He laughed. “Well, this prince refuses to ride in a sleigh, so it’s for you.”
I shook my head again. I wouldn’t do that—like some highborn lady. “Forgive me, Gosudar,” I said, unwilling yet to call him by his nickname in public, “but I won’t sit in a sleigh while everyone else rides.”
Ivan leaned against the sled near me. “Have you ever ridden long distance on a horse? You’ll be so sore you won’t be able to walk.”
I shook my head obstinately. “I would still rather ride.”
“Very well, you win,” the prince said, his tone wry. “Get her a horse,” he said to the nearest man. “One of the desert-bred mares.”
“Yes, Gosudar,” the man said, hurrying off toward the stables.
The prince returned his attention to me. “But don’t complain to me if you’re as sore as Ivan promises you will be.”
“I won’t complain,” I said, thankful just to be riding like everyone else.
Everyone else mounted their horses while I waited for the servant to return, the prince’s mount standing out among the rest as elegant and beautiful, with a long flowing mane and tail. When the servant finally returned, it was with a mare of pure white, nearly as regal as the stallion the prince rode. As I looked closer, I realized it was the same horse I’d admired in the stables all those days ago.
“That is Zonsara,” the prince said. “She is from the deserts of Arabia, and she is the dam to the horse I ride now.”
I reached up to pet her silken neck. “She’s beautiful,” I said, and a quiet laugh escaped me when she turned and snuffled my hair.
“They are bred for endurance, so they will take us far.”
He nodded toward the servant then, who offered me a leg up. Elation took to the sky, and I mounted the well-behaved mare. I had some difficulty arranging my rubhaka and skirt until it was comfortable, so I was glad I wore soft deerskin leggings beneath.
“Onward,” the prince called, and his horse let out a squealed neigh as he wheeled it around.
I could feel my own horse eager to be off, her muscles taut with anticipation, but she waited for my command. I squeezed my legs lightly as Kharan had taught me, and my horse followed the others at a trot.
The empty sleigh came last. I turned to look at it, remembering when I’d arrived as a captive. Now I was willingly accompanying the prince to a foreign land.
But as we trotted through the palace gates and beyond, I thought of what Kharan had said: that the Byzantines couldn’t trust the prince.
If they no longer allied themselves with him, then what would happen when we entered their city?
It seemed the entire city of Kiev had come to see us off. Everyone from waifs on the street to merchants dressed in fine furs to nobles riding on horseback. They waved and cheered as though we were on a great crusade. Perhaps we were. It felt so different from when I’d first arrived in Kiev that the juxtaposition was as surreal as a dream.
Before long, we passed through the gates, the horses sludging heavily through the snow. Kharan and I rode side by side, her smaller horse keeping pace with my long-legged mare.
The prince had brought two of his falcons; they rode silently with their blindfolds on, tied securely in the sleigh carrying supplies. It made me sad to see them bound and flightless, as beautiful as they were.
Elation flew in slow, lazy circles to keep pace with the horses. I watched her for so long that my neck became stiff, until I was satisfied that she was staying with us.
When I returned my attention to where we were going, I realized it was through the thick forest that bordered Kiev to the south. Enormous pine trees towered over us, their branches blocking out much of the sun. It was much colder in the shade, the snow thicker and more difficult to plod through.
Kharan’s pony had fallen behind, but now she urged it on until he was level again with Zonsara. “You would’ve fit in well with my clan,” she said, her eyes on Elation. “We hunted with eagles.”
I turned to her in surprise. “You hunted with eagles? How did you train them?”
“I never had one of my own, but my cousin let me fly his. They trained them the same way you would any other animal—with food.”
“I can’t even imagine falconry with an eagle,” I said, thinking of how enormous Elation was. The hares she so often brought me were small prey; eagles could easily hunt and kill a deer. “You must miss your clan.”
Her smile turned nostalgic. “Sometimes. But then I only have to remember why I left. I have no talent with any of the things that makes my clan who they are: I can’t hunt. I was terrible with the reindeer. I can’t sew or cook or tan hides. And normally, a member like that would have been given something to do, but I did have one talent—one that no one else had. I could shadow meld, and as soon as my grandfather discovered that, he urged me to follow my fate and not to waste such an ability in the wild steppes where it was next to useless.”
“I can’t imagine such an ability being seen as useless—by anyone.”
She laughed. “It’s useless to anyone who has no need for spying and subterfuge. What good is it to reindeer herders?”
“That’s true enough,” I said with a smile. As the sound of the horses’ hooves on snow lulled me, I thought of my own uselessness at the village. I’d been able to help Babushka with herbalism and healing, but she was far more talented than I. I’d gathered herbs for her, but Dedushka was better at finding them when he went hunting. All I’d managed to do was bring death and destruction to a peaceful village.
I glanced at Kharan, her face partially in shadow from the trees. “Do you regret leaving your clan?”
“Never,” she said. “Do you?”
My answer leaped to the tip of my tongue, and I was surprised by what it was.
“Not yet,” I said.
Maybe not ever.
We rode and rode until my legs shook as violently as leaves in a summer storm. When the prince finally called for us to stop, I feared I wouldn’t be able to dismount on my own. I watched as the others practically leaped off their horses and fell upon the tents, pitching them at an alarming rate.
The prince himself helped, but when he saw me still mounted, he came to my side. “We rode hard today,” he said, squinting up at me past the dying sun. “Did Zonsara carry you well?”
I forgot my shaking limbs for a moment and leaned forward to pet her silky neck. “Yes, very well. She was as smooth a ride as I could hope for.”
He smiled and moved closer to me, so close his coat brushed against my leg. “And yet, you are stuck up there on her back.” Embarrassment stole over me, but before I could say anything, he held up his hand. “Come, let me help you. Ivan needn’t know he was right.”
Relieved, I started to let myself tumble down, but then I stopped myself. “You’re sure it won’t hurt your shoulder?”
He answered by pulling me down off the horse. I bumped into his chest as my knees threatened to buckle, but his arms kept me from falling.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t think my legs would fail me quite so spectacularly.”
He shook his head. “Riding has a way of doing that to a person, especially if you aren’t used to traveling far.”
Hesitantly, I touched his arm as I straightened to meet his gaze. I’d looked into his eyes many times before, but there was something about this moment that made my heart beat a little faster. There was something there, something I hadn’t noticed before, and it made everything around us disappear. Perhaps it was because we were embarking on this epic journey together, or maybe it was because whenever I was with him, I felt warm. Even through his wool coat I could feel heat, as though I stood close to an open flame rather than a man.
He seemed on the verge of speaking, of either breaking the spell or drawing me further into it, and I couldn’t bear it either way.
“Are you sure you don’t have a fever again?” I said. “You feel so hot.”
“I think that’s just because you feel so cold. W
hy don’t you come sit by the fire to warm up? The journey has been long and tiring.”
I allowed him to lead me to the fire, where someone had helpfully rolled some fallen logs so that we might have a place to sit. I sat down, and as I did, I saw our men start to pitch the blue-and-gold celestial tent that had been mine when I first traveled to Kiev.
I nodded in the tent’s direction. “Shouldn’t that one be yours? It’s a tent fit for a prince.”
He smiled as he poked the flames with a stick. “It is indeed a beautiful tent. How kind of you to offer it to me, too.” He turned to look at the progress being made on raising it. “I wonder, though, where you would sleep? I’m sure I could make room for you if that’s what you’re offering.”
I straightened my spine. “Of course not.”
He laughed, and the sound made my skin harden into ice.
“Forgive me, Katya, I was only teasing you. I know you are not a maiden such as that, but I must admit,” he said as he leaned closer, “if you really had offered such a thing, I wouldn’t have said no.”
As I was unused to apologies, it took a moment for his words to register. “You’re right,” I said slowly, “I am not a maiden who would do something like that.”
That was what I said, but how I actually felt was something else entirely. It was Kharan who saved me from any further discussion on the subject when she sat down heavily on the log next to me.
“I never thought I’d see the day when you were tired,” the prince said to Kharan, and she snorted.
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t given Katya the long-legged mare to ride. Daichin insisted on keeping up with her, and I spent most of my time fighting him to stay at a reasonable pace. It didn’t work, and now we’re both exhausted.” She gave the pony in question the evil eye, which he seemed to ignore.
“Katya may let you stay with her in the celestial tent should you wish for furnishings that are a little less . . . rustic . . . than the ones you usually enjoy,” he said with a pointed look at her leather tent, still rolled neatly in a pile at her feet.
“My furnishings are perfectly comfortable, thank you,” she said. “And in any case, Katya never agreed on such an arrangement.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” I said, but the prince interrupted.
“She offered up her tent to me just moments ago,” he said, and I sucked in a breath, “but was horrified when I nearly accepted, so I thought she’d prefer your company instead.”
Kharan looked between the two of us for a moment before letting out a laugh. “You don’t think it’s foolish to tease someone with such volatile power, Gosudar?”
“I can’t help it when she makes it so easy to do,” he said.
“Well, thank you, Katya,” Kharan said pointedly, “but I doubt you want to sleep in the same tent with a horse, so I’ll just stay in my own.”
“It makes little difference to me, honestly,” I said, glancing at Elation, who was even now landing in a nearby tree, “since I will be sharing mine with an eagle.”
“Horse manure or eagle govno,” she said, “I’m not sure which is worse.”
The prince laughed as I shook my head. “Actually, I’ve never seen Elation do such a thing—at least not in front of me.”
Kharan snorted. “Then your eagle must not be an animal after all. Perhaps it is a spirit guide instead, because Daichin has absolutely no qualms about that.” She glanced over to where the pony was eating his weight in grain. “Still, there is no better way to stay warm.”
“If you don’t mind the smell,” the prince added, and Kharan grinned.
“Gosudar,” Ivan interrupted, and we all turned. He stood not far from the fire, his black coat dusted with snow. “We have pitched your tent.”
“Very good, Ivan. Thank you.”
The prince stood, and I followed his line of sight to a tent that must have been five times as large as the celestial one. It was so black it blended in with the night sky, but the edges were visible due to elaborate silver scrollwork that stood out like the stars. Cheery warmth was coming from within, as though a fire and many candles had already been lit for him.
“Do you want to see it?” the prince asked when he noticed me staring at the tent in awe.
I glanced at Kharan, suddenly unsure. I’d been to the prince’s room many times in the palace, but for some reason, a tent beneath the stars seemed even more intimate. She only shot me a look of amusement and lifted her eyebrows.
Ordinarily, I would say no to any situation remotely this intimidating, but tonight, with his easy smile and the moon so bright above us, I couldn’t refuse.
He offered me his arm, and I took it, like I was some highborn boyar lady. Up close, the tent was even more beautiful. Amid the black, tiny silver threads were sewn throughout, and the effect mimicked the night sky.
He held aside the flap, and I entered before him. Inside, it was lavishly furnished. A large bed had been constructed with a feather mattress and furs, and nearby was a wide table and chairs with a leather map spread on top, no doubt showing the path to Constantinople. A fire pit in the center provided warmth and light, but I was surprised that the most illumination was coming from another icon corner set up perpendicular to the prince’s bed. There, the firebird’s feather glowed brightly.
“You brought the feather with you?” I asked, unable, as before, to take my eyes off the shimmering gold of it.
“I thought I should, considering that we will be traveling to my mother’s city. Perhaps it will attract the creature that dropped it, and then I can ask it as one fire creature to another.”
I tilted my head as I studied it, remembering what he’d told me about it. That the Byzantines had their own legends about the firebird. “Perhaps you’re not waiting on a that at all. Maybe you’re waiting on a who.”
His expression turned pensive. “I’d be a fool to discount the possibility of that. Especially when I have surrounded myself with people with otherworldly abilities.” He crossed over to the feather and held it between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it around and around. It threw the colors of fire around the room, so that it seemed like he held rubies and topaz instead of a feather. “Though in all my encounters with those with power, I’ve never seen anyone transform into anything else, much less a bird of legend.”
Well, that was true. I’d only seen Kharan transform into shadow, and I wasn’t sure that was the same thing. “Perhaps we can find out more in Constantinople.”
He grinned. “You just said ‘we.’ Does that mean you intend to help me?”
“I will endeavor to be useful while we’re there, but I doubt I’d be better at gathering information than Kharan.”
He snorted. “No one is better at that particular skill. That’s not to say you don’t have your own means of getting people to tell you things. There’s something about you that makes me feel like I can tell you anything.”
I surprised us both by laughing. “That’s a pretty thing to say, but I don’t believe you. No one tells me anything, least of all anything of importance. If you’d like an example, I just learned a few days ago that my babushka is truly my babushka though she’d always told me otherwise, and that I have both a mother and a father, though I’d always thought I’d been left abandoned in the woods to die.”
He looked stunned for a moment but recovered quickly. “That must have been shocking to learn, but I can only see this as good news. Did she tell you their names? I wish you had told me before—I would have sent Kharan to see what she could find.”
“I only know my father’s name. She didn’t have much time to tell me anything before she . . .” It was as if my tongue refused to work in my mouth. Refused to pronounce Babushka’s death. But the prince understood—the concern in his gaze made his eyes look as dark as the night sky. “She gave me a journal, but I have read it cover to cover and have found nothing useful. She never calls my mother by name.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Still, it is enough that we h
ave your father’s name. When we return to Kiev, we will see what we can find of him.”
“That is very kind of you,” I said, relief that I would have his assistance taking away some of the bite of the worry that had plagued me.
“I’m glad I can do something kind for you. I know there are some . . . intimidating rumors about me. Hopefully I’ve shown you they aren’t true.”
“I have to admit I was afraid at first,” I said with a little glance his way. “But I quickly realized they were wrong. How did such terrible rumors start?”
“They were spread by my enemies,” he said with a frown. “And it’s been particularly harmful to my alliance with the Byzantines.” He glanced over at me. “I’m sorry if the rumors caused you distress. I’m far from perfect, and I do have a terrible temper, but I don’t think I’ll cut you into tiny pieces and drink your blood. You needn’t fear that at least.”
But as I looked into his eyes, and he mine, I wondered if there were worse things than physical pain. Things like falling in love with a prince—someone I could never be the social equal of.
Chapter Sixteen
WE CARRIED ON MUCH THE SAME the next day and the day after that, until we were so far south that spring was winning the battle over winter. All around, the trees were budding, birds sang merrily, and wildflowers forced themselves through the melting snow. On the third day after leaving, we stopped to change over the supplies from the sleighs to wagons, for the snow had melted enough that wheels would be more efficient. The men did this as easily as they took apart and rebuilt the tents and camp each night and morning.
Despite my saddle sores, Zonsara was a joy to ride. Though she appeared as a hot-blooded horse—her tail lifted and streaming behind her, her nostrils flared—she carried me as though I was a baby she’d been entrusted with. Even when we strayed from the path one day, accidentally flushing a mother nightingale from her nest directly at us, Zonsara did not shy away. Each night at camp, she waited quietly and patiently as I slithered off her back, my legs no more trustworthy than a newborn fawn’s. And yet, I didn’t want to rely again on Sasha to help me off my horse.
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