The Rose Legacy

by Jessica Day George

  “Nice and straight,” her uncle said, nodding at her posture. “But hold yourself a little looser. When you squeeze with your legs, you’re telling her you want to go faster. Try to move with her; when she bounces up, you bounce up. Use your legs to lift yourself just a little, up and down, and hold the reins in a firm grip.”

  Biting back a comment on how she could have used this information the first time around, Anthea merely nodded. Her uncle walked to the center of the paddock once more, pulled the lead line taut, and gave another “Hup!” Anthea squeezed with her knees, but just a little, and Bluebell came to life again.

  Anthea tried to read the horse’s mood: Was she still laughing? Mostly there was a sense of curiosity. Bluebell was anxious to see what Anthea would do next. Anthea did her best to seem confident, and she concentrated on sending thoughts of going around the paddock in a nice, steady pace. She made sure to concentrate on what the horse was doing and ignore Uncle Andrew.

  After five or six times around the paddock, once Anthea had the rhythm of popping up and down with the horse to avoid too many bruises to her buttocks, she was feeling better about her riding, but Bluebell was getting bored again. Anthea dared to squeeze with her knees. Bluebell flicked an ear back, interested, and sped up. Two more rounds at that speed, and Anthea nudged her again, sending thoughts of going fast, but not too fast. Two more rounds.

  Now Bluebell was rocking like a ship again, but this time Anthea was surer of herself. Also, falling off hadn’t hurt too badly. She loosened the reins a bit to get a more comfortable grip. Bluebell stretched out her neck, and began to go faster. Suddenly the rocking lessened and they were moving around the paddock at a smooth run, Anthea’s brown hair streaming back behind them like Bluebell’s white tail.

  Somewhere off in another paddock there was a commotion. Bluebell twisted her neck and slowed unevenly. Anthea could tell that the horse was upset by something … something about the horse throwing a fit over by the stable, but Anthea wasn’t sure what or why.

  Anthea managed to keep her seat and send Bluebell comforting thoughts at the same time. She slid her feet out of the stirrups and clamped her legs around the mare, but this time she hauled back on the remaining rein at the same time, shrieking, “Whoa!” and holding to Bluebell’s mane with her free hand.

  “Excellent!” Uncle Andrew grinned as he came over and helped her recover the rein. “Hold it like this, remember.” He redid her grip on the reins. “Now. I’m going to take the lunge line off the bridle, and I want you to follow me back to the stable.”

  Relieved, Anthea started to twist, wondering how you got off the horse any more gracefully than you got on.

  “No, no, I mean, stay there!” Andrew held up a hand. “I want you to guide her back to the stable. Put your feet back in the stirrups, and you can dismount on the block outside the stable. Then I’ll show you how to wipe her down and feed her.”

  Anthea and the horse sighed at the same time, both of them reluctant for the riding lesson to end, which made Uncle Andrew laugh. Then Anthea had to laugh, too. She was surprised, and pleased, that Bluebell seemed to enjoy being ridden, at least at the end. As she gingerly guided Bluebell toward the stable, she felt a smile splitting her face that wouldn’t go away.

  It wasn’t like flying, not yet, anyway. And she wasn’t riding Florian, but still … Anthea felt a huge bubble of joy in her chest, just waiting to explode. If she could have carried a tune, she would have burst into song.

  Bluebell stopped next to the big tree stump in the stable yard. Anthea looked around, startled. She hadn’t noticed that they had reached the “block,” as Uncle Andrew called it. The odor of the stable yard filled her nostrils, the smells intensified and made much more welcoming by Bluebell’s feelings.

  She sighed again, and sat for just a moment before asking how she was supposed to get off. Then, looking across the tops of the fences from her vantage point on Bluebell’s back, she saw Florian. He had a man on either side of him, holding a rope attached to his halter.

  “What are you doing?” Anthea shouted, even though the men couldn’t have heard her.

  She somehow got off Bluebell’s back without getting entangled in the stirrups or the reins and stormed across the yard toward Florian. He strained his head over the fence, trying to reach her, even as the men tried to pull him away.

  “Leave him alone!” Anthea shouted.

  “Anthea!” Uncle Andrew said.

  She could hear him coming after her. She could see other men stopping to watch as she stomped through the mud, shouting, but she didn’t care.

  “Stay back, miss,” one of the men said as she got closer.

  Anthea ignored him and ducked between the slats of the fence. They were dragging Florian back, away from her.

  “Let go of him!”

  “This horse is dangerous, miss,” the man said. “He’s been acting up real regular.”

  “That is my horse, and you will let go of him,” she ordered.

  The men continued to back Florian away. He screamed and pawed at the earth with his front hooves. Had it been any other horse, Anthea would have been terrified, but this was Florian.

  “Florian,” she said. “Come here!”

  Florian reared. The men had to let go of the ropes or be dragged. When he was free he came down and trotted meekly to Anthea. She grabbed hold of his halter and rubbed his forehead, sending waves of calm to him with her touch.

  “Hush now,” she said. “I’m here.”

  She glared past him at the men. They were looking at her in astonishment. She turned and saw her uncle standing at the fence behind her. He was shaking his head, but looked resigned.

  “From now on, no one touches Florian but Anthea,” he told the men.

  “But, Captain,” one of the men protested. “He went mad! Jumped two fences and tried to stomp on Yates!”

  Anthea looked at Florian severely.

  “Did you?”

  He hung his head. She understood that seeing her riding another horse had been just as hard for him as it had been hard for her to agree to ride Bluebell in the first place.

  “I still love you,” she said softly to Florian. “But I’m going to ride Bluebell.”

  “Just … leave him to my niece,” Uncle Andrew told the men.

  Anthea took the lead ropes and led him out to the yard. As she passed Bluebell, she gathered up the mare’s reins as well. Bluebell was standing by the block with an expression of what Anthea hoped was respect. Bluebell followed Anthea without Anthea even needing to tug on the reins, moving in to step beside Florian.

  Anthea led both horses into the stable. As she passed, one of the riders whistled, his eyes wide. Another took off his cap and bowed. Anthea nodded at the man coolly.

  FLORIAN

  Florian did his best to calm down, but it was not easy.

  Beloved Anthea had come to the paddocks in the early morning, when he had only just eaten his breakfast. She came, but did not look in his direction, though he cried out to her until the men began to fuss around him, telling him to be calm. He could not be calm! Beloved Anthea was within his sight, but would not come to him. She smelled of fear again, as she had when she had first returned.

  The Thornley took her to one of the training rings and helped her to mount one of the mares. Florian did not know the mare’s name, that was not his place, but he knew her to be of good standing among the other mares. She was a gray, unusual among his kind, and it pleased Florian also to see this distinctive mare carrying Beloved Anthea. He called out to the mare, though it was forward of him, to bring his Beloved toward him. But she, as was her right, ignored him.

  But then she allowed Beloved Anthea to fall. Florian screamed with rage, and now two men came and tried to draw him away. The Thornley never once looked his way, nor did Beloved Anthea. Florian could have sworn that the gray mare was laughing at Beloved Anthea’s clumsiness.

  Florian was so filled with emotion that he hardly knew what he was doing. He r
eared and kicked, trumpeting his displeasure. The men tried to calm him, to tie a rope to his halter and lead him away. He didn’t want to go away; he wanted to go to his Beloved.

  The herd stallion’s voice cut across the voices of the men. Constantine had seen Florian’s shameful rage and demanded that Florian calm himself.

  With the greatest of efforts, Florian lowered his head, bowing in shame in the direction of his herd stallion, who glared from his private paddock.

  In the stable yard Florian heard the voices of Beloved Anthea and The Thornley, and even with Constantine glaring, Florian dared to call out.

  Beloved Anthea came. All was well.

  12

  STIFF UPPER … EVERYTHING

  A few hours later, Anthea was doodling on her desk blotter when Jilly knocked on her door.

  “Dinner, Anthea!” her cousin called through the door.

  “Just a moment; I haven’t dressed yet.” Anthea put down her pen.

  She was supposed to be doing the lessons she had missed from the morning, but she couldn’t stop thinking about riding Bluebell. She had been wondering if it would be all that different to ride Florian: he was larger, but she felt closer to him, although the Way enabled her to communicate with both of them.

  Anthea had finally set aside the essay she was supposed to be writing about a very maudlin poem, and instead she’d begun writing down everything she had felt and seen and heard and even smelled while she was riding Bluebell. She didn’t know why she had written it, or who it was for; she just felt like she needed to tell someone, and Uncle Andrew had been there and seen it all. And she was afraid that Jilly and Finn would just laugh at her for falling off Bluebell.

  At first she thought she might send her thoughts to someone back in Coronam in a letter, to tell them about her new life. But to whom could she send it?

  She thought of her letter to Aunt Deirdre then, and felt her palms slick with sweat. Anthea wished she had never written, let alone sent, that letter. Perhaps she could send this update to retract what she had said before? Anthea still had not received an answer, though. She was starting to hope that Aunt Deirdre had never received it. Or that she had, but had dismissed the claim of horses being alive as hysteria.

  But if Anthea sent a longer letter, one talking about how wonderful the horses were, would that convince Aunt Deirdre to keep their secret? Or maybe it would just be proof that the horses were dangerous, if a young Rose Candidate was now fond of them, riding them, wearing trousers …

  Anthea sighed. What if she wanted to be a Rose Maiden and ride horses? Was that something that could even be?

  Jilly knocked on the door again. “Someone hid the dinner gong,” she said. “I’m going down now, and so is Papa.”

  “Oh yes,” Anthea said.

  Then she stood up.

  Or rather, tried to stand up.

  “Jillian!” She tried to shout loudly enough for her cousin to hear, but not to sound panicky. It wasn’t easy, because she was very panicky. “Um … Jilly?”

  “What?” Jilly was right outside her door again.

  “Help me,” Anthea cried.

  “What is it?” Jilly rattled the door, which Anthea realized was locked.

  “I—I can’t move!” Anthea said.

  “What? Oh!” And then her cousin started to laugh.

  Anthea didn’t think it was funny at all. When she had tried to stand up, every muscle in her body had screamed and her spine had locked up. She was half standing now, her rear end just inches from the seat of her desk chair, but she couldn’t straighten up or sit down.

  There was a scratching sound and Jilly came in. She was still laughing as she tucked a hairpin into her curls.

  “Did you pick my lock?” Anthea was watching Jilly from the corner of her eye, since she couldn’t turn her head. “Can everyone just walk into my room?”

  “Well, you wanted me to help you,” the other girl said.

  She looked at Anthea’s awkward pose, and then she gently put a hand on Anthea’s elbow and helped her rise. Anthea hissed with pain, and Jilly got her laughing under control.

  “Does it feel like this every time you ride?” Anthea wondered how anyone could put up with it.

  “No, just the first few times,” Jilly assured her. “All the dance and deportment classes in the world won’t prepare your muscles for riding a horse. Or being thrown off one,” she added.

  Anthea moaned. “You saw?”

  “We watched from the classroom.”

  “We?” Anthea froze again, but this time from dread. Then she saw that Jilly wasn’t being malicious, she looked … proud.

  “You got right back on!” Jilly cheered. “Everybody gets thrown the first time. But the real riders get back on.”

  “That’s what Uncle Andrew said,” Anthea mumbled.

  “And he’s always right,” Jilly said complacently. “But now we have a problem.” She helped Anthea stand in the middle of the room. “We have to get you dressed. Can you lift your arms?”

  Anthea tried, but her shoulders felt like they were on fire. She remembered landing on them when Bluebell had thrown her.

  “But I felt fine afterward,” Anthea whimpered. “And all I’ve done since then is sit here and read!”

  “Your muscles stiffened up while you were sitting,” Jilly said.

  She went to Anthea’s wardrobe and pulled out her gowns. She frowned and discarded them all on the bed.

  “The good news is, you can’t get into any of these without raising your arms.” Jilly had a gleam in her eyes.

  “The good news?”

  “Yes.” Jilly closed the wardrobe doors. “The bad news, for you, is that I have just the thing.” And she trotted out of the room before Anthea could object.

  Anthea tried to breathe deep, but her ribs hurt. She told herself that it couldn’t be all that bad.

  13

  UNCOMFORTABLE

  It was so much worse the next morning.

  Anthea’s muscles had moved past stiffness to pain, and she had to roll out of bed like a log and pull herself upright using the bedpost. She would have stayed in her room and demanded a tray, but Jilly arrived to dress her, and Anthea was too sore to resist. She had been too sore to resist the night before as her cousin crawled all over her, gently taking off Anthea’s filthy trousers and shirt—Anthea had not even noticed that she had been wearing the same mannish riding clothes all day.

  Jilly had peeled off her dirty clothes without comment, and even washed Anthea’s face and hands for her. And then she had presented Anthea with some sort of black slithery thing and the same green Tenduhai robe she herself had been wearing the night before.

  “No!” Anthea had said.

  “You don’t have a choice,” Jilly had told her gleefully.

  The next thing Anthea knew, her cousin had her dressed in the slippery black thing, which turned out to be a sort of shift that had about a thousand tiny buttons up the back and no sleeves. Then Jilly had slipped the green robe up Anthea’s stiff arms and tied the sash tightly around her waist. She put up Anthea’s hair with two large ivory combs while Anthea consoled herself that only her uncle and a few others would see her.

  She inwardly had to admit that the green color suited her, and that the shift and robe were incredibly comfortable. But she refused to admit, even to herself, that it was rather thrilling to dress in such an exotic manner.

  It was just as thrilling the next morning, when Jilly helped her back into the robe, this time over a pair of matching wide-legged Tenduhai trousers. The silk was cool and comfortable, and the cut was flattering. Even if Anthea still felt slightly undressed.

  Anthea was so stiff Jilly had to help her up the stairs to the schoolroom. She tried not to let out a scream as she sat down at her desk and instead made a sound like a teakettle about to go on the boil. She fell the last few inches into her seat with a thump.

  “Good job yesterday,” Keth said, a smile lighting his face.

  Anthea let
out a little moan. The schoolroom’s windows faced out on the paddocks, and apparently Jilly had not been exaggerating when she said that they had all seen her fall.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Finn said, sitting down beside her. “Everyone falls off the first day. It’s one of the laws of the universe.” He turned grave, leaning closer. “I didn’t think you were going to for a minute, but you always need to get back on.”

  “Uncle Andrew explained it to me. In a way,” Anthea said. She had been so grateful that no one had mentioned her fall at dinner that she had not wanted to ask then.

  As Miss Ravel passed back their marked papers, Anthea could sense the anticipation hovering in the air. They were all waiting on her, she realized. They knew that she wanted to ask.

  “Why did I have to get right back on?”

  “We work with the horses,” Keth said immediately. “But we also command them. At the same time. It’s a delicate balance that must be maintained.”

  “But once you do find that balance there’s nothing else like it in the world,” Finn said enthusiastically. “The pairing of horse and person … just think of what we could do!”

  “I feel like I’m a part of the horse I’m riding,” Jilly chimed in, “and I don’t even have the Way!”

  Her eyes were shining, and for once she didn’t look sad or angry about lacking the Way. Anthea smiled back at her. But then the smile faded as Miss Ravel took up the narration.

  “That’s why the Coronami wanted to get rid of them all,” she said.

  Anthea’s already stiff spine stiffened further as her smile left her face. There it was again, that treasonous talk that made her feel like her clothes didn’t fit right.

  “Leana wasn’t a politically powerful kingdom,” Miss Ravel lectured as Anthea clenched her pencil like a weapon. “But with horses and men working together, most of them bonded by the Way, they were a serious threat to the Coronami takeover.”

  “They didn’t take—” Anthea began, but Finn cut her off.

  “Actually, they did,” he said.

  “I know this is hard for you to hear,” Miss Ravel continued, “but it is the truth. No one knows where the Coronami came from, but they didn’t come from here. This entire land was Leana, from here in the north all the way to the Western Sea, long before it was called Coronam. The Coronami arrived in ships; much the worse for wear after a long journey. They were starving, and many were ill. They were taken in by the Leanans, and then—”