“Oh, you bitch,” she snarled, staggering to her feet.
Fern was not a vengeful rattkin, but she had never felt more murderous in her life.
“She tried to shoo the horse off, but he came back. Good thing, too, because I don’t think you’re gonna catch her on foot.”
“She hit me with herlute.”
The sky was coming down twilight, and the purples and golds pulsed brighter in time with Fern’s heartbeat. She wobbled, listing to the side and steadying herself against Bucket’s shoulder.
“Yeah, you’re not the only one. She got little Miss Pockets, too. Tied her up, tossed her in the wagon, and off she went.”
Fern remembered the thump and squawk, and then searched back a little further and recalled her own words, shouted at Astryx in the heat of the moment—“hauling Zyll in for a bounty.”
“Oh, no.”
She gingerly probed her face, hissing at the goose-egg rising on her forehead, then did her best to take stock of her surroundings.
Nothing but grass, road, and one anxious horse. If she squinted—which hurt especially fiercely—she thought she could just make out a dust cloud in the distance to the east.
“Where’s Astryx?”
“Dunno. Hasn’t been back since you ran her off.”
“Help!” hollered Fern, loud enough it rasped her throat. “Astryx! Can you hear me?”
The effort made her woozier.
She paused, listening intently, but heard no response besides rustling grass and the distant caw of a raven.
“Breadlee. Say something so I can find you.”
“Would it kill you to use myrealname?”
“That’ll do.”
She oriented on his voice and pushed aside the grass until she uncovered him, stooping to pick him up. Another wave of nausea from the motion broke against the shore of her forehead.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” prompted the knife.
Fern studied Bucket, who regarded her expectantly. She was suddenly very glad that Astryx hadn’t removed his saddle. Nigel’s hilt still stuck out from where he was strapped behind it, beside her satchel.
“This is not a good idea,” said Fern, even as she tottered toward the horse and put a hand on his stirrup. Bucket stared back at her, tossing his head as though to urge her up.
She’d never climbed onto him without Astryx’s assistance before, because, well, he wasmountainous,and she was a rattkin. Picking up his trailing reins, she tossed them up and over his neck, gratified that she managed on the first go. Then, grasping the stirrup again with one hand, she tiptoed and managed to grab the billet strap with the other. The horsey scent of him filled her nostrils as she stood pressed against his belly.
Taking a deep breath, she leapt upward, scrambling from one handhold to the next, until she was spread-eagled across his side, with one paw on the cantle and the other on Nigel’s haft. Scrabbling desperately with her right foot, she managed to snag the stirrup with her toes and slide her foot into it, lunging upward until she threw her left leg over the seat.
Facing backward.
She sat there for a moment, swaying with every thump of her headache.
“Well, you’re up,” observed Breadlee.
She managed to wriggle around and face forward without falling off, using her tail for balance, and then stretched to fumble the reins into her paw.
“I’ve never ridden a horse before,” she said.
“Uh, seems to me like you’ve been doing it for days.”
