The Horse Mistress: Book 3 (EBOOK, LGBT)

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ONE

THE DOOR TO FAVIAN’S small sleeping cell in the temple was open when I approached. Flickering candlelight came from within, pushing back the deepening gloom of evening. I paused in the entryway to take in the scene inside. Renthro, Favian’s father, sat in the room’s single chair with his back to me as he blotted the boy’s sweaty forehead with a damp rag.

Favian had been one of many injured during the battle at the hill fort. He’d been driving a chariot team for one of the warriors when an Alyrion arrow struck his left shoulder and lodged there. That was weeks ago, though, and the wound had appeared to be healing well. I knocked on the doorframe, not wanting to startle either the boy or his father. Renthro turned at the noise.

“Hi,” I said, hovering in the doorway. “Lundis told me Favian was ill—I just wanted to stop by and see how he was doing.”

Renthro looked flustered for a moment, eying me with the slightly uncertain look that people generally gave me when they weren’t openly hostile, but didn’t really know how to deal with me either.

He cleared his throat, shaking himself free of his momentary reverie. “Oh. Yes, of course. That’s kind of you… Horse Mistress Carivel. Please, come in.”

“Just plain Carivel is fine, Renthro,” I told him. “No need to stand on ceremony. How is he? His shoulder seemed to be doing so much better.”

His father frowned and turned back to dab at Favian’s forehead again. “Healer Sagdea doesn’t think that it’s wound sickness, thank the gods. She says that the energy necessary to heal his shoulder drained his spirit and left it vulnerable to a simple fever and cough. She’s fairly confident he’ll recover in a couple of days.”

I let out a quiet breath of relief. “Well, that’s good news,” I said.

“It is. It’s just hard seeing him like this again, so soon after being shot. I know a father can’t always protect his children, but that doesn’t stop me wanting to, you know? Especially after losing his mother when he was still so young.”

I nodded sympathetically. Though I didn’t have a parental bone in my body, I could easily understand the depth of Renthro’s worry for his son’s safety. His wife had died during the birth of Favian’s little sister, Frella, leaving Renthro alone with two young children and no other family in the area to help him.

“At least Favian is safe in the priesthood, now,” I said. “No more chariots or battles in his future.”

The tension did not leave Renthro’s shoulders. “That may have been true at one time, but the temple wasn’t exactly a safe place to be when the Alyrions attacked Draebard.”

I cringed at my gaffe. “Forgive me. Of course it wasn’t. That was a stupid thing for me to say. Even after everything, I find it far too easy to slide into the desire for things to be as simple as they once were, before all of this upheaval began.”

Renthro glanced up and smiled at me, though it was strained. “I think we all find it so.” He ran the backs of his fingers over Favian’s forehead, and the boy sighed, settling deeper into the pillow. “He has always been a sensitive child, but I know I shouldn’t worry so. It lies in the gods’ hands—what will be, will be.”

“Favian has a rare talent for dealing with animals. I am confident that talent will extend to dealing with people as well. I think he will excel in the priesthood, or whatever he puts his mind to, Renthro.”

Renthro continued to stroke his son’s feverish skin, but his worried expression smoothed out. “You are right, Carivel. I know you are. He already looks up to the High Priest, I can tell.” He shook his head in mild wonderment. “I remember when Senovo first came to Draebard, years ago now. Whoever would have thought that such a quiet boy would end up with so much power? We’re lucky to have him. Especially after… well. After what happened.”

The look of fondness that slid over my face was completely involuntary. “I couldn’t agree more,” I said, when a sudden thought hit me. “Who’s watching Frella for you tonight?”

“I left her with the neighbors,” replied Renthro. “I didn’t want to risk bringing her here and ending up with a sick toddler as well as a sick son.”

I nodded. “I can’t blame you for that, certainly. Look, if you need to get home to her, I’ll be happy to stay with Favian this evening.”

He looked up at me, surprised. “You don’t mind? You don’t have other things to do?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” I told him, “and I’m done for the day unless there’s some sort of emergency at the horse pens overnight. If that happens, I’ll get one of the acolytes to come sit with him. He has brothers here now, Renthro. He’s not alone.”

Renthro’s eyes grew shiny. “Thank you, Carivel. Sometimes it’s hard to let go. Especially knowing that I left him so often to his own devices as a young boy, when time and money were short and his sister required most of my attention. But you’re correct, of course. He has other people to help look after him now.”

I held out my hand for the damp cloth Renthro was still holding, and stood out of the way while he leaned over to kiss Favian’s forehead before gathering his things and giving me a final, grateful look.

“Thank you. Tell him I’ll come back in the morning,” he said.

“I will,” I promised, and took over the vacated seat.
Once the sound of Renthro’s boots had faded, I sat in silence except for the faintly congested breathing of the boy in the bed. Beads of clammy sweat dotted Favian’s face and chest, so I resumed swabbing at his exposed skin every few minutes with the cool rag, feeling a strange peace descend over the room as dusk deepened into full darkness beyond the small, high window.

Before too much time had passed, new footsteps entered the room. A familiar and welcome presence warmed the skin at the back of my neck.

“I expected to find Renthro here, not you,” Senovo said softly, so as not to disturb his sleeping acolyte. The scent of sandalwood and musk surrounded me as a smooth hand rested on my shoulder. I breathed out, feeling more of the day’s tension drain away.

“I sent him home to Frella,” I replied, and Senovo made a noise of understanding.

He leaned past me to rest his other hand briefly on Favian’s forehead. “It feels like the fever is starting to go down,” he observed. “Good.”

“Can you stay a while?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. I’ve nothing pressing at the moment. Let me go get another chair.” Senovo slipped from the room silently. He returned a minute later to maneuver the second seat into the narrow space beside mine, and closed the door so we could have a semblance of privacy.

Once he was settled, I let my shoulder press against his as we sat side by side. “How was your day?” I asked. “It feels like I’ve barely seen you since the festival two nights ago.”

“A High Priest’s work is never done, it seems. Nor, I suspect, a Horse Mistress’s,” he teased. “I must admit, I am beginning to understand why Rhystel was such an inveterate meddler. It’s a distinct temptation in a job where people constantly come to you with their problems, the solutions to which seem obvious to you but completely impenetrable to them.”

“So, in other words, Charyal and her intended are fighting again and they want you to fix it?”

“The code of the priesthood prevents me from commenting on private matters of the townsfolk, obviously,” Senovo said, though his dry tone told its own story.

“Don’t you ever wish you could just turn into the wolf and snarl at them until they both stop being stupid?” I asked.

“You shouldn’t even joke about such things, Carivel.”
Still, he sounded far less appalled than he would have mere weeks ago, and his upper arm continued to press companionably against mine. I nudged him with my shoulder. “Come on. You can’t tell me it’s never even crossed your mind. Jeppel is a self-centered prat, and Charyal deserves better.”

Whatever Senovo would have said in response was cut off by a low moan from the bed. We both frowned, our attention turning immediately back to Favian. The boy’s head thrashed back and forth restlessly against the pillow.

“Is it the fever?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat.

Senovo reached out to feel the boy’s face again before shaking his head. “No, he still feels cooler. I think he’s just dreaming.”

Indeed, Favian’s eyes were flickering back and forth rapidly beneath their lids. His limbs jerked with small, abortive movements that hitched the blanket lower around his chest, and he cried out in a strange, strangled voice. I sat frozen in place, unsure what to do—the lack of any siblings and my relatively solitary existence up until the last couple of months leaving me ill-prepared to deal with a sick child’s nightmares.

Fortunately, Senovo had no such limitations. He leaned forward, clasping a gentle hand around Favian’s uninjured shoulder. “Come now, Little Brother. Easy, it’s only a fever dream.”

Favian tried to twist away from the contact, but did not awaken. Senovo frowned as the boy’s congested breathing grew fast and labored. “Favian. Wake up, now. Come back to us.”

But Favian only flailed and cried out again. Senovo gave his shoulder a single, firm shake. “Favian.”

Finally, Favian woke, jerking upright in the bed, his blue eyes open wide and unseeing. He was breathing hard, as if he’d just run a footrace, and immediately fell into a bout of wet coughing. Senovo moved from his chair to sit on the edge of the bed, where he could support the boy with a hand splayed between his shoulder blades.

“Get him something to drink, please,” he ordered quietly, breaking me free from my paralysis.

I looked around the small room, quickly locating the flagon of medicinal tea sitting on the table, next to a wooden cup. I poured him some, noting the smell of honey and spices mixed into the concoction. Rather than crowd in next to Senovo, I sat on the other side of the bed, waiting for Favian to get his coughing under control.

“Here,” I said, and steadied the boy’s shaking hand as he lifted the cup to his lips.

When he was done, I set the cup aside. “All right now?” I asked.

Favian seemed to crumple in upon himself, Senovo’s hand on his back the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

“It was terrible,” he whispered, not looking at either of us.

Senovo stuffed a couple of pillows against the headboard. He urged Favian to lie back with his upper body slightly elevated, to help ease his chest. “It was only a dream, Little Brother,” Senovo said again. “All is well.”

“No, I—” Favian paused to clear his raspy throat. “I’ve never had a dream like that before, Elder Brother. It was as if I was right there, seeing…” He trailed off, his breathing growing ragged once more with fear or some other emotion.

I glanced at Senovo, who was watching the boy closely, a slight furrow forming between his finely drawn brows. “It’s all right, Favian,” he said. “There’s no reason to be afraid. Can you tell us what you saw?”

Favian squeezed his eyes shut, his right hand clutching the edge of the blanket until the knuckles turned white. “I s-saw mountains.”

“The southern mountains?” Senovo asked.

“I don’t know,” Favian said. “I’ve only ever seen the northern mountains. These were bigger, though.”

Senovo nodded his understanding. “What else?”

“There was… fire. Like… the whole mountain range was on fire. I didn’t know a fire could get that big. And… people were screaming. Dying, in the flames.” Favian was shaking now. Still feeling out of my depth, I reached over and tucked the blanket in around him.

Senovo laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder again. “That does sound horrible,” he said, still using the soothing cadence that I myself had found much reason to appreciate in recent weeks. “However, you’re awake now. The nearest mountains are almost three days’ ride from here, but even in Draebard we would surely see the smoke from such a fire as you describe. No one has reported such a thing. And no one from Draebard is traveling that far away at the moment, so everyone you know is safe. Do you understand?”

“I know it’s not real,” Favian muttered, still wracked by little bouts of shivering. “It just felt real, is all. More real than this, almost.” He gestured around the room with a small wave of his hand.

Senovo patted his shoulder and sat back. “Dreams during an illness can be odd,” he offered. “Still, I think your fever is breaking, so hopefully you won’t have any more like that tonight.”

“S’pose so,” Favian said, not looking at us, embarrassment starting to war visibly with his upset.

“Can you rest some more, do you think?” Senovo asked. “I don’t want to give you anything to help you sleep without speaking to the healer first, but I can call for her if I need to.”

Favian shook his head. “No, I’ll try. Only…”

“What is it, Favian?” I prompted when he trailed off into silence.

Favian wrestled with himself for a long moment. “Could you both stay here for a while?” he blurted eventually.

I hid my smile. “Sure,” I said, not making a big deal of it. “We were going to anyway.” I reached out to ruffle a hand through his blonde hair, and he ducked away, blushing. “By the way, I spoke with your father earlier. He said to tell you he’d be by again in the morning to see you. He’ll be pleased that your fever has broken.”

Favian nodded—a small movement. “He worries,” he said.

Senovo settled back in his chair with a faint huff of amusement. “You’re his son, Favian. It’s his job to worry.”

I paused in my own journey back to my seat, caught unawares by a surge of bitterness. Neither Senovo nor I had seen much in the way of protective worry when we were children, though at least his parents had the excuse of looming starvation when they’d agreed to sell their seven-year-old son to slavers. When it came to me, however, the only thing my own mother seemed to worry about were my unnatural inclinations, as she had been prone to calling them—usually right before she raised her hand or a leather strap to me.

Returning to the present, I took a careful breath and sat down next to Senovo again. Perhaps sensing that I was not going to be a fount of helpfulness just now, the priest leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Well, Little Brother,” he said, “since we’ve nothing better to do right now, this seems like as good a time as any to go over the religious histories again. You will, after all, be required to recite them correctly before you ascend to the rank of novice priest.”

“Yes, High Priest,” Favian replied dutifully, relaxing a bit when it became obvious that there would be no more talk of either his dream or his father.

“Remind me how far you had progressed with the story of Naloth and Utarr in your studies with Novice Feldes?”

“To, umm, the part where Naloth pursues Utarr into the desert and gains her love by bringing the rains,” Favian said. “Upon the sand, warm rain did fall; the grass sprung up and covered all. That bit.”

“Very good,” Senovo replied. “In that case, let us continue…”

I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair, letting the low, sonorous drone of Senovo’s voice roll over me as he recounted the courtship of the two gods in the most boring and sleep-inducing manner imaginable. My knee pressed companionably against his, out of Favian’s line of sight. When, a rather short time later, the sound of Favian snoring through his partially blocked nose grew louder than the sound of Senovo’s recitation, he trailed off at the end of a stanza.

“You are surprisingly good at that,” I told him, not bothering to open my eyes.

“I wasn’t the only frightened slave-child in the southern Priests’ Guild,” he said, his voice wistful. “As I grew older, soothing the young ones from their night terrors became a useful skill to have, particularly if I wished to have any undisturbed sleep myself.”

And who comforted you after your nightmares, I wonder? Rather than say it aloud, I let my head roll to the side and rest against his shoulder as Favian snored on. Senovo’s body expanded and contracted in a deep sigh under my cheek.

“This concerns me,” he said in a quiet tone. “Favian is a deeply empathic boy.”

I opened my eyes and straightened so I could look at him. “The dream, you mean? It was only a nightmare, surely.”

“I certainly hope that’s the case,” he said.

“What else would it be?” I asked, my brow furrowing in confusion.

Senovo drew breath as if to reply, but we were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Since I was closer, I rose and opened it, revealing Andoc standing in the hallway. He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead.

“Thought I might find you here,” he said. Despite his brief grin, his eyes were troubled. “Come out for a minute, both of you. There’s news.”

Senovo joined us in the hall and closed the door silently behind him. “What is it?” he asked.

“I’ve just come from the meeting hall,” Andoc said. “We have visitors. They arrived just as night was falling.”

“What kind of visitors?” I asked.

“A group of ambassadors have come to talk about the attack on the hill fort.”

My blood ran cold. “Alyrions?” I asked.

“No, they’re Eburosi,” Andoc said. “From, uh… down south somewhere.”

“You might as well come out and say it,” Senovo said, sounding tired. “You’re being cagey, and it’s not difficult to guess why.”

“Sorry. They’re Rhytheeri,” Andoc said after a slight pause, as if it was an admission of some sort.

“Who are the Rhytheeri?” I asked. “Hang on. Isn’t that the tribe who had some kind of conflict going with Meren?”

“It is,” Andoc said. “The Rhytheeri come from the southern coast, but their influence extends as far north as the mountains. They more or less rolled over for the Alyrions as soon as the Empire came knocking at their doorstep a couple of years ago. Started paying the Emperor tribute; let him install a puppet king to rule in Rhyth. That kind of thing.” He paused, a muscle working in his jaw. “We also think that the bounty hunters who captured you two in the forest were Rhytheeri.”

Senovo leaned backward a couple of inches until he was braced against the wall. His voice was completely flat when he added, “And, of course, what Andoc is so tactfully refraining from saying is that the Rhytheeri are my own people—the people who made me a slave and castrated me against my will. The ones I escaped six years ago.”