“You’ll work yourself to death before the sun sets,” Kat calls from the doorway.
I glance up, my loose hair fluttering across my eyes, still half-dreaming. “Someone has to. The horses won’t train themselves.”
She grins, holding up an apple. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. Isn’t that right, Maximus?”
Her gray gelding nickers, then lifts the latch with his teeth and trots over to her, earning his morning treat.
“Of all the things to teach him,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“What?! It might come in handy someday,” she says simply.
I laugh, remembering Rooster, the skunk she once tamed. “Just wait until he unlatches his own gate and disappears.”
“Then he’ll finally see the world,” she says with that nose-scrunching laugh that feels like sunlight streaming through cloud cover. Then, quieter, she adds, “You didn’t sleep.”
I keep brushing, not meeting her eyes. “I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” She brushes a strand of hair from my face, and for a moment, I see the child she once was, barefoot and wild. Unbroken. Now, barely seventeen, she still believes in mercy.
I want to tell her not to go to the Selection, not to wear that red dress, not to trust gods who demand blood, but the sound of boots interrupts me.
“Tobias!” she cries, rushing into his arms.
He’s all soot and strength, the scent of iron still clinging to him. His smile is for her alone. Even today, they’re so carefree. Watching them twists something sharp in my chest.
“Didn’t I give you the day off?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Just checking if the horses need new shoes,” he says.
“They’re fine. But double-check anyway, I suppose, since you’re here. We leave for the city in an hour,” I say, tossing Kat a wink.
She grins and mouths,Thank you.
I leave them there—the forge boy and the councilman’s daughter—and send up a silent, forbidden prayer toRexen, our mother’s god, that their love survives the day.
By midmorning, the road toVeyorablazes with color. Kat rides beside me, crimson gown billowing, gold ribbons woven through her braid.
A thundering of hooves splits the quiet.
“Oh no,” Kat mutters under her breath.
I glance back just as a massive figure rounds the bend. He’s clad in obsidian armor chased with silver sigils, his helm concealing all but a pair of piercing blue eyes. His massive, jet-black stallion skids to a halt in the dust, foam flecking its bridle.
“Lady Katherine.” His voice is deep, formal, and absolutely dripping with disapproval.
“Morning, Dain,” she chirps, far too brightly.
“Youditched meagain.”
“I didn’t ditch you,” she protests. “I just took a scenic route.”
“Yes, across ten miles of unguarded road. Alone,” he says flatly. “The Council and your father will have my head if anything happens to you.”
Built like the statues guarding the Temple gates, Dain is broad and immovable, a weapon forged into a man. Every familiar is.
Their kind are purchased young, trained by the Order of Veilkeepers, and sworn to preserve the “virtue and safety” of unmarried noblewomen until marriage or death, whichever comes first. Their faces remain hidden, bound by their oath.
“You can remove the helmet, you know,” Kat says. “It’s not like I’ve never seen your face.”
