“I’m not alone. I have your family. And a royal wedding to plan, and your fool of a brother to nurse back to heath, and berserkir wolves to investigate, and . . . ”
At her abrupt pause, he raised a questioning eyebrow. “And?”
She dropped her voice. “And your aunt said she’d take me on as an apprentice. I know you once opposed the idea. I wonder if you still do.”
He smoothed his hands over the curls at the sides of her face. “I told you that your soul is mine, but your life is your own. I tried to stop you from learning magic before because I feared my aunt was pushing you toward dangerous, untested hexes . . . but now I realize that magic is a tool, just like a sword or a bow. Such tools are more dangerous in unskilled hands than skilled ones. If you study hexes, you’ll be stronger. And that is never something I’d stand in the way of.”
She pushed to her toes to kiss him. His hand cradled her jaw, holding her steady as he deepened the kiss. When they parted, he said in a rumbling voice, “I have something for you before I leave.”
“Oh?”
“I promised you a first engagement gift.”
A flutter of curiosity stirred to life in her chest. A smile crossed his face, and she felt a matching one stretch across her own.
“Come,” he said. He pulled her to the window, which overlooked the village square on the far side of the drawbridge. “There’s frustratingly little I can do while locked in these rooms, but Oliver has been my hands for me. Look.”
Standing in the snow, Rangar’s horse, Legend, was tied to the hitching post in the center of the village square.
She looked at Rangar questioningly. “I don’t understand—oh!”
Oliver came out of the barn leading a beautiful dapple gray mare, which he tethered next to Legend. A wreath of dried wheat berries circled its neck.
Bryn clapped a hand over her mouth as she whirled on Rangar. “Wait, you mean . . . ?”
“Her name is Fable,” he said. “She belonged to a farmer in the valley, but his daughter married and left, so he no longer needed her. The mare has a pleasing temperament. She’s fast, but she listens. A good horse for a beginner.”
“You’re gifting me ahorse?” Bryn’s voice rose in excitement.
He dragged his thumb over her cheek. “I’d get you anything you desired, princess.”
She threw her arms around him. Their lips met again, and Bryn wanted nothing more than to stay here and kiss him senselessly . . . except perhaps to go meet Fable.
Rangar chuckled as Bryn threw impatient looks out the window. “Go on. Meet her. Oliver will show you where she’ll live in the barn. I need to finish packing, anyway.”
Bryn plied him with one more kiss before running down the castle stairs and out into the snow, barely remembering at the last minute to grab one of the cloaks hanging in the foyer. She stopped a few feet away from Fable, taking in the beautiful animal with reverence.
Oliver held out a carrot. “She’s partial to these.”
Bryn swallowed, suddenly nervous. What if Fable didn’t like her? Horses liked and disliked people, just as humans did. But as she took the carrot and held it out in her palm, she was relieved when Fable blinked her soft brown eyes and gently took it from her. Bryn touched the mare’s neck, running her hand over her soft hair. Her mane was a pale gray the color of snow clouds.
“She’s a good horse,” Oliver assured her. “Doesn’t buck and rear like this one.” He motioned to Legend, who was eyeing Oliver’s pocket for any more carrots.
“Oh, don’t worry, I like you, too.” Oliver patted Legend’s forehead.
Bryn felt like she’d stepped into a dream as she ran her hands over Fable’s sturdy back and powerful legs. It was humbling to be in the presence of such a large animal. Her heart squeezed with the sincere hope they’d become a trusting team.
Fable nuzzled her shoulder, and Bryn smiled and scratched her neck.
“Do you want to ride her?” Oliver asked.
Bryn’s jaw slackened. “What, here? Now?”
“That’s right.” Fable had no saddle and no bridle other than the simple rope halter that was traditional in Baer horsemanship. On the road with Valenden, Bryn had practiced riding with stirrups and saddle, but she supposed if she was to make the Baersladen her home, she needed to learn to ride like a Baer.
She looked up at Barendur Hold, where Rangar watched down from the third-floor window. She pressed a kiss to her fingers and held it up to him.
He returned the gesture.
