He tightened his legs and the horse leapt forward as though shot by a bow. Her dark gray mane evaporated in my fingers like fog, so I had nothing at all to hold on to, not even the reins, which Taran kept in his free hand. I would have fallen off within seconds, but Taran held me tightly as the mare gained speed.
I yelled when we approached the stone wall around the stable yard, and Taran must have considered that to be encouragement, because he gave a loud whoop and leaned us over the horse’s neck to make an impossible leap over the wall. Part of me thought I was still dreaming, one of those dreams where I could fly. I even didn’t feel the mare land.
“Open your eyes,” Taran said breathlessly.
As soon as I did, I laughed, the sound reedy and unfamiliar to my own ears. I instinctively clapped a hand over my mouth to stop it, but Taran took his own off the reins to pry my fingers away and scold me. “Mypriests are allowed to laugh.”
Wesha’s priests had been discouraged from the practice, trained against it from childhood in deference to our imprisoned goddess’s sorrow.
But why shouldn’t I laugh? Who did I owe my grief or humility or even dignity to? Not to Wesha, who hadn’t even wanted them.
I’d come here hoping for joy instead, and I was starving for it.
The world whipped by at fantastic speed, an exhilarating green-and-blue blur that resolved into forests where bluebells and lilacs and daylilies all bloomed at the same time under a perfect canopy of trees in summer foliage.
Marit called out encouragement as he was forced to detour to the road while Taran dove straight ahead, trusting the horse to leap over every obstacle as the buildings fell away. The sea god gained on us with his team of four, but he had to keep to the path while we flew on as though the white mare had actual wings.
I was glad that I was allowed to laugh now.
I was on a fast horse with Taran’s body warm and solid behind me, and in this moment I was alive and unafraid. I got this moment of joy when it had felt like there would never be another one, off-balance and uncertain and breathless too as Taran and Marit competed for the lead, wind stealing the words from their lips. I lifted my hands from the mare’s neck, marveled at how the air spun around my fingers, and tilted my head back against Taran’s shoulder to look up at the sunless blue of the sky.
Anything else Taran offered me, I’d take it, I decided. Because I did want this moment, and a hundred more like it.
13
We reached thehouse of the Moon shortly before sunset. All day we’d ridden steadily upward, the verdant park of Genna’s lands fading into wilder territory as we climbed, oaks exchanged for mountain pine and birch trees arranged like marble pillars to line the road.
The Mountain’s shadow at dusk lay over a precisely circular crater lake. A thin waterfall sliced the Mountain’s conical side like a sash and fed the pool, where a palace was built on stone pilings that seemed to not just reflect but emit the fading daylight.
For the past half hour our path had been traced by small gray owls, the first birds I’d seen in the Summerlands besides Awi—little night spirits, who carried secrets to the Moon and inspiration to her poets and dreamers—but I was still surprised to find that our arrival had been anticipated.
In the center of the stone causeway that led to the palace stood a goddess with a hooded black robe nearly concealing her body and white face.
Lixnea had come to greet us herself.
Taran dismounted and helped me down, and Marit slowed his chariot to a halt as the Moon approached.
“What are you doing here?” The goddess’s voice was huskyand not at all pleased to see us. She had the appearance of an ancient crone: thin, wrinkled skin draped over fine bones that hinted at former beauty, but her posture was confident and upright.
Marit blinked, taken aback, but Taran did not let his smile falter.
“Is that how the cult of the Moon greets her guests?”
“The last time you were here, I chased you out with a broom. This greeting is kinder than you deserve. Again—what are you doing here, Taran ab Genna?”
“I thought all were welcome to celebrate the darkest night here,” Taran countered. “And that the Moon would not turn away an envoy of the Peace-Queen or her old friend, the sea.”
Lixnea sighed and put her palms on her hips, considering the three of us. After a moment, she approached Marit and cupped his face between her two wrinkled hands, turning it back and forth. The sea god was startled but bore her inspection with good humor, batting stormy eyes at the old goddess as though attempting to project a lack of threat.
Maybe he’d looked different before Taran killed him.
“Don’t make innocent eyes at me, Marit,” Lixnea said with one lifted eyebrow. “We used to lure ships to their doom together, you know. I do welcome Marit Waverider to my home, even though it is small and fragile.”
His smile was guileless and pleased, but he immediately lost his focus when a splash below the causeway drew his attention away. I hadn’t noticed them when we arrived, but there were shapes moving under the still water of the lake: water nymphs, watching the scene from below the surface. Marit wandered to the lakeshore but carefully stopped before the water’s edge to see the immortals swim, hands folded behind his back.
“Will I regret inviting him in?” Lixnea asked Taran in a lower voice, watching the unsteady sea god.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Taran promised.
