Jilly was humming, one leg over the arm of the chair. She was trying to look devil-may-care, but Anthea knew that she was deeply hurt. Anthea would never forget the expression of betrayal on Jilly’s face when she had told her about the letter.
“Is that why you’re here?” Anthea said to Jilly. Her voice was high and fast and she didn’t sound like herself at all. “To make sure I pack? To make sure I leave?”
Jilly leaped out of the chair as though she had been electrocuted. “I’m not here to make sure you leave, I’m here to make sure you fix this.”
Another hot wave of tears ran down Anthea’s cheeks. “But I don’t know how!” she wailed.
“There must be something,” Keth said. “Can you reason with your other uncle at all?”
“I doubt it,” Anthea said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “He wouldn’t even look at the horses. Not Florian, not even Bluebell. I just thought if he would only meet them …”
Her voice trailed off. She had a thought. A niggling, almost-idea of a thought.
“That’s always been the trouble,” Finn agreed glumly. “I’ve always thought that if more people, more Coronami, had a chance to get to know our horses, they would be less hostile. But how do we get them to come past the Wall?”
“We don’t,” Anthea said, her idea taking shape. “We take the horses to them.”
They all gaped at her. Jilly blinked a few times, closed her mouth, and then clapped softly. But Finn began to shake his head.
“Uncle Daniel wouldn’t even walk across the yard to the fence,” Anthea said. “There is no way you can get the king to leave Travertine and come all the way here. The king, or anyone else of influence.”
“So we’ll go to them,” Jilly said, her face alight.
“No, I’ll go,” Anthea said. “I did this, I sent the letter, I need to make it right.”
Her heart was pounding. She looked down at her trunk and shook her head. She would take only what she could fit in a saddlebag, and she would need to bring plenty of food for the horses. And how many of them could she take? Bluebell and Florian for certain, and perhaps two other mares?
“You can’t take the whole herd to Travertine!” Keth said. He looked wild-eyed, and took a step toward the door.
“Stop,” Finn ordered him. But then he turned to Anthea. “And you, you can’t do this, either.”
“I can and I will,” Anthea said stubbornly.
“And so will I!” Jilly said.
Keth moaned and inched toward the door.
“Everyone stop for just a minute,” Finn said. He was staring into space, his hands up around his face like he was about to cover his eyes.
“What if we gave him a horse, as a gift,” Finn said at last.
“Who?” Keth asked.
“The king!” Jilly clapped her hands again. “King Gareth!”
Finn nodded. “You know how foreign rulers are always giving each other gifts? So that they stay friends and don’t start wars?”
“Like the Kronenhofer emperor always giving King Gareth fine rugs and tapestries,” Anthea said.
“Exactly!” Finn pointed at her in excitement. Arthur chose that moment to fly up from the desk and land on Finn’s hand. Finn stroked the little owl as he continued to pace. “We take one of the stallions that doesn’t have a rider to Travertine, and we give it to the king as a goodwill gift. That way everyone will know that horses are still alive, that they don’t have diseases, and if King Gareth tries to get rid of it, he’ll look like the villain. Kings aren’t supposed to turn down gifts!”
Anthea was listening, but she wasn’t looking at Finn. She was looking at the piece of paper that had slid across her desk when Arthur had launched himself at Finn. She began to shake her head slowly. The rest of her idea had blossomed in her brain.
“No, not the king,” she said in a low voice.
“Definitely not,” Jilly agreed. “That will make him think that Finn is saying he’s a king,” Jilly said. “I mean, you are,” she added, when they all looked at her. “But Gareth doesn’t know that, and if he did, he’d be livid.”
“She’s right,” Anthea said. She went to the desk. “You absolutely cannot give a horse to King Gareth. He would have both of you killed.”
Finn deflated.
“However,” Anthea went on, picking up the paper and unfolding it carefully. She traced the lower curve of the rose pressed into the wax. “If Jilly and I were to go to Bellair, with a few mares, that might be just the thing.”
“Bellair?” Jilly said, puzzled.
“Mares?” Finn said. “Why?”
Anthea held up the letter so that they could see the signature. Keth whistled.
“Why, for the queen and the princesses, of course.”
FLORIAN
Florian was filled with excitement. He did not know what Beloved Anthea was doing in the stable at night, with the Soon King, She Who Was Jilly, and the Leggy Boy, but as it included him, he did not mind at all.
They were saddling a small herd of horses, and the Soon King was giving strict instructions on feeding and watering. He was not saddling Marius, or even making a move toward Constantine’s end of the stable. Instead, the Soon King was filling bags and tying them to mares.
“My darling,” Beloved Anthea whispered in his ear as she began to tie bags of oats across his saddle. “Can you be so quiet for me? Can you be so brave? Will you mind Keth’s Gaius Julius, and let him be the herd stallion for this journey?”
The Soon King, hearing this as he handed her another bag, began to shake his head. “It is not a good idea to take so many stallions.”
“I will never leave Last Farm again without my Florian,” Beloved Anthea said sharply. “I promised.” Thoughts of love and reassurance came to him. She would take him, no matter what the Soon King said.
“He’s not the one I worry about,” the Soon King said, leaning in close. “Caesar? Leonidas?”
Florian shivered. Caesar was a good, strong animal, a loyal companion. Leonidas was full of pride, and did not trust any man. He had only rarely been ridden.
“Jilly is refusing to go without Caesar,” Beloved Anthea whispered. “She is always asking to ride him. And he seems to like her well enough.”
“No. Riding. Stallions.” The Soon King sounded terrified.
“Yes, Uncle,” Beloved Anthea said. “And Keth seems confident enough about Leonidas.”
“I hope so.”
“I want to take Blossom and Minty,” She Who Was Jilly called down the aisle.
“No!” Beloved Anthea stuck her head over the door of Florian’s stall.
The Soon King unlatched it for her and she led him out as she shook her head at She Who Was Jilly. Florian was glad. It was not proper that they take a mare in foal out in the night, and his Beloved said as much.
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” She Who Was Jilly said. “But what about Blossom?”
Again Beloved Anthea shook her head. “Bluebell hates her,” she whispered.
So it was that the sisters, Juniper and Holly, joined Campanula, Bluebell, Buttercup, Caesar, Leonidas, and Florian in the darkness behind the stable. They were attached by long leads, and heavily laden with bags of fodder plus food and other goods for the humans.
“This is a terrible idea,” the Leggy Boy said.
“It will work,” the Soon King said. “I’ll go rouse Constantine. When he starts, you run.”
Florian did not like this. Not one bit. Beloved Anthea had just mounted Bluebell, and he heard her sharp intake of breath. He nudged her knee with his nose, to let her know that he agreed.
“What are you going to do?” Beloved Anthea asked him. “How will you—”
“At least let me do this,” the Soon King said with anger. “I cannot go with you, but I can keep them from following you.”
Waves of fear came from Beloved Anthea. But she rubbed Florian’s neck as she guided Bluebell toward the gate. Because of Uncledaniel there was a rider standing guard
there, which is why the Soon King and Constantine needed to draw attention away.
They waited in the shadows. Beloved Anthea did her best to soothe all the mares and stallions. Gaius Julius was being fractious, and so the Leggy Boy passed the lead to Leonidas and two of the mares to She Who Was Jilly to hold while he tried to settle his mount.
Then came the scream of the herd stallion. Then came the stampede of his hooves out of the stable, toward the Big House, with the Soon King running behind and shouting.
Gaius Julius reared, screaming. The Leggy Boy fell from his back and let out a scream of his own, one of pain. Gaius Julius bolted for the safety of the stable.
“My arm,” the Leggy Boy screamed. “It’s broken!”
“Jilly, go!” Beloved Anthea cried, and she kicked Bluebell’s sides.
Florian stayed close to his Beloved, pulling the uncertain mares behind him, as she and Bluebell led them down the long drive, past the confused rider at the gate, and out of Last Farm.
He did not know where they were going, but he had faith that his Beloved Anthea would guide them all to safety.
22
PEACE MISSION
“I didn’t think this would be so boring,” Jilly announced as they clopped down the road.
“It can’t all be wild midnight chases,” Anthea said.
“But that was so much fun,” Jilly said, her eyes lighting up at the memory.
Anthea shuddered. As they had swept out of the gates of Last Farm, Anthea had been sure that the startled sentries would shoot at them. When that failed to happen, and when the strings of horses they were leading had realized that Finn was not with them and that back at the farm their herd stallion was having a fit, they had all tried to stop at once.
While Jilly had kept spurring on Buttercup, calling out for them to follow her, Anthea had brought up the rear. She had broken out in a sweat trying to send a great cloud of encouragement to all the horses with them.
Please keep running, please keep running, she had chanted over and over in her head.
The mares had only hesitated a moment, but then they had agreed with her and kept going. Florian, of course, had stayed right beside Bluebell and never wavered. Leonidas had balked, and Anthea had had to grab hold of his bridle with one hand and drag him.
Keep running, you!
He had been so startled by this that he had put on a burst of speed. But now that they were south of the Wall, he seemed to delight in dragging his heels and sending prickly, sullen thoughts to Anthea, who largely ignored them.
“Can’t we do another run?” Jilly said now. “Recapture some of that magical excitement?”
“We have a long way to go,” Anthea reminded her.
Jilly blew out her lips in a gesture not unlike the one Buttercup had just made
“I thought this would all be much more urgent,” Jilly said. “Galloping over the hills, up at dawn, riding until midnight.” She twitched the reins, moving Buttercup to a faster walk.
“This mission is urgent,” Anthea said. Bluebell, sensing her irritation, flicked an ear and quickstepped a little. Anthea let her move forward until they were abreast of Jilly and Buttercup. “But we can hardly gallop the horses night and day to get there. They’d drop dead of exhaustion.” She lowered her voice on that last sentence, but Bluebell flicked her ears nervously all the same.
“Yes, but must there be so many trees? If all these trees weren’t here, the road wouldn’t wind so, and we could—”
“Jilly. Dear.” Anthea interrupted her cousin’s rant before she became unstoppable. “It’s a forest. It has to have trees.”
Jilly subsided.
They had been on the road for two days. In that time they had not seen one single soul, something that put both of them on edge. Jilly reacted by becoming even chattier and more flippant, and Anthea responded with … well, she didn’t really know how she was responding, but she was sure it wasn’t well. She was so tense that she felt like a twisted cord ran between her shoulder blades and kept getting tighter and tighter. The horses flinched whenever she spoke.
Florian sped up a little so that he was closer to Bluebell, bumping affectionately against Anthea’s foot. Campanula, one of the other horses Anthea was leading, tried to slow down instead. She was normally a docile enough beast, but the girls’ nerves were affecting her very strongly, and she was becoming stubborn or fractious by turns, behavior normally expected from Leonidas, but not from one of the mares. Anthea wondered if Campanula was a good choice for a gift to the queen, but it was too late now.
“Come along,” Anthea said as brightly as she could manage.
Anthea tugged at Campanula’s lead. She got an impression of the mare lying down in the middle of the road, and gave the lead another tug.
“Don’t you dare, you foolish thing,” she snapped. “I’ll have Florian drag you!”
Campanula gave a sneering whinny, so Anthea turned in her saddle to make eye contact.
“Just try me,” she said in a low voice.
With a toss of her mane, Campanula sped up. Anthea tried to ignore her as she thought about Finn.
She did not want to think about Finn, but she knew she would have to stop avoiding the issue at some point. Better to do it now, when he was nowhere near, and firm up her resolve. Prior to their leaving, Finn had done something … alarming.
Anthea had been alone in her room again, packing her saddlebags, when he had knocked on her door. Assuming it was Jilly, she had called out for her cousin to enter. But when she turned around Finn was standing on her rug.
“Try not to let Jilly get you killed,” he’d said, and held out a small box.
Anthea stepped forward and took it from him, still unable to come up with an answer. It was a silver horseshoe pendant on a fine chain, like the one Caillin MacRennie wore. Jilly had one, too. Her mouth opened and then closed, and she looked up at him, wondering where he had gotten it.
“I was saving it for your birthday,” he had said. “I mean, it used to be yours. The charm. Your father gave it to you. But it was on a horsehair cord. I got the chain for you. But I thought you should have it now.” He was blushing dark red.
Before she could thank him, he had kissed her on the cheek and then fled. Anthea had been left holding the box in one hand, her other hand pressed to her cheek.
Anthea had thought about asking Jilly for advice, but only for a moment. Jilly would probably just tell Anthea to go ahead and kiss him back!
And then there was the matter of the jewelry. Manners dictated that a young lady not accept gifts from a young man. But handing it back seemed … ungracious … as well as awkward. And the charm was hers, after all. She had put the necklace on, had not taken it off since, but was wearing it tucked under her clothes.
Sensing her thoughts about Finn, Florian sent her a welter of images: the stables, Finn bringing him sugar, all of them at the farm, happy and safe.
“Yes, yes,” she muttered under her breath. “I know what you’d advise.”
Florian drooped, and Bluebell threw up her head and let out a protesting whinny. Anthea quickly stroked their necks, assuring them that they were her favorites.
It had been a very nice kiss, she had to admit once the horses were calmed. His lips had been very warm and soft.
Up ahead, Jilly was singing—or rather, chanting—some Leanan ballad. Anthea settled into her saddle. Leanan ballads always began with the hero’s lineage, then the lineage of everyone else mentioned in the course of the song, before they ever got to the hero’s deeds. It would keep Jilly entertained for an hour or more.
When Jilly came to the chorus, since Anthea had heard this ballad several times from the riders, Anthea threw back her head and joined in. Campanula shied and Jilly stopped singing to let out an oath. Then she grinned at Anthea and continued to sing. Bluebell, who had sensed what Anthea was going to do, shook her head and snorted, but made no further comment.
They trotted on down the road, roaring out the rest of the
ballad, and then another and another, until it was nearly time to make camp for the night. The sky was just growing dark, and Anthea noticed that the horses’ thirst was starting to bother her as well. She called ahead to Jilly mid-song, and the other girl nodded without stopping. Anthea had just taken a breath and was about to rejoin the chorus when a man stepped out of the trees to their right.
The mares on the leads all shied, and Jilly swore, while Florian half reared and then lunged at the man, pulling Bluebell along in his wake. With Constantine miles behind them, Anthea had told him that the mares were his responsibility.
“Florian, no! Get back!” She yanked on the lead, trying to keep him from trampling the man. She made a mental note to put his lead on a slipknot in the future.
Now that they were all turned, facing the stranger, Anthea could see that he hadn’t just popped out of the woods but had instead come along a narrow road that cut through the trees and led off to the south and west. He looked to be in his forties, with graying brown hair and a thick wool jacket that spoke of prosperity even as it screamed out its rusticity.
“Ho, there! Control your beasts!” The man raised both his hands to show they were empty.
“Don’t leap out and scare them, then,” Anthea snapped.
Jilly snorted and gave Anthea a half-amused, half-shocked look.
“I mean,” Anthea said, recovering. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“What are they—who are you?” he stammered.
“We have just come from Leana,” Jilly said with a winning smile. “We are on our way south to meet with Her Majesty, Queen Josephine, and give her the gift of these magnificent horses.”
The man goggled. Anthea hissed. Jilly just beamed.
“Would you like to pet one?” Jilly asked. “They’re quite tame.”
“They’re supposed to be dead,” the man said in disbelief.
“That’s a common misconception,” Jilly said, in an excellent imitation of Miss Ravel. “They were all taken beyond the Wall to keep them safe, because they were at risk from plague, and not because they caused plague.