“I must insist that you please get off my bed and introduce yourself properly,” Anthea said in a strangled voice. “I have no idea who you think I am or who you are. But I am used to …”
Anthea trailed off. It was true that she was used to much more formal introductions when she entered a new household, but that was mainly because they weren’t all that eager to make her acquaintance. This girl, on the other hand …
The strangely dressed girl slithered off the bed and landed on the rug with a thump of her boots. She was staring at Anthea as though Anthea had two heads, and a high color that clashed with the rouge she wore had risen in her face. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to choke out, “It’s me! Jilly! Jillian? Your cousin? We were born on the same day, Thea! What happened to you?”
“I became a young lady,” Anthea said, and she couldn’t help but let her eyes linger on Jilly’s short hair and her wildly inappropriate costume.
“You became something,” Jilly said. She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
The slam was like a pitcher of cold water being dashed in Anthea’s face. She dodged her shame and went to the window, ducking under the curtains, and gazed out at the farm.
Horses. Everywhere. Her jaw fell open as she looked at them for the first time in full daylight. Horses and nothing else, save the men caring for them. Anthea couldn’t see a single cow or pig or chicken on the farm. Only horses.
How could there be so many of them?
Squares of white-painted wooden fencing separated groups of russet and deep-brown, black, gray, and flame-red horses, gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Men in tall boots moved among them, slapping their sides, stroking the long hair that hung down the beasts’ narrow faces, strapping on harnesses, leaping onto broad backs. They treated them as casually as Uncle Daniel’s driver had treated their motorcar, rubbing them with cloths, moving them back and forth, talking and whistling as they went about their work.
None of the people or animals looked sickly, but how could Anthea be sure? She couldn’t remember ever reading an exact description of the plague. The men seemed unconcerned, but what did that mean? Were they already sick? Did they not know about the plague?
Her breath fogged the windowpane, and she stretched out a finger to write her name, but a sound brought her up short. It was that scream again, as chilling as anything she had ever heard, primal and challenging as it rent the air. Everyone froze, not just Anthea. The men and horses below the window all turned and looked toward one of the little fenced paddocks.
It held a single horse, a massive beast, mostly a golden-brown color with a black mane and tail and black coloring across his back and shoulders like a mantle. He stretched his long neck up and screamed again, then rose onto his hind legs and pawed the air. Anthea recognized it as the creature that had frightened her last night, the one that Caillin MacRennie had called Con. Jillian, too, had said something about sitting on Con, but Anthea pushed that thought away. It was clearly impossible. No sane person would have put a child atop that monster.
A shock of fear went through her when she saw Uncle Andrew duck between the rails of the fence and step into that monster’s pen. He held out his arms wide, facing the angry horse with a straight back and not a hint of nerves that Anthea could detect. The horse came back down to all fours and stared at Andrew for a long, long time. Then he shook his head, pawed at the earth, and turned away as though dismissing the man. Shaking his own head, Andrew climbed back out of the paddock, gesturing to the men nearest to move their horses farther from the huge, angry creature he had just faced.
Anthea moved away from the window before anyone noticed her and went to the chair by the fireplace. She needed time to think.
Her uncle Andrew raised horses, and the people just south of the Wall had no idea they still existed. The Crown had no idea that horses still existed. And why would her uncle do such a thing? Did he want to spread the plague among the exiles? What if the disease was carried south to ravage Coronam again?
This made Anthea shudder. She was not meant for this life. She wanted finer things: a place at court as a Rose Maiden, the King’s Blessing, an elegant marriage, things that might be beyond the grasp of any young lady who was sent to live beyond the Wall. She clutched at the silver pendant Aunt Deirdre had given her, thinking of what a properly trained Rose Maiden would do in these dire circumstances.
Her aunt’s letter ran through her mind: “You have always been such a model of gracious behavior …” The words filled her with strength. She would ignore the horses and act with the calm dignity and graciousness of a Coronami lady, just as Princess Jennet would have done. Perhaps she could even train her cousin so that she wouldn’t be so alone.
Yes, that would be the proper thing to do, she decided. Aunt Deirdre and Miss Miniver could not help but approve if they knew that she was undertaking to guide her less fortunate cousin on the Path of the Rose. It might even help Anthea regain her social footing, once she returned south. She could make it sound like her reason for living beyond the Wall had been to help this “Jilly.”
Anthea rose from the chair and went to the washstand, where fresh water had been laid on while she slept. She washed and dressed herself in a pleated school skirt and middy, taking special pains with the red ribbon that held her waving brown hair at the nape of her neck and making sure that her rose pendant hung just in the center of the square sailor collar.
Throwing back her shoulders, she stepped out of the room at last.
“Oof, watch it there!” The young man she’d run into dropped a mess of leather straps and metal oddments on her toes. “Are you the new girl? You’re not wearing that for your riding lesson, are you?”
5
CHOKING ON THE TRUTH
The mud was up to Anthea’s ankles. With every step she was sucked down into the horrid stuff and had to drag her leg back out again. But she persevered, slogging across the yard in spite of the filth, heading for the paddock where she could see Uncle Andrew giving orders to six young men mounted on horses.
The sight of these enormous beasts looming closer made her heart quail. Up close they were more menacing than beautiful, their backs nearly the height of her head, but she kept on, the young man trailing behind her.
“You’ll ruin your shoes,” he kept saying. “Borrow some of Jilly’s boots!”
“Leave me alone,” Anthea said without turning around.
“Not until you stop!” the young man snapped.
“I have to talk to my uncle,” she told him, and continued to fight her way through the mire. She had nearly reached her uncle when someone at another paddock even farther away called out to Andrew.
“Andrew! Over here! Something’s wrong with Caesar!”
And before Anthea could get her uncle’s attention, he headed off to the other paddock. In his tall boots he covered the ground much faster than Anthea could hope to, and before she knew it he was even farther away. In fact, Anthea appeared to be the only person affected by the mud at all. The boy behind her seemed to have mastered some miraculous way of walking on top of it.
But still Anthea persisted. And at last, breathless, filthy, and with aching legs, she arrived at a small paddock where her uncle looked over a large golden-red animal. The horse’s head was hanging down, and it wheezed every breath.
It wasn’t the only one wheezing, though. Anthea couldn’t seem to get her breath, either, and for a moment she clutched at the fence and gasped. It wasn’t until she coughed, trying to dispel the sudden feeling that there was a stone in her throat, that her uncle turned to look at her. For a moment he didn’t seem to know who she was, then a faint smile chased the concern from his face. The smile faded as he took in the remains of her once-fresh school uniform.
“Finn should have let you change before he took you on a tour,” her uncle said. “I know you probably don’t have any trousers or boots yet, but Jilly has plenty. Didn’t she find you yet?”
&
nbsp; Then the horse wheezed, and Andrew went back to feeling its side, his brow clouded. Finn, looking as concerned as her uncle, stepped around Anthea to stroke the animal’s long neck, murmuring to it softly.
Anthea gulped and gasped for air, trying to respond but unable to make a sound. There was something lodged in her throat! Had the damp air settled in her lungs already and made her ill? She had heard that the air north of the Wall was unhealthy, but she had been out in it for only a quarter of an hour at the most!
A jolt of icy terror went through her. Was it the plague? Had she caught it already? If she could have taken a step back from the horse, she would have, but her shoes were stuck fast.
“I don’t want a tour,” she managed. Her voice sounded muffled. “I’m not—don’t want—to be around horses! And that boy says I’m to have riding lessons?”
At the sound of her voice, the horse lifted its head. It had huge brown eyes, round and long lashed, and the whites showed in a way that she somehow knew meant distress. It shifted restlessly and flicked its tail. Anthea could clearly hear the beast swallowing, or trying to swallow, and she felt the lump in her throat expand. She breathed through her nose and couldn’t look away from the horse’s panic-stricken eyes. She tasted oats, and with them something that was not oats. The thing that was not oats was round and squishy and was now scratchily lodged halfway down her throat …
No. Not her throat. Its throat. The horse’s throat. Anthea was feeling light-headed now, and she held out a trembling hand to point at the horse.
“There’s a sponge,” she gasped. “It ate a sponge. Stupid beast.” She choked and tried to cough, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good.
The boy Finn looked at her sharply. He turned to Andrew, who raised his eyebrows.
“Hold his head, John,” Uncle Andrew ordered.
Uncle Andrew shoved his right sleeve as far up his arm as he could and reached into the beast’s mouth while Finn held it open and the other man held the horse’s head up. Andrew’s eyes widened, and he slowly withdrew his arm. Clamped in his fingertips was a sponge the size of an apple.
The horse gave a great rattling gasp, and a wave of relief flowed through Anthea. Both she and the beast straightened where they stood, and the horse swallowed several times and then made a high-pitched chuckling noise. If Anthea could have made such a noise, she would have, too. The horse shook its mane, and Anthea did copy that, tossing her tail of hair over her shoulder.
Now everyone was staring at her: Uncle Andrew, John, Finn … even the horse. Anthea’s throat was clear, but her face was red and burning.
“How did you know about the sponge?” Uncle Andrew’s eyes were calculating.
A desperate urge inflamed Anthea. The urge to run, and keep running, far from here. Back to the city, back to her uncle Daniel’s house, where everything was calm and clean and sane. Where there was no mud or strangers staring at her or horses.
Where she couldn’t feel what a horse was feeling.
She stared back at her uncle Andrew, not knowing how to answer or if she wanted to answer. The only thing that kept her upright was her grip on the fence post. The horse leaned forward and pressed its soft nose to the back of one of her hands. It felt like a fine kid glove, and its whiskers tickled her fingers.
A horse was touching her.
Anthea reeled back with a shriek. Her feet, stuck deep in the mud, did not budge, and she fell hard into Finn. He dropped the gear he was still carrying just in time to catch her, and she half leaned, half lay against the young man for a long time, panting and staring wildly from the horse to her uncle.
“You can sense his feelings, can’t you?” Her uncle’s voice was gentle. He smiled faintly. “Of course you can.”
“I should not be here,” Anthea whispered. “Please let me go home.”
Her uncle looked at her for a long time. Then he said, “We can’t. You have the Way, as your father suspected. It’s a rare gift, too rare to let you go. I’m sorry, Anthea, but you have to stay.”
Anthea shook off Finn’s hands and fled toward the house as rapidly as she could. Her thoughts raced as her shoes squelched through mud—endless mud!—but no one came after her, to her relief.
Once she got inside she couldn’t remember if her room was to the right or the left. Somehow she made her way back upstairs and to her quiet, empty room. She had to be alone. She had to think.
6
HEAD STUFFED FULL
When she woke, it was evening and the room was dark. She didn’t even realize she had fallen asleep until she heard the knocking on her door again.
Getting to her feet, she moved toward the door with caution. When she reached it, she put one hand on the key but didn’t turn it.
“Who is it?” she called through the door.
“It’s your uncle,” came a weary voice. “I know this has come as quite a shock, but if I could just talk to you?”
Anthea threw open the door.
“A shock?” Her voice rose and she struggled to keep it level. “A shock does not begin to describe it! First I am cast out of the first real home I have had since my parents died and … Do you know how many … how very many houses I have lived in?”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She herself had lost count, as the number had grown too painful to contemplate.
“After all the time I’ve spent trying to be a proper young lady. A young lady who wouldn’t be a burden to others. Then I am told that I am being exiled like some common criminal! And that all the filthy horses were not wiped out by plague but are alive and I am to live surrounded by them! On a farm! And then I find out that I can feel what some awful horse is feeling?
“A shock? All I want is to be a Rose Maiden,” she said, taking a great dragging breath. “I want to receive the King’s Blessing. And now that will never happen.”
“It’s dinnertime,” Uncle Andrew said. There was not a drop of anger in his voice, just a statement of fact. “The family dines together. All of us.” He closed the door for her.
Anthea was halfway across the room to her trunk before she thought about it. Her guardian had ordered her to dinner, and every ounce of training told her to obey. But surely he wouldn’t let her starve? If she didn’t go down, someone would bring her a tray.
Then the words “The family dines together. All of us,” echoed in her head. The family. No one had ever said that to her before, and it made her want to cry. Why now? Why this family? After all this time, why did it have to be this way?
“Are you a great supporter of the navy?” Jillian asked as Anthea stepped into the dining room. “Or just sailors? Perhaps you are pining for some handsome young midshipman?”
Anthea stopped. She stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, not sure what her cousin was talking about or where to sit. She had chosen a blue poplin dress with a white linen sailor collar. It was her second-best gown, and looked very good with her rose.
Jillian herself was wearing layer after layer of pink tulle, foaming around her like a ballerina’s skirts. But instead of a blouse she wore a man’s black velvet smoking jacket that had been tailored to fit her figure. Ropes of pearls filled the gap between the lapels, and more had been wound in her curly hair. She was looking at Anthea as though Anthea were the one who had dressed strangely.
“I beg your pardon?” Anthea said.
“I only wondered if you were waiting for a sailor to come home,” Jillian said. She gestured at Anthea’s gown, causing a large ring on her hand to flash.
“Jilly,” said Uncle Andrew in a warning voice. “Be kind.”
Realizing belatedly that she was being insulted, Anthea blushed. Putting her chin up she took the seat her uncle indicated and draped her napkin over her lap.
“It must be difficult, trapped up here, trying to piece something stylish together from old magazines and gossip,” Anthea said coolly.
Jillian stared daggers at her, and Finn gave a low whistle before hiding his smile behind his water glass
. It seemed that the “family” consisted of not only Uncle Andrew and Jillian, but also the boy Finn and Caillin MacRennie, who came stumping into the room with his graying side-whiskers bristling and a black dinner jacket that looked decidedly odd with his kilt.
There was some sort of charm dangling from his belt, Anthea noticed. It looked like a C, but from the way it was hanging she didn’t think it was. Realizing that she was staring at the older man’s kilt, she pulled her attention to the others.
Finn looked quite presentable, in a blue suit and with his blond hair brushed. He was tall and lean, his face brown from being in the sun, in contrast to his blue eyes. He caught Anthea looking at him, now, and raised his eyebrows. Anthea studied her plate.
Uncle Andrew waited until a maid had served the soup before clearing his throat to talk. He stirred his soup with a spoon, then cleared his throat again without eating and began.
“I know that you think that you’re being punished, Anthea,” he said. “You think that you’re being sent here because no one there wants you, and this is the last place you have left before the orphanage.”
Anthea opened her mouth, but then just put soup in it. That was exactly what she thought, and since Andrew seemed to be implying that this was not the case, she might as well listen.
“The truth is that I’ve been trying to get you back for years. Yes, back,” he said before she could interrupt. “Caillin MacRennie and Jilly both told me that you don’t remember them, but you were born right here in this very house. It wasn’t until your father died that you left, and it wasn’t my wish, or the wish of anyone here, that you should leave.
“A lawyer was sent from Travertine to fetch you, and there was nothing we could do without being arrested for kidnapping. I’ve written to every one of your guardians over the years, begging to get you back, but all they do is move you from place to place, trying to hide you from me. It wasn’t until that wife of Daniel’s had her attack of the vapors that one of them actually contacted me.”