse’s ears. “Is that … a motorcar?”
“No. No. No,” Anthea said.
“Goodness!” Jilly asked. “It is a motorcar! I’ve never seen one so modern!”
“I have,” Anthea said flatly. “I’ve seen that one particularly.”
They all looked at her.
“That’s my uncle Daniel’s car.”
FLORIAN
Beloved Anthea was afraid.
Florian did not know who this man was, this Uncledaniel, but Florian hated him. He had come out of the silent, drowsy afternoon with his loud metal thing, his motorcar, and he had stood inside this motorcar and shouted for the men to attend him. Florian did not like the way he looked or talked or smelled, and then Beloved Anthea had come back on Bluebell. She was hiding in the paddock from Uncledaniel, and that compounded Florian’s dislike.
Florian did not mind that Anthea was standing very close to him, using him as a shield between her and the house. He did not mind Bluebell standing close on her other side; together he and the mare would protect the Beloved.
He minded that she was so afraid.
He minded, too, when The Thornley came to the paddock fence, with anger in every line of his body, and demanded that Anthea leave Florian’s side and go into the big house.
He minded that now she was more afraid than ever.
20
REUNION
“I should change,” Anthea babbled as she trotted alongside Uncle Andrew. “Uncle Daniel is very proper … he’s never seen … I’m still wearing …”
“He’s never seen a horse before,” Andrew said grimly. “I hardly think he will care what you are wearing, if he notices.”
“Why did he … did he say …”
“He said he wanted to see you immediately, and that’s all he would say.”
Anthea was panting from the effort of keeping up with Uncle Andrew by the time they arrived in the dining room. The house had a lovely parlor, but Anthea supposed that there were too many people involved in this meeting to justify sitting in there. Also it felt less like a social call, more like a business meeting, Anthea reflected as she looked at the circle of expectant faces as they entered the room. Was that a good thing?
She supposed she would soon find out.
“There you are,” Uncle Daniel said ungraciously as Anthea entered the dining room. “What in the name of all that’s good are you wearing?”
Anthea had moved forward to kiss her uncle’s cheek, but seeing him recoil from her, his eyes on her trousers, made her stop. Instead she walked, with burning cheeks, around the table to sit in an empty chair across from Uncle Daniel, next to Finn, who had all but run into the house as soon as they had reached the paddocks.
There was a twittering sound and a flutter inside her jacket, so she pulled out Arthur and set him on the arm of her chair. Dr. Hewett leaned around Finn and frowned at the rumpled state of the owl’s feathers, and Anthea hurried to smooth them down. When sh
e looked up, she saw that the expression of distaste Uncle Daniel had shown for her trousers was now extended to the owl.
“What is going on up here?” Uncle Daniel asked.
“The same thing that has been going on for decades,” Uncle Andrew said coldly. “I have been looking after my family’s estate. May I ask why you are here, and on the orders of the king?”
“Because the king did not know that you were committing treason!” Uncle Daniel shouted, rising to his feet.
Andrew had never sat down. He stood at the head of the table. He was much taller than Daniel, and his hands, gripping the wood of the chair in front of him, were brown and calloused and strong. Daniel saw all this at a glance and sat down again, though it did nothing to improve his mood.
“Kindly explain what you mean by treason,” Uncle Andrew said with the tone of one who was about to lose his patience entirely.
“I mean this great compound, full of armed men, and horses, that’s what I mean by treason,” Daniel said in much the same tone.
“This? Compound?” Caillin MacRennie laughed. “This isnae a compound. It’s just a farm! The Last Farm, we call it, since it holds the last of the horses in the world.”
“And you say we are armed?” Uncle Andrew asked. “Is it considered treason to keep a few guns about, to shoot at foxes and the like that might get into our chicken coops?”
“Every man on this farm is carrying a pistol!”
“No, they aren’t,” Anthea said, wrinkling her nose. “First of all, you couldn’t possibly have seen every man, and second, they … just aren’t.” She faltered as she saw the look on Uncle Daniel’s face. “Sir?”
But Daniel wouldn’t look at her now. His face had turned dark red with fury, and he was glaring at Andrew.
“You have had this girl here for what, a month? Two? And look at her!”
Anthea felt like she had been slapped. Finn took her hand and held it gently.
“She’s brown as a farm laborer, wearing men’s clothes, talking out of turn, carrying around wild animals—” He flicked his gaze to her, saw her holding Finn’s hand, and added, “And fraternizing with strange boys!” As though that was the most horrible part of it all.
Anthea did not withdraw her hand from Finn’s. With her other hand, she picked up Arthur and set him on her shoulder. He rubbed his round head against her cheek and she tilted her head to press against him.
“This was my father’s work,” she said. “I have no shame in continuing it.”
Her uncle looked at her coldly. Then he took a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. Anthea thought she might be sick.
“Then why did you write this letter?”
He threw it on the table so that everyone could see the signature. Anthea felt like all the blood was seeping out of her body, in sharp contrast to the continued red flush on Uncle Daniel’s cheeks.
Finn let go of Anthea’s hand. All eyes were either on the letter or on her, and Anthea herself didn’t know where to look. There was no use in denying it, and she had no idea how to make it better.
The worst part was the expression on Uncle Andrew’s face.
“It was when I first got here,” Anthea said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Before!” She looked pleadingly at her uncle Andrew. “Before Florian.”
He nodded, but his face didn’t relax its grim lines.
“But the damage is done,” Caillin MacRennie said.
“The damage? Hardly,” Uncle Daniel said. “Reporting treason is not damaging.”
“Tell me again how this is treason,” Uncle Andrew said.
“Tell me how it isn’t,” Daniel fired back. “You are here, beyond the Wall, beyond the eye of the Crown, self-exiled, raising beasts that the Crown had destroyed—”
Finn let out a soft cry at that. Daniel stopped and gathered himself. Anthea wondered if he was supposed to say that. Her hands shook at the thought it might be true.
“You mean, we are caring for the last survivors of a plague that was accidentally spread to the people and horses of Leana …? Isn’t that what you meant to say?” Uncle Andrew goaded.
“And how is that treason?” Finn interjected. “Is it treason if you see a hurt … dog in the road and nurse it back to health?”
“It is if you lie to the Crown about the dog’s existence,” Daniel said.
“Did the Crown ever ask about the dog?” Andrew raised one eyebrow.
“Stop talking about a dog,” Anthea choked out. “They’re not dogs! They’re horses! And, Uncle Daniel, they’re wonderful!” She looked at him with hot, blurring eyes. “I have a horse named Florian, and he is … wonderful!” She couldn’t think of any better word, any word that would do Florian justice.
Uncle Daniel made a disgusted noise.
Arthur suddenly hopped off her shoulder, walked into the middle of the table, and coughed up a pellet of bones and hair. It landed right on Anthea’s incriminating letter. Everyone just stared for a moment.
Caillin MacRennie broke the silence by bursting out laughing a minute later.
“I feel the same, me,” he said.
Anthea dared to raise her eyes, but then she saw Uncle Daniel’s face. The tears blurring her eyes spilled over onto her cheeks, and she lurched to her feet, snatched up Arthur, and ran out the door.
She stumbled blindly across the yard to the paddock where she had left her horses. They were still there, although Bluebell had her tack off and even with tears running down her face, Anthea could tell that her frothy white mane had been carefully brushed.
“Thank you, Jilly,” she bawled into Florian’s shoulder.
“What’s happening in there?” Jilly popped up from behind Buttercup. She was braiding her mare’s tail as an excuse to loiter in the paddock nearest the house. “Is that really your uncle? Your other uncle, I mean? What’s going on?”
“It’s all my fault, Jilly,” Anthea gasped out.
She set Arthur on top of Bluebell and used Florian’s mane to wipe her eyes. He sent her thoughts of love, and she sent them right back. Florian would love her no matter what, she knew. Even if no one else did, she would always have him.
Would she still have Jilly?
“Thea, dear, what is wrong?”
“Jilly,” Anthea said. Her voice faltered. “Jilly, I love you. I wish I could be like you.” She gestured to Jilly’s purple silk scarf and black smoking jacket, and the effortless way her cousin was braiding Buttercup’s tail without looking.
“I love you, too,” Jilly said, bemused, “but—” Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh no! That awful other uncle isn’t going to try and take you south, is he? Papa will put a stop to that.” She looked like she was about to march into the house and give Uncle Daniel a piece of her mind.
“No, it’s not that,” Anthea said. “He … probably wants to, but nothing was said about it. It’s just that, you see, it was me.”
“What was you?” Jilly pulled a piece of ribbon out of her pocket and tied off the braid in Buttercup’s tail without once taking her eyes off Anthea.
Anthea wanted to hide her face in Florian’s mane again. But she knew she couldn’t. She knew she had to face Jilly, of all people, when she said this. Instead she hooked her arm under his neck and brought his warm shoulder close to her, holding him tightly and feeling his love as she said the words.
“I’m the one who wrote the letter. I’m the one who told the king about Last Farm, and the horses.”
21
PENANCE
“Running away?”
Jilly strolled into Anthea’s room with Finn and Keth at her heels. She tucked the long pin she had used to pick Anthea’s lock into the band of the jaunty bowler she wore perched atop her curls. All three of them looked at Anthea, packing her trunk, and then stood in a line between her and the door.
Anthea felt like a cornered fox. She had to force herself to turn her back on them and keep on shoving clothes into her trunk. It was clear that she couldn’t stay here, with
everyone hating her.
“Everyone except Florian,” she said under her breath, and looked at the trunk in despair. Florian couldn’t carry a trunk. What had she been thinking? She would need to find a knapsack or two and rig them to his saddle.
“Heading back to good ol’ Travertine with dear Uncle Daniel?” Jilly said, sitting down in Anthea’s big chair. “I’m sure they will be delighted to have you. Little Batilda Rose—”
“It’s Belinda Rose,” Anthea said between gritted teeth, “and you know very well she hates me.”
She blushed to say it, but it was true, and Jilly knew it. Anthea had confided in her … had told her everything about her old life. Anthea wondered, now, how much Jilly had told Finn. Had they laughed about her having to sleep on army cots crammed into attics, or having Belinda Rose pretend not to know her for her first month at Miss Miniver’s? Anthea’s face grew hot, and she stood hunched over her trunk, wrinkling a blouse in her clenched fists.
“Do you want to go back to Travertine?”
Finn sounded so gentle, and genuinely concerned, that Anthea dared to look up at him. He had a sharp crease between his brows, and his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Of course not,” Anthea said. “I’m not packing to go with Uncle Daniel! I’m packing to … just … go.”
“You could look up my mother. I’m sure she would have fun dressing you in sailor collars and taking you to parties,” Jilly said.
“Jillian, stop that,” Finn said, without looking at Jilly. His level blue eyes and Anthea’s gray ones were still locked together. “Were you going to take Florian?”
“And Bluebell,” Anthea admitted. “I suppose I’ll have to just keep going north, live somewhere up by the Ice Fields.”
“What were you going to do with that?” Keth indicated her trunk, mostly with curiosity but also just a hint of derision. “Have Florian drag that giant trunk behind him like a plow?”
“I don’t know.”
She closed the lid. She knew couldn’t take the trunk. She couldn’t take anything with her but the bare necessities. And what would they be? A blanket? Some clean underthings? She had never slept outdoors before. A tent?