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"Yes," he agreed, "I am. "
"And so modest. "
"Truth is truth. No one is better with horses than lam. "
"Why is that?"
He hesitated for so long I didn't think he was going to answer. Finally he looked away, staring at the distant mountains. "I've had a lot of practice. First I trained the draft horses, our Percherons. Then I moved on to the show horses, which requires both patience and time. "
"You train horses, and Sabina charms the snake. " I glanced her way again. "That one doesn't seem to need a whole lot of charming. "
"She's very good with them. "
"Them?" My voice squeaked.
"You don't think one snake would make an act, do you now?"
I hadn't thought about the number at all. In my opinion, one cobra should be more than sufficient.
"How many?"
"Hard to say. She picks up snakes wherever we go. A rattler in Texas, another from New Mexico. Then there was the pet python, which grew too large for the owner's house in Mississippi. "
"All dangerous reptiles. "
"What good is charming those not in need of it?" he murmured, moving closer, crowding into my space just as Balth
azar had.
Unlike Balthazar, I didn't want to give Cartwright a swift knee where it counted.
He smelled like water beneath the summer sun, like rain-soaked earth and moon-drenched night. The sudden desire to move even nearer made me take a quick step back. I glanced around, but no one seemed to notice my sudden weakness for a stranger; everyone was going about his or her business with a bustle that said, Festival coming, festival coming.
I needed to as well. I opened my mouth to say goodbye and what came out instead was, "Why doesn't she talk?"
Cartwright's gaze flicked to Sabina, who still cuddled the horse. "That's her tale to tell. "
Frustration made me speak more loudly than I should have. "How can she tell anything if she can't speak?"
Sabina glanced in my direction, and I winced. She could obviously hear and now knew I was talking behind her back. She might be dumb, but she wasn't stupid.
"Sorry," I muttered, and she gave me a slight smile before turning to the horse.
"She could speak once," Cartwright said softly. "Then she stopped. "
Some sort of trauma, I guessed, and felt a sudden kinship.
"After her hand was injured?"
"No injury. Sabina was born with the sign of Satan. "
"The sign of what?"
My voice was too loud again. Sabina flinched and buried her face in the horse's mane. The animal whinnied, stomped his foot, and glared at me as if he knew I'd upset her.
"Her parents wanted to drown her," Cartwright continued, "but I wouldn't let them. "
"What century are you from?"
