This was different. This wasn’t mockery; it was play.
In one way, he’s like Theo.
Well, he had not known I was trained by the best in the Dip.
I ran a hand over Pettifey’s mane. “I should learn to pace by moats and crush blossoms in silence, like you.”
His mouth tugged, but he kept his lips together. “Let’s get started.”
I gripped Pettifey’s mane. “Do I just climb on?”
He swept out his hand toward the horse’s sloping back. “You can try.”
That had sounded like a challenge and a jeer. Which was exactly what motivated me.
I satin the dusty paddock and stifled a groan. The horse trotted to twenty feet away, her leather lead dangling. Dorian leaned against the fence line, arms crossed over his chest.
“I’d like a different horse,” I said, pushing myself onto my feet. “This one can’t be ridden.”
Dorian tilted his head. “The acid queen who’s never ridden a horse is making demands?”
For once, I preferredrabbit.
I swiped dirt off my pants. “Can’t you just hold her steady?”
“This is the lesson, Eurydice.”
I eyed Pettifey, who had come to a stop. She stared back at me, head bobbing. I had tried eighteen times to get on her back, but every time I’d grabbed hold of her mane and tried to swing a leg over, she’d gotten nervous. I’d end up hopping one-legged with her and eventually—twelve times now—fallen into the dirt.
My backside couldn’t handle a nineteenth.
When I came up to Dorian, he gazed at me with one eyebrow arched. “The horse is that way.”
“Give me one of those carrots.”
“What makes you think I have another?”
“Because you wouldn’t bring just one.”
“That’s a leap in logic.”
I put my palm out. “You have more carrots.”
His eyes narrowed, and then his lips pressed together like he’d been unwillingly seen through. He reached into his jerkin pocket and pulled out another carrot.
I swiped it from him, turned on a heel, and stalked toward Pettifey. The horse’s eyes locked onto the carrot. Her tail flicked.
“That’s right,” I said. “I’m the source of all that’s good.”
I came to a stop eight paces from her, palm outstretched. Even with so little wildlife in our kingdom, I did know one thing from my time in the southern district: prey would run like a flame in dry grass, but there was one universal lure.
Pettifey approached. She extended her neck, and I pressed the carrot into her mouth while stepping forward. I took hold of her mane with my free hand, gripping tight while she chewed.
With one delirious swing of my leg and a jump, I was on her back.
The horse surged forward. She was quicker than I had expected, and I managed to hang on one-handed for a dozen paces before she veered at the fence line and my momentum threw me off.
I hit the dirt and rolled, shoring up near the fence in a cloud of dirt. I lay still, waiting for pain. None came, at least not acutely—just the sting of knowing I’d failed again.
