There, lying in the palm of my hand, is a wooden carved horse, shiny with age and handling.
I’ve seen this before. On a mantle above a stone fireplace.
Domanikk’s. How did I have it?
My throat tightens. The small carved figure feels impossibly heavy in my palm, a tangible piece of a life I thought I’d left behind. I close my fingers around it, the smooth wood warm against my skin.
Kiernan is watching me, waiting. He doesn’t ask, but I can feel his curiosity, mingled with something else. Concern, maybe. Or fear?
I cross to my dresser and place the wooden figure in a box next to the beautiful dagger Kiernan gave me for my twenty-first birthday. Two gifts. Two lives. I run my finger down the horse’s smooth side one last time before I shut the lid.
“Ready?” Kiernan asks, his voice careful.
“Ready. Let’s go,” I reply, spinning away from the dresser, joining him.
We wander around the castle grounds, just enjoying each other’s company.
The sun is high, making it particularly hot and humid as we round a corner of a stone building, and the light sheen of sweat that has started to coat my skin chills like ice.
The Western Pasture is as beautiful and serene as it ever was. The horses within are grazing in the early afternoon warmth, dust dancing in the air around them. Their coats gleam, and muscles bunch and relax as they amble.
Out of habit, my gaze turns to the stables, and I expect to see a relaxed, grinning Heller coming towards me, asking me where I’ve been, admonishing me for staying away too long.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. I gasp, trying to pull in a breath, but my chest won’t expand. Kiernan’s hand settles gently on my back as I bend over. A sob tears from my throat, and finally—finally—air floods back in.
“Alaya, what’s wrong?” Kiernan’s voice is full of concern, but I can’t reply. I’m breathing too hard, fresh tears running down my face and dropping to the dry soil below.
He’s patient, simply rubbing my back as I try to gain my composure. Finally, I stand up straight and lean on the top bar of the fence beside me, looking out into the pasture. Kiernan joins me but doesn’t speak, just lets me be.
“They killed him right in front of me,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
Kiernan leans his head down closer, his warm breath dusting my cheek.
“I’m sorry you had to see that. I know he was your friend.”
I don’t tell him the rest, not what Reth did to Heller after. Kiernan doesn’t need that depravity tainting his mind too.
“I never got to tell him I was sorry.”
“For what?”
For not being able to love him back like he deserved.
“We had an argument when we last met, something silly.” The lie slips a little too easily from my lips.
“He knew, Alaya. At least he had a friend there in the end.” He pauses, then adds with sudden heat, “Fucking Equitae.”
A strange stab of protectiveness prickles through me. My face flushes hot.
“Why are we never taught about the Equitae and their history?” I ask, standing up straighter.
Kiernan looks at me from under furrowed brows.
“What do you mean? We are taught about the Equitae—well, at least I was. Their brutality, their savage killings over land or for dominance.”
“That’s not the truth, though, is it?”
His jaw tightens. “Look, Alaya. I know you spent time with them, but from what little you’ve told me and those bruises on your body, it wasn’t exactly pleasant there.”
