Tavo rises to the top of my Fae-hate list like cream atop boiling milk.
“Remove your vines frommyhorse,” I snap at the soldier.
Gabriele expels a deep sigh, and although he looks beat, he manages to smile.
The soldier, though, doesn’t smile. He scowls as he reels in his magic. “Better grab the lead rope, Serpent-girl, or I’ll have to lasso the damned beast again.”
“You lasso my horse again, and I will lassoyou. To a serpent.” I speak this so very sweetly that it takes the pointy-eared male a second to grasp my threat.
Once he does, his narrow nose flares as wide as the horse whose dancing in place, still unnerved by the presence of her two-legged bully. “Commander, you cannot possibly let her get away with menacing a pure-blooded member of the army?”
Gabriele watches me steadily. “If you care to punish a Crow under Ríhbiadh’s protection, by all means, Pietro, try your luck, but I prefer to keep my head attached to the rest of my body.”
The Fae turns as satisfyingly pasty as the moon beating down on his face.
“Thank you, Gabriele. I’ll remember your kindness, and I’ll make sure Lore hears of it.” I turn back toward the soldier. “As for you, my offer of riding a serpent has no expiration date.” I punctuate my menace with a smile, then lead the horse past the large copper front door, down the hallway, and into the living area.
“Um, sweetie, I don’t think we should keep the horseinsidethe house.”
“We’re not.” I haul open the forever-drawn drapes, then unlock the glass door that leads out to the garden and tug on the filly’s rope.
She rears back, knocking over the piano bench. The loud thwack makes her bound forward and hit the doorframe.
“Quiet, sweet girl,” I murmur, keeping my gaze steady on her spooked eye.
I wait until she’s calmed before leading her out onto the jade terrace, toward what resembles a miniature Fae temple. As I get closer, I realize that it is, in fact, a place of worship complete with columns, an altar, and a domed-roof showcasing murals of the four Lucin gods.
Such a pious man Ptolemy was . . . Too bad religion didn’t improve his character.
Under the painted portico, I remove the filly’s rope, and although she stamps the stone nervously, she allows me to circle her. The fur on her rump bares a burn mark, and the one on her neck a seeping wound that makes my teeth tighten.
“I’m sorry about horse, Fallon.” Aoife stands beside me, her gaze rolling over the darkened sky, forever in search of a threat.
I wonder if she means Furia or this mistreated creature. Perhaps both.
I’m tempted to rouse Catriona and ask her if she can concoct a remedial poultice, but having Earth as one’s element does not make one a healer, especially when one’s ears are round. Not only was Nonna pure-blooded, but she once told me it had taken her decades to understand plants and hone them into potions.
The filly flicks her ears when I circle back to her head. I’m about to ask Syb to fetch a healer when I remember the bead on my earring. Although I’ve no clue if it’ll work on animals, it’s worth a shot. I rub the amber between my fingers until a paste coats my fingertips, then, seizing the rope so the horse doesn’t pounce away, I touch the wound lightly.
The creature seizes and throws her head but I hold her steady, comforting her with a quiet apology.
Before my very eyes—my verystunnedeyes—the filly’s flesh seals. The horse still dances in place but she must sense I wish her no harm because she holds her head perfectly still.
“What should we call you?” I whisper.
“How about Arina?” Syb cocks her head toward the horse’s coat. “Since she’s the color of cornmeal.”
The horse chuffs.
“We have a horse now?” Antoni’s voice startles the filly, and the rope blisters my palm as she springs back.
The sea captain stands beside the door we’ve left open, arms crossed, brown hair mussed, jaw and clothes smudged with dirt.
“We have a horse,” I say with a smile.
I like that he used the pronounwe. She won’t ever replace Furia—no being is interchangeable—but I’ll love her with all my heart, nonetheless.
“Her name’s Arina!” Syb hollers back. “Speaking of cornmeal, we should probably get her some food. I’ll go check the pantry to see what we have.” As she bustles back into the house, as excited as on Yuletide mornings, Antoni steps closer, stopping only when the side of his arm brushes along the side of mine.
