He huffed through his nose. “Because the crown decided we all should. Fifty years ago, give or take, the king decreed every magical soul must wear their gift plain as daylight. Said it kept things orderly. Truth is, it keeps people obedient.” His jaw tightened. “Hard to rebel when your magic’s stitched to your sleeve.” Mav shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “It’s a requirement in the capital city, but out in the provinces, no one bothers, and it’s not enforced.”
An involuntary shiver traced my spine. To wear one’s magic openly—for strangers to name at a glance—was unthinkable. If mine were ever laid bare, there would be no patch large enough to hide the consequences.
I told myself to let the matter rest, but my curiosity refused to relent. “You seemed displeased to see him.”
His jaw worked, but he kept his eyes forward. “Not everyone from my past is someone I want in my present.”
“While I am not sure what transpired between you?—”
“Quinn.” No more than my name, low and clipped. Not angry, but enough to make our connection grow heavy. “Please.”
There was no opening in his voice. No latch for me to lift. I allowed the subject to drop, but the question remained.
We returned to the same stableyard as yesterday. The smell of straw and a sickly sweet aroma—apples gone soft with rot—tickled my nose. Mav stopped in the shadow of the overhang and tipped his head toward the wall.
“Wait here.”
He crossed to the far stall without looking back, his boots soft over the packed dirt. The stablehand, a wiry man with hay in his hair and a limp in one leg, looked up from the bridle he was oiling. They spoke in low tones too hushed for my ears. Mav leaned one shoulder against the wall as if he had all the time in the world. After a moment, I caught the faint jingle of coin changing hands.
The stablehand’s brows raised. He disappeared into the dim aisle, his limp more noticeable now with the hastened effort. He returned with two saddled horses—a mottled bay mare and a gray stallion I was pleased to recognize. The stablehand handed the leads to Mav with a dip of his chin.
“You and Clove have already met,” Mav said, passing the reins to me.
“Indeed, we have,” I acknowledged, smiling up at the horse as I stroked his broad neck.
Mav glanced between Clove and me with the beginnings of a smirk. “Ever ridden before?”
“Of course.”
He lifted a brow, unbothered. “Recently?”
My lips pursed. “As with everything else, it has been several…decades. But one does not forget how to ride horseback.”
“Mm.” He stepped nearer, a hand set ready to the saddle. “I can give you a leg up?—”
“No need.” I swung up in one motion, skirts settling with minor adjustment. When I looked down, Mav was observing me with amusement and approval.
“Not bad.”
“Not bad?”
“Didn’t even make Clove nervous,” he said, and then turned to mount his own.
He swung into the bay’s saddle with a smoothness betraying his unassuming demeanor. His posture instantly settled into an easy, balanced seat with a sense of uncanny belonging.
It took me by surprise.
Outlined by the rising sun, he did not appear to be a man who slept on floorboards and dodged questions. Mav looked every bit the knight he must have once been. His hold on the reins was confident—not the grasp of a man unsure of his footing, but one who had learned the rhythm of hooves and wind long ago.
I settled Clove beside Mav’s horse, letting the reins rest loosely in my fingers. A smile did not reach his lips as he looked ahead, but there was a softening in him. The saddle beneath him, the trail ahead, and the whisper of leaves all seemed to remind him of something he wasn’t sure he missed. I stole another glance at him. Though I yearned to understand what path had led him here, to a life outside oath and office, I could not demand such a history be shared at my interest.
Some truths must wait for the right moment to be spoken aloud.
We rode side by side. The trail wound through fields left wild, tall grass brushing the stirrups. Yellow wildflowers sprang up injoyous bursts. Farther in, the trees stretched above us, branches entwining like steepled fingers. Silence settled between us as the sun climbed. The wind carried what we left unsaid well enough. I shifted in my saddle, drawing my skirts clear of the bothersome snags despite the knowledge that the fabric was years beyond its best.
“We’ll reach Maelth soon,” Mav said at length, breaking the quiet that had grown long enough to feel deliberate. “Tiny village. Forgotten by most. Except for Thistle.”
I glanced at him sidelong. “Do you speak of a plant or a person?”
