Despite the stinging wind rushing past them, it wasn’t cold. Heat radiated from Lament’s black coat, and when Emeline looked down she found red flames flickering in the horse’s mane. Tongues of fire engulfed Emeline’s fingers, licking her skin. She jerked her hands free, staring in horror. But her fingers were unsinged.
Was Lament an ember mare?
It was impossible. The wild, unearthly horses were forged of fire and said to be uncatchable. Untamable. In no story she knew had one ever been ridden.
But Emeline had thought shadow skins impossible too.
The pungent tang of smoke smoldered in the air. They were out of the Stain—nothing dead surrounded them here. The forest was lush and green and living. But in the distance, Emeline saw red.
Fire.
It surged towards them from the right, spreading quickly. Emeline was about to cry out in alarm, in case the young man at her back hadn’t seen it, when she heard the sound ofhoofbeats. Hundreds of them. Pummeling the earth in time with Lament’s.
Wait.
Emeline squinted into the distance.
It wasn’t a forest fire advancing on them. It was a massive herd of ember mares. Their black bodies raged red, like burning coal, and their manes smoldered with bright flames. They were stampeding, headed straight for Lament with no sign of slowing or stopping.
Lament picked up speed. But even Emeline could tell she wasn’t fast enough. In mere seconds, they were going to be trampled. As if sensing this, the rider at her back leaned forward, his arm tightening around her waist.
Emeline reached again for the horse’s fiery mane—which was warm, but not blisteringly so. Her hands remained unburnt. Holding on tight, she squeezed her eyes shut as her heart hammered in her throat.
The galloping hooves roared in her ears. The encroaching heat of their bodies seemed to scorch her skin.
Any moment, Lament would be broadsided. They would be trampled.
“Emeline,” a rough-soft voice whispered in her ear. “Don’t be afraid.”
Don’t be afraid?Now was exactly the time to be afraid. She opened her eyes intending to tell him so, but the words died on her lips.
All around them, ember mares rushedalongsideLament. They had never intended to trample her but to join her. The graceful rhythm of their muscular bodies, the thunder in their hooves as they ran … they mesmerized Emeline. Moving as one, they reminded her of a cresting wave. A sea of fire.
And beyond their blazing splendor, all was black.
Night had fallen in the woods.
In the steady rhythm of Lament’s gait, Emeline heard assurances she’d been too frightened to hear before.I have you,Lament’s hooves pounded out. I am steady and true. I won’t let you fall.
Emeline calmed, leaning against the stranger at her back. Her vision filled with flames as the sheer joy of the run infected her, making her grin.
“Still afraid of horses?”
When he wasn’t being surly, his voice was resonant and deep. A pleasant baritone.
She looked over her shoulder to see his mouth quirk upwards in the light of the horses. Her eyes lifted and their gazes caught. No trace of anger lingered in him, as if the heady rush of the running horses had pierced his hard exterior and he’d been forced to let down his walls.
Why do you feel so familiar?she thought as she studied him.
Too soon, the herd began to slow, then fall back, whinnying as they did. One by one, the horses turned west. Lament didn’t go with them; she kept to her path, running north.
The thunder quieted. The darkness returned. Soon, Lament was slowing.
Then stopping.
Not at any gate, though.
Emeline frowned as the horse stepped across the tree line and out of the woods, shaking her black mane. Her breath puffed like smoke, her haunches steamed like hot stones, but the flames in her eyes were gone.
