Don’t fall behind.
I’m trying. My mouth is bone-dry, and my bladder has been begging me to stop for what feels like hours. The sun has dried my cloak and warmed my skin, but now I’m sweating beneath my armor. I keep thinking of how Rhen said Grey would never yield, and he spoke of that like a failing.
Right now, it feels like a massive victory, because I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to keep this pace before my body gives up.
We’ve reached the open fields far northwest of Ironrose Castle, and the mountains are clearly visible in the distance. The terrain here is uneven and rocky, terrible for galloping, but Grey’s magic must be flattening the ground or supporting the horses, because Mercy’s steady hoofbeats never vary. Dusk is hours away, and I want to beg for a break, but I know he’ll leave me behind. I can sense it.
I have to keep up. I’ll tie myself to the saddle if I have to.
Out of nowhere, Mercy’s gait falters. She stumbles hard on one rock, then another. It’s so unexpected after miles and miles of a fluid pace that I nearly drop over her shoulder. Ahead of me, the king’s horse stumbles, too, throwing its head down, pulling the reins free. We’re heading toward rockier turf. I expect Grey to swear or reach for his rein or try to maintain control—but he does nothing.
Then I realize he’sfalling.
I put a heel against Mercy’s side, heedless of the rocks. Her hooves slip and stumble, but she responds, lurching alongside the king’s horse. I grab hold of his armor, fighting to reach for his reins. Grey’s body is limp. Lifeless.
The horses stagger again and I lose Mercy’s reins. “Whoa!” I cry. I can’t control them both. His horse feels Grey slipping and shies away.
I don’t think. I use my grip on his armor to haul him over Mercy’s withers—just as his horse puts a foot down wrong, stumbles hard, and falls, its momentum sending the animal tumbling onto the jagged rocks.
“Whoa,” I say again. Mercy slows, but her sides are heaving, her neck slick with sweat. Grey is still motionless, half his body barely over Mercy’s neck, but I can’t reach the reins. She prances, agitated, stumbling on the terrain. Grey’s horse thrashes at the rocks, one leg tangled in its tack as it tries to get to its feet. There’s blood on the rocks. A horrific, panicked keening sound peals from its throat.
Too much has happened all at once. We’re out in the open, close to the Syhl Shallow border. If people are waiting to kill the king, now is the time to do it.
Then I see the source of the blood. The horse’s left hind leg is broken, blood and bone glistening through a torn patch of dark fur.
My chest goes tight, and I leap down from the saddle. “Grey,” I gasp. I pull him down from Mercy’s back. “Grey—you have to—you have to—”
He all but sags in my grip, sliding to the ground. His head nearly slams into a rock.
All the while, his horse is screaming. Fighting. Blood is all over the rocks now. The fractured leg flails awkwardly.
I reach out a hand automatically before remembering—again—that I don’t have my healing rings.
“Grey,” I say, and my voice is rough and ragged. “Grey, please.” I tug at his armor, searching his pouches, hoping,prayingthat he may have my rings in his possession.
He doesn’t.
I choke on my breath just as his horse manages to get to its feet.
That’sworse. The animal is clearly in shock, half the tack broken from its struggling against the rocks. And that leg, the hoof hanging, barely attached by sinew and muscle. It takes a step and falls again, then redoubles its fighting. Mercy shies away.
“Steady,” I say, and my voice breaks.
I can’t do this. I can’t.
I didn’t want to become a soldier, but I did. I didn’t want to be vicious, but I was. I didn’t want to kill anyone, but Idid.
And now, I don’t want to kill a horse. An innocent horse. Agoodhorse. A brave animal that ran far harder and longer than any good steed should.
But I can’t let it bleed to death. I can’t let it suffer. I can see the panic and terror in its eyes.
“Grey,” I say. I look at his pale skin, damp with sweat, red where his armor rubbed his neck and elbows raw. His breathing is slow and uneven. He doesn’t move. I beg anyway. “Please.Please.”
It seems selfish to beg for a horse. The queen is in danger. The princess. Their lives are at risk.
But this animal knows none of that. This animal only knows pain and suffering and wants it toend.
So I draw my sword and end it.
