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Onua beckoned to Daine, but the girl didn’t want to be there, under the eyes of everyone. Shaking her head, she went to the corner of an unoccupied table and sat with her lunch. I’m younger’n anyone here, she thought, buttering a roll. How can I make them mind what I say about the horses?
A girl sat down across from her. “Hello!” She had dark hair cut boyishly short, and a pair of dancing green eyes. With a tip-tilted nose, a cleft chin, and a dusting of freckles, she looked like pure mischief. “I’m Miri. Are you a new trainee?”
Daine shook her head. “I work for Onua, the horsemistress. I’ll be helping you with the ponies, I guess.”
“Good—we need more girls. There are too many boys.” Miri stuck her tongue out at the tall, blond youth who settled his tray beside Daine.
He smiled. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
She shook her head. He had a very kind smile and bright blue eyes.
“Evin Larse.” He sat and offered a hand.
Daine accepted it. “Daine Sarrasri.”
He reached for her ear and seemed to pull a roll out of it. “Didn’t wash this morning, did you?” He smeared cheese on the roll and grinned at Daine’s openmouthed surprise. “My family’s Player folk,” he explained. “I have all sorts of useless talents.”
“She’s going to help us with the ponies,” Miri said. “I need all the help I can get,” she informed Daine. “Up till two weeks ago I could count on one hand the times I’ve been on a horse.”
“You’re doing fine,” Evin told her soothingly. He looked at Daine. “She’s been grooming and riding up at the palace stables.”
“But these ponies are different,” Miri protested. “You heard Sarge—they’re picked to be fussy and mean, and they bite.”
Daine grinned. “They’re not so bad. Me’n Onua brought some down from Galla, and I’ve been with the herd. There’s nice ones. You’ll see.” Looking around, she thought that the last time she’d seen such a mixed herd of humans was at the fair in Cría. There were two other blacks, three very brown youths, and five more as blond, pale skinned, and blue eyed as Scanrans. The rest could have come from any of the realms around the River Drell.
“You look overwhelmed,” Evin told her. “They’re just trainees, like Miri and me.”
“Yes, but what does it take to be a trainee?” she asked. “How did you two join up, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oh, joining’s the easy part,” Miri said. “They post the rules in all the schools and at recruiting stations in the towns.”
“You have to be fifteen or more,” Evin said. “Healthy, with all your body parts still attached—no missing hands or eyes.”
“Single,” added Miri. “No spouse and children. It helps if you ride, but it’s not required—they took me, and the only thing I ever rode in my life was a fishing boat. That’s what my people do, fish.”
“You need good reflexes,” Evin went on. “You have to read and write. For Tortallans that’s no problem—schools have been open to everyone for nine years now. For the ones that can’t read, the Riders’ll give you work in the palace till you learn. I think that’s all. Oh, and you have to be here by the March full moon. That’s when training starts every year.
“That’s all?” Daine asked, shocked. “That doesn’t seem like much!”
“It isn’t,” said Evin. “The problem isn’t getting into the Riders—it’s staying. We’ve lost ten in the last two weeks—sick, wouldn’t take orders, couldn’t handle the schedule. We’ll lose more by summer’s end.”
Sarge rose and thundered, “Listen up, darlings! Today is your last day of fun at the king’s expense.” (“He calls running us around the meadow every day ‘fun,’” Miri whispered to Daine.) “Here’s Onua, our horsemistress.” Onua stood and nodded to everyone. “Daine—stand up, girl”—she obeyed—“is her assistant.” Daine sat when Onua did. “They brought the rest of the ponies we need,” Sarge went on, “so we’re ready to start the real work. You have till the bells chime one stroke to do what needs doing. At the bell, come to the horse meadow.” He clapped his hands. “Don’t sit there gawping, children—you pick your mounts today. Get those trays to the kitchen and get out of here!”
Onua took Daine aside. “What about sleeping arrangements? I can put a cot for you in my room or a storeroom, or you can sleep with the trainee girls. Your choice.”
“Please, Horsemistress—” It was Miri. “If nobody minds, Daine could bunk with me—if you want to, Daine.”
Daine thought it over and nodded.
“Fine,” Onua said. “After supper you can show Daine the bed. Would you excuse us now, though? I want to ask her something.”
The girl nodded and raced upstairs. Onua and Daine followed at a slower pace. “I’m glad you’re making friends,” the K’mir said. “It’s good for you to meet people your own age. Listen—I have to ask”—she pointed to Daine’s skirts—“doesn’t that outfit get hot?”
She’d hit on the burden of Daine’s life. The girl scowled: the litany she’d given Ma and Grandda for years bubbled to her lips. “Hot in summer, cold in winter, always getting tangled and ripped and soaked, clumsy, heavy—”
Onua smiled. She knew an old grievance when she heard one. “Then why wear ’em? Get yourself breeches and a shirt like me.”
Daine gaped at her. “Men’s gear? With folk talking about me all the time as is?”
Onua shook her head. “You’re not home now. The rules have changed.”
Daine opened her mouth to object—then closed it. She looked at her skirts. To be rid of them, and the petticoats . . . it hit her, really hit her, that she was free of Snowsdale. What could they do to her now?
From what Evin and Miri said, Riders came from all walks of life. In Galla she was strange. Here, everyone was different. These people wouldn’t care if Ma was a hedgewitch. Maybe they wouldn’t even care that her father was unknown, someone her ma met one Beltane night and never saw again.
But they’ll care if they know you went mad, a tiny voice inside her cautioned. Best keep shut about that!
Onua let her think, and was rewarded when Daine’s blue-gray eyes shone like lanterns. “I’d love to put on breeches.”
“Come on then.” Onua took her out of the girls’ dormitory and down the hall. “That’s men’s country,” she said, pointing to a bright yellow door. “Off-limits to females, like we’re off-limits to them.”
In the supply room, a tall woman with red-bronze hair and great kindness in her face looked up from her desk. “Onua, welcome!” She came over to hug the K’mir. “Your assistant?” she asked.
“Daine, this is Kuri Tailor—she’s in charge of the girls. If there’s anything you need, Kuri’s the woman to ask.” Onua hugged Daine around the shoulders. “Kuri, she needs breeches and shirts. Daine, I hate to rush, but I need to talk with Sarge. You’ll be all right?” The girl nodded. “When you’re done, come out to the meadow and we’ll get these two-leggers mounted.” She left the room.
“The first day or so is crazy,” explained Kuri. “They always start as soon as Onua comes, so she has to move fast. You’ll be rushing too, once the Riders see how much work they can get from you—my word on it.” She measured Daine quickly and wrote down her findings. “I’ll have others tonight, but take these for now.” From stacks of homespun garments on one side of the room, she chose a pair of worn breeches and a patched white shirt. “No use wearing good clothes when you’re with the horses,” she explained. “Step behind that screen and try these on—let’s see how they fit.”
Behind the screen, Daine drew the shirt and breeches on with trembling hands. Doubtless the trainee girls were used to such things. She had seen they all wore breeches. But she was a little scared. Dressed, she stepped out into the open.
“What the matter?” Kuri walked over to tug and adjust the garments.
“It’s—men’s gear,” she explained shyly. “At home, the priests and the headman—they’d never approve.
/> “Forget them.” Kuri turned her, checking the clothes. “You’re ours, now. I’m not saying there won’t be people to carp and pinch at you. That’s human nature, alas.” Daine nodded. She knew. “But here life’s what you make it. Who you used to be doesn’t matter. Look at Sarge—he was a slave, once. Onua was beaten by her husband and left to die. Her Majesty and Commander Buri had to flee Saraine. Do you catch my drift?”
It was a lot to digest. Onua? It was impossible to think of Onua as beaten and abandoned by anyone. And Sarge? “I—I think so.”
Palace bells chimed one stroke, making Daine jump. “The bells take getting used to,” the woman informed her with a sigh.
“How often do they ring?” the girl asked, pulling on her boots.
“Every hour until late in the evening.” Kuri smiled. “All set?”
“Yes’m.” Daine grinned at her. “Thank you.”
“Welcome to Corus, dear,” the woman said as Daine ran out the door.
Onua, Buri, and Sarge waited at the fence with a barrel of apples. Daine arrived just as Onua stuffed fruit into every pocket Miri had. “Bribe them,” she said, and shooed the reluctant girl through the gate Sarge held open.
“What do I do?” Daine asked.
