Cerian frowns as he counts the familiar horses that remain.
Three. And none of them is Stardust. Tharios must have taken Stardust last night.
“What’s wrong?” Arisanna whispers.
“Nothing.”
Tharios will understand. Probably. It’s not as if they have much choice.
“We need Nebula.” Cerian pushes out the words.
“The black stallion?” the stable master asks.
Cerian nods.
“Just the stallion?” The man glances at Arisanna, his eyes lingering on her skirt and trousers, but he says nothing else.
“Yes,” Cerian says.
Nebula can carry them both.
“Whose horse is that?” Arisanna asks while they wait.
“Tharios’s.”
“And he’ll carry us together?”
“He’s strong.”
Soon, a groom leads the imposing horse toward them, and Cerian eyes the beast as he takes the reins.
Nebula studies him in return, shuffling restlessly.
But Nebula doesn’t fuss when Cerian mounts. Not even when he pulls Arisanna up behind him.
She clings to Cerian, and he rubs her hand at his waist before whispering, “Hold on.” Then he nudges the horse forward, and Nebula takes off, clearly itching to run.
At least Nebula knows the way home.
“Don’t let go,” Cerian says over his shoulder, and Arisanna’s hold on him tightens as the Wildthorne Woods rapidly approach.
“I’ll never let go,” she whispers.
Nebula barely slows when they cross the border into Lostariel, and a shiver races down Cerian’s spine as he eyes the trees.
Something has changed. His beloved woods loom darker than they ever have before.
