"Open," he says.
My breath hitches. "Alaric..."
"Open your legs, Elodie. You are gripping with your knees. That tells the horse to run. You need to drape your leg around him." He pushes my knee away from the saddle, forcing my thighs apart. The stretch pulls at the sore muscles in my groin—the muscles he overextended last night. I wince, a small sound escaping my throat.
Alaric freezes. He looks up. His eyes lock onto mine. He knows exactly why I winced. "Sore?" he asks softly.
My face burns. "Yes."
"Good." He doesn't remove his hand. He leaves it there, high on my inner thigh, his thumb resting dangerously close to the junction of my legs. The heat of his palm seeps through the beige breeches. "Every time you feel that ache," he whispers, "you remember who put it there."
Charon shifts again, sensing the tension between us. Alaric pats my leg once—a proprietary claim—and steps back. "Walk on," he commands. "Squeeze with your heels. Gently."
I squeeze. Charon moves. The motion is jarring at first. A swaying, rolling rhythm that throws me off balance. I clutch the reins, my knuckles white. "Don't pull!" Alaric shouts. "You're hurting his mouth. Use your seat. Movewithhim."
We walk in a circle. Slowly, the panic begins to recede. The rhythm of the horse is hypnotic.One-two-three-four.It’s like music. It’s a beat. I start to breathe. I start to feel the animal beneath me not as a monster, but as a force. A massive engine of muscle and blood that I am sitting on top of.
"Better," Alaric calls out from the center of the ring. He is watching me with hawk eyes, arms crossed over his chest. "Now, trot."
"I'm not ready for—"
"Trot!" He claps his hands loudly.
Charon launches forward. The smooth walk turns into a bouncy, bone-jarring gait. I am thrown up and down in the saddle, slamming against the leather. "Ouch!" I cry out. "Stop!"
"Don't stop!" Alaric yells. "Post! Rise and sit! Up, down! Up, down! Find the rhythm, Elodie! You’re a musician, for God’s sake. Count!"
I try.Up, down. Up, down.It’s chaotic. My teeth are rattling. I’m slipping to the side. "He's going too fast!"
"He's going the speed you allow him to go!" Alaric counters. "You are the control mechanism. If you are chaotic, he is chaotic."
I grit my teeth. I focus on the sound of the hooves.Clip-clop-clip-clop.I find the beat. I rise. I sit. I rise. I sit. Suddenly, the bouncing stops. I am floating. I am moving in sync with the beast. The wind rushes past my face. The power of the animal flows up through the saddle and into my spine.
It feels... incredible. It feels like flying. For a moment, I forget Alaric. I forget the asylum. I am just a girl on a horse, powerful and free. I smile. I actually smile.
Then, disaster.
A peal of thunder cracks directly overhead, shaking the tin roof of the arena. Charon spooks. He doesn't just shy. He rears. The world goes vertical. The massive black neck flies up in front of me. Hooves flail in the air. I scream, sliding backward. I lose my stirrups. I lose the reins. I am falling.
"Lean forward!" Alaric’s voice cuts through the chaos. "Grab his neck!"
I scramble, burying my hands in the coarse black mane. I cling to the horse like a burr. Charon lands hard, his hooves slamming into the dirt, and immediately bucks, kicking his back legs out. I am thrown onto his neck. He bolts. He takes off at a full gallop around the arena, terrified, blind with instinct.
"Elodie!" Alaric is running toward us, but he is too far away. "Pull the left rein! Circle him!"
I can't reach the reins. They are flapping loose. I am clinging to a runaway train. The wall is coming up fast. If he doesn't turn, he’ll crush my leg against the wood. Panic, cold and absolute, floods my brain.I'm going to die. I'm going to die in a stable.
No.The voice in my head is not my father's. It is not the victim's. It is the voice Alaric woke up last night.Show me the monster.
I sit up. I force my body back into the saddle, gripping with my thighs until my muscles scream. I don't have reins. I don't have a crop. I have my voice.
"STOP!"
I scream it. I don't plead. I don't beg. I command it with every ounce of rage and terror in my body. It is a primal sound, guttural and deep.
Charon hears it. He feels the sudden, violent clamping of my legs. He skids. His back hooves dig into the dirt, carving deep furrows. He slides to a halt, dust billowing around us, inches from the wall. He stands there, heaving, his sides expanding and contracting like bellows.
Silence falls over the arena. The only sound is my jagged breathing and the rain hammering on the roof.
