I glanced at him, and he was too late to hide his confusion. “Amarya, that makes no sense,” Baxley said with a sigh.
“It does, you just haven’t thought of it before.” I held my hand out to the horse again. She didn't bite me.
“There,” Baxley said. “Friends.”
“We're not friends,” I told the horse. “We have a professional arrangement.”
The mare shook her head. I chose to interpret that as agreement rather than dismissal.
“Now,” Baxley said, “foot in the stirrup, hands on the?—”
“I know the parts,” I said. “I watched you all do it before.”
“Watching and doing are different things.”
“I'm aware of that,” I said. “That's why I'm standing here instead of already on the horse.”
The not-laugh from behind me came again — definitely a cough.
“Okay, no stirrups,” Baxley said, and cupped his hands. “Up.”
I put my foot in his hands. He lifted. I grabbed the pommel, swung my leg — mostly correctly, Baxley made a small sound of encouragement — and I landed in the saddle with considerably less grace than I would have liked but considerably more than I'd feared. But I was used to a hard body ready to steady me. There was no one, and I swayed dangerously, struggling to sit upright.
The ground was a long way down.
“Good,” Baxley said.
“Don't patronize me,” I said, gripping the pommel with both hands.
“I mean it. That was better than many people’s first time.”
“Was it?” Nicco asked flatly.
“No one’s asking you,” Baxley said, swinging onto his own horse with the ease of someone who had been doing this since before he could walk. He caught my eye and winked. “Sit back. You have more room now. Let her carry you. You don't have to do anything yet.”
I sat back. The mare shifted beneath me, adjusting to my weight, and I gripped the pommel harder and reminded myself that I had navigated the Cryarek Pass in a blizzard. I had walked north of Iskaeld. I had pressed my hand against a column in the dark and let it show me the size of what I carried.
I could sit on a horse.
“Ready?” Nicco asked, pulling alongside me.
I looked at him. At the entirely neutral expression he was maintaining with what I was beginning to suspect was significant effort.
“Not a word,” I told him.
“I haven't said anything.”
“Keep it that way.”
His mouth moved. Just slightly. Just enough.
I looked forward, and nothing happened.
With a sigh, he reached over and took the reins. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.
He urged the mare forward, and she moved, and I moved with her, and it was nothing like being carried in front of Nicco and everything like something I was going to have to learn from the beginning.
“You're doing well,” Baxley said, from my other side.
