He faltered when he spied I’Lenna. She was sitting straight-backed on a miniature throne, listening intently
to the concerns of her mother’s subjects. The queen’s blue eyes darted to the passing brothers, and Rahkki turned his gaze to the floor. Once they’d moved farther along, Rahkki spoke. “Where are we going?”
“To my room,” Brauk said.
My room, Rahkki thought. He wished it were their room again.
They trotted up the steps of the northwest tower. Rows and rows of small doors circled off the central spiral floor. Brauk halted at the twelfth door and shoved it open. They entered the small chamber, and when Rahkki saw what was lying on Brauk’s cot, he gasped.
“It’s for Sula,” Brauk explained. “To wear at the auction.”
Rahkki stared at the Kihlara ceremonial blanket that was draped across the old mattress, though the word blanket was a flat word for such majestic fabric. The bulk of it was dusky blue, like the sky after a storm. The seams were trimmed in white rabbit fur, and tiny bells lined the hem. Jewels—mostly garnets, sapphires, and precious crystals—were beaded in intricate patterns across the hind end of the blanket. Red and blue tassels hung from the front end. A matching blue headdress, like a bride’s
veil, completed the costume.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was our mother’s,” Brauk said, his voice drifting. “She bought it for her winged stallion, Drael.”
“What happened to him, Brauk, after we escaped Lilliam? Do you remember?”
Brauk fingered the delicate cloth, breathing hard through his nose. “He’s gone. That’s all that matters.”
The two brothers stared at the beautiful cloth in silence. They had very few pieces of their mother left—Rahkki knew of a pearl-handled comb and a plain ring—and Brauk kept these items in his dresser. But Rahkki had not known about Drael’s blanket, and it was a wonder his brother hadn’t gambled it away years ago. He imagined it was quite valuable. Rahkki tried to picture Drael wearing the blanket, but all he remembered about that bay stallion was that he was small and fast and gentle. His mother had loved to fly him, and Brauk had inherited his love of the clouds from her.
“If Sula wears this blanket at the auction, she’ll fetch more coin,” Brauk said, shrugging off his gloom. “And we need her profits to buy hay from the Fourth Clan. I don’t know if you heard, but the giants burned down the supply barn.”
“I heard,” Rahkki said, feeling sad.
“For now we’re buying hay from Daakur, but that won’t last long.”
“Sure, okay.”
“Hey, we’ll get the blanket back,” Brauk said, misreading Rahkki’s glum expression. “The handler will bring her out in it, and that alone will impress the buyers. Then he’ll slip it off her, and the bidding will start. Her new owner gets her and her halter—that’s it, not the blanket.”
“All right.”
“She’s gained plenty of weight,” Brauk added. “How are her gaits and circles?”
Rahkki had continued her training at Darthan’s farm, and once Sula had started obeying his commands, she’d learned fast. “They’re good,” he said. “She’ll do well.”
Brauk slapped his brother’s shoulder. “That’s dramals in our pocket, Rahkki.” He folded the blanket.
The brothers left the room, Brauk in front, Rahkki jogging behind; and they spent the rest of the day cleaning blood and broken things, and not talking much. Tuni joined them, her brow stuck in a worried crease. She didn’t speak either, except to greet Rahkki.
But for all the quiet, Rahkki’s brain was loud with questions—about Uncle, about the giants, about his
mother, about the auction, and about Sula. Who would buy her? Where would she go? And what about her wild friends?
His heart lurched. In four days’ time, Sula and Firo would be sold, and he had no idea how to help them.
32
The Visit
IT WAS THE DAY BEFORE THE AUCTION NOW, AND Echofrost flinched at every loud noise. She and Shysong had been trapped in their stalls for three days. They’d passed the time sharing stories and legends from their homeland of Anok with the Fliers. About forty Kihlari had confessed a desire to live wild—a miserable number, but it was preferable to no Kihlari.
But none of that mattered if she and Shysong couldn’t break free themselves. The Landwalkers had held them in captivity for twenty-nine days. The only good news was that their flight feathers had finished growing back. If they found a chance to escape, they would take it. They could jet to the altitudes high above the clouds where the Landwalkers couldn’t breathe. They would be free.
Shysong nickered, her voice trembling. “I hate this place,” she admitted. “I hate this stall, the halter they strap to my face, trotting in the round pen, the hay . . . it’s too dry.” She snorted. “I want to go home.”
“Home?” Echofrost whinnied.
“Not back to Anok, but to Storm Herd. They’re home. Wherever we settle, I don’t care, as long as we’re together.”
Echofrost shut her eyes, willing away the tears that formed suddenly at the mention of Storm Herd, and she saw Hazelwind’s handsome face. She imagined him in contrast to the Kihlari steeds she’d been living with—Hazelwind’s wind-blown mane, his tail that would be adorned with burrs instead of bells, his cracked hooves, and his whisker-sharp muzzle. He would smell of soil and moist clouds, and he would enter the barn with all the majesty of his deceased sire, the past over-stallion Thundersky. And he would have no idea that he was striking or handsome, because he was not vain. He was wild. Untamable. Free.
“What’s wrong?” Shysong asked.
“It’s nothing,” she said to her friend, deciding to keep her thoughts about Hazelwind private. “I’m just worrying about Graystone. I hope he heals.”
“I’m worried too,” Shysong whispered. “But the auction is tomorrow, and they’ll have to take us out of our stalls. Maybe we’ll find a chance to escape then.”
“True,” said Echofrost. And the mares fell silent, waiting.
Later that evening, Echofrost heard Rahkki’s familiar footfalls as her cub jogged through the barn door to be with her. She’d not forgotten how hard he’d fought to protect her at the farm. The cub was neither large nor strong nor trained to fight, but she had to admit, he was devoted.
“Sula,” he greeted her, grinning wide. She snorted, remembering her first day with the Landwalkers. She’d vowed to kill this foolish cub, but that seemed like a long time ago now.
He leaned over her stall door and stared at her, his eyes glowing. He did this a lot, and she didn’t know why. A new pair of guards had replaced the first two. They gave Rahkki a cursory glance and then went back to their conversation.
A voice interrupted all of them. “Rahkki! I should have known you’d be here.”
Echofrost flipped her ears forward and glanced down the row to see a Landwalker female walking toward them. She recognized her instantly. It was the queen’s offspring, Princess I’Lenna.
Kol had explained to her how I’Lenna’s mother had killed Rahkki’s and taken her position as ruler of the clan. It made perfect sense to Echofrost, because it was similar with over-stallions. They often battled to the death to take command of a herd. But Lilliam reminded Echofrost of Petalcloud, the mare who’d joined with Nightwing the Destroyer against the pegasi of Anok. Echofrost sensed that this queen, like Petalcloud, was bad for her people.
I’Lenna sidled up to Rahkki, looking pleased until she noticed his bandaged head. “When did that happen?”
“A few days ago,” he said quickly, then dropped his eyes toward the long green stalks in her hands. “What’re those?” he asked. “Sugarcanes?”
“That’s right.” I’Lenna’s eyes flicked to the mares. “I bought them to cheer up the brayas.” The princess stepped closer to Rahkki, her arm brushing his.
Echofrost inhaled, drawing in the delicious scents of the plant stalks and wondering at Rahkki’s sudden burs
t of perspiration.
“Do you want to give one to Sula?” I’Lenna asked.
“Sure.” He took a stalk and held it out to Echofrost.
I’Lenna leaned over Shysong’s stall door with a long sigh. “She’s beautiful.”
“She is,” Rahkki agreed. He turned to Echofrost. “Don’t swallow it. Just chew on it.”
Echofrost had come to enjoy the sound of Rahkki’s voice even though she understood little beyond her own name. She lipped at the plant stalk since it smelled good, and then she bit into it. It was woody and dry. She shook her head, and Rahkki laughed. “Keep chewing.”
Next to her Shysong bit into her stalk and held it in her mouth. Soon she was nodding her head. “It’s sweet,” she nickered to Echofrost.
I’Lenna giggled and watched Shysong play with her stalk. “All the Kihlari like sugarcane once they get the hang of it. Your mare is too suspicious.”
“Come on, girl, try it again,” said Rahkki.
I’Lenna reached her hand out to pet Shysong. “My mother told me to come look at her to see if I still like her.” I’Lenna’s voice vibrated with excitement. “Tomorrow’s the auction and my twelfth birthday. I think she might buy Firo for me!”
“Firo? Not Sula?” he asked.
“That’s right. She’s hoping Sula goes to another clan, says she’s too wild.”
Rahkki’s fists tightened, and his lips turned down. “Firo will make a fine pet.”
The princess touched Shysong gently, scratching behind her ears and stroking her face, slowly tracing her fine bones. “Just look at her eyes,” she said. “They’re the color of the sky, the ocean, and the rivers all at once. I wish I were this pretty.”
Before Rahkki could respond, the princess continued. “I want to fly, don’t you?” She smoothed Shysong’s feathers, and her dark eyes filled with longing. “I want to see the world.”
“You will,” he said.
The princess turned abruptly, startling Echofrost and Shysong. “I should get back, but I’m glad I ran into you.”
“Wait,” he said.
But I’Lenna left as quickly as she’d come, galloping like a skinny-legged foal.
Rahkki watched her go, and he stared after her for a long time. Echofrost dropped the plant stalk once all the sweetness was gone, and Rahkki turned to her, attracted by the noise of the falling plant. He had three pieces of twine in his hands, and he was braiding and unbraiding them with breathtaking ease. Echofrost cocked her head, studying his agile fingers and again wondering from where the Landwalkers derived their power. They controlled fire, tamed animals, and grew food. They were intelligent and could communicate, but so could pegasi. It puzzled her.
“Can I go inside her stall?” Rahkki asked the soldiers.
“No,” they answered in unison.
“But it’s our last night together,” Rahkki said. “Please.”
They glanced at each other, and the older one rolled his eyes. “All right, but if she tramples you . . .”
Rahkki grinned. “She won’t.” He unlatched Echofrost’s stall door and entered slowly, shutting it behind him. He pressed himself against the wall, as far from her as he could get, and he didn’t try to touch her.
After a while the cub pulled a red blanket out of his satchel and spread it on the straw. Echofrost watched his dark lashes droop over his golden eyes. He was injured and tired. He should be with his people, in his own nest, not here with her. What did he want?
But Rahkki wanted nothing. He slumped down and curled up on top of the blanket. “Good night,” he said to her, closing his eyes.
“He’s going to sleep in my stall,” Echofrost nickered to Shysong, her nerves jingling. “Why would he do that?”
“It means he likes you,” the mare named Rizah interjected. “It doesn’t always take a ceremony to bind a Rider and a Flier. Sometimes a Pair forms by itself.”
“We’re not bound,” Echofrost sputtered. “I don’t . . . I don’t like him, not at all. He smells. He can’t fight. I . . . I can’t understand a thing he says. Besides that—he’s a Landwalker and I’m a pegasus—we’re enemies. How do I make him go away?”
Rizah nickered. “It’s funny you’re afraid of Rahkki, of all the Landwalkers.” Several Kihlari nickered with her.
“Afraid?” Echofrost snapped. “I’m annoyed.” She and Rizah drifted into silence, but Echofrost was careful not to step on Rahkki, who was asleep at her hooves. She cast her gaze toward the ceiling, willing it to open, to see Hazelwind’s broad buckskin face, his wide blaze, his deep-brown eyes, and to fly into the night sky, never to return. There was more at stake than just her freedom; there was the mission. Storm Herd hadn’t crossed the Dark Water to end up enslaved. She owed it to each steed in Anok to break out and settle the herd in a safe land, and so far, she’d failed miserably.
33
The Longest Day of the Year
DAWN BROKE, AND THE MORNING BELLS RANG from the fortress. Echofrost stretched her wings. Rahkki was gone; he’d slipped out of her stall a few hours earlier. Today was the Kihlari auction, and dread oozed through her veins.
“Today is the longest day of the year,” Kol nickered, as if Echofrost cared. “The clans will celebrate the sun that grows our hay.”
She startled at his words. “I thought the Landwalkers grew the hay.”
“They plant the seeds, but the sun grows them,” he explained.
Echofrost swiveled her ears. Perhaps the Landwalkers
didn’t wield supernatural power like Star and Nightwing did; perhaps they simply possessed a deeper understanding of the land. This realization chipped away at their mystery, and Echofrost added it to her growing bank of knowledge about the Landwalkers.
“Wait until you see us fly the Tugare,” Kol whinnied.
“What’s a Tugare?” Echofrost asked. The more she learned about the day’s events, the better.
“It’s the big show before the auction,” he said, and he was practically drooling with anticipation. “You think we’re soft and tame, but today you’ll see! We’ll fly cartwheels, loops, and nosedives—things you can’t imagine.”
Echofrost snorted. The Kihlari thought they knew how to fly. They knew nothing.
“The Land Guard will play their drums while we perform,” Kol added. “It’s spectacular. The crowd will be on fire to own a Kihlara steed when we’re finished.” He glared at her over the wall between them. “You’ll sell fast.”
Echofrost listened to Kol’s excited speeches and to the annoying sound of his feather preening. Rizah was equally excited and prancing in her stall. They reminded Echofrost of foals playing in their birth meadow. The Kihlari enjoyed their captivity with the innocent, careless abandon of creatures who knew nothing else.
Brauk and Tuni had gone to the tack room to retrieve their mounts’ saddles and armor. Now they entered the rows with the rest of the Sky Guard, and the Kihlari steeds burst into nickers of greeting. Echofrost lifted her head, wishing she could see the entire barn. As good as her hearing was, she trusted her eyes more. The Riders walked with quick steps, and she heard lots of buckling and tightening of straps as they dressed their Fliers. She peeked into Kol’s stall, curious.
He stood in its center while Brauk brushed out his yellow-streaked red mane and tail and glossed his chestnut hide with a soft brush. Next he cleaned Kol’s hooves and polished them with oil. He rubbed the same oil around the stallion’s eyes and muzzle, darkening the areas and setting off his chiseled face. Last, he misted Kol’s feathers with water, removing the straw dust, and then he dabbed them lightly with more oil. Kol lifted his neck into a high arch and twisted his wings so that his shiny yellow feathers reflected the light. He caught Echofrost watching him. “Impressive, yes?” he asked.
“You outshine the sun,” she said.
He startled at the compliment and then nickered with pleasure.
Vanity was a rare trait in a wild pegasus, but Echofrost added it to the Kihlari’s long list of weaknesses.
Outside the stall stood Brauk’s tack trunk, which he’d dragged over from the tack room. He moved back and forth between it and Kol, carefully lifting out piece after piece of polished leather and metal and then buckling it onto his mount. Brauk’s arms were bare, and she noticed again the scar burned into his flesh. It matched the scar on Kol’s shoulder. It was the symbol that meant the two were Paired. She shuddered, wondering if receiving the brands had been painful. She stamped her hoof. Of course it had been painful!
“How long have you been with Brauk?” she asked Kol.
“Three glorious years,” he answered.
“What if something happens to him?”
Kol twisted his ears back. “We Kihlari don’t talk about that. To become a Half is to die.”
“Not really. It just means you don’t have an . . . owner. It means you’re free.”
“Free? No. I would be lost.”
She tossed her head. “You could leave.”
Kol pawed his straw floor, and Brauk mumbled soothing words to him. “I belong with the clan,” Kol whinnied. “I was born to the clan.”
“But your ancestors were born in Anok,” Echofrost neighed, loud enough for the entire barn to hear her. “You’re all Lake Herd steeds; you just don’t remember.”
Kol turned his attention back to his Rider, tuning her out.
She watched them together. Kol didn’t fuss or flinch when Brauk tightened his cinches and straps, placed a helmet over his head—a helmet that had cutouts for Kol’s eyes and ears—and strapped shields onto his neck and chest. Then he braided bells, spiked beads, and feathers into the stallion’s tail. Panic rose from deep within Echofrost as she imagined how all that tack and armor would weigh her down, but Kol was proud. “It’s full battle armor today,” he announced, preening a loose feather. “And Brauk shined it for me. His armor too.”
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