Page 36 of Hawk & Sparrow

Vesper watched in awe as the polo players and their flying mounts circled the field and came back around. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“You wouldn’t have,” said Ada. “Technically, they have no formal pedigree or scientific classification. They’re privately bred by sorcerers with training in animal husbandry.” She sighed. “My family doesn’t own any, but I’ve heard they can go for up to two hundred thousand gild in the right market.” She paused, thoughtful. “That might be good for your exposé.”

Vesper’s mouth went dry. Two hundred thousand gild was more money than she could even begin to fathom. The idea of spending it on sport seemed ludicrous.

Ada pointed. “Maximilian is rather good at riding them.”

Vesper looked back to the field. Sure enough, riding at the front of the group was Maximilian. He was wearing a helmet, but she could still see his dark curls rippling through the wind as his horse leapt high into the air before sailing gracefully back down. There was a focus and intensity on his face that she’d never seen before. Again, she felt that strange fluttering, hummingbird sensation in her chest and looked away. She noticed that Ada had pulled out a sketchbook and was outlining what looked to be a detailed rendering of one of the horses.

“Ada.” Vesper leaned over. “Did you draw that?”

Ada looked up. “Oh, this? It’s just a doodle.”

“Hardly.” Vesper shook her head. “You could be a professional artist.”

Ada offered a small smile. “Thank you. It’s just a hobby, really.” She examined her charcoal stick, frowned, then muttered something under her breath. At once, the stick resharpened itself, as though someone had taken a knife to it. Vesper started. She didn’t know what Ada had said, but she certainly recognized the language she’d spoken.

“You speak Thaumaric?”

Ada looked abashed. “Only a little,” she admitted. “Mostly picked up from eavesdropping on my father.”

“That makes you a sorceress,” said Vesper. “Doesn’t it?”

Ada laughed. “Certainly not,” she said. “Sorcerers have to take formal coursework in arcanic studies at a university, and most of those institutions don’t admit women.” She shrugged. “I’ve learned a few simple things over the years, but that’s the extent of my ‘education,’ and I use that term loosely.” She pointed to the field again. “Looks like they’re about to bowl-in.”

Vesper followed her gaze and watched as four men in dark green polos guided their horses to stand on one side of a thick white line at its center. Maximilian and the players on his team—all wearing matching red polos—moved to the other side of the line. There was a pause, a long beat in which it seemed the entire world had stilled. Vesper watched as the umpire threw a small white ball high into the air. Every set of eyes followed as it rose, arced, and then the match was on. The sequences were quick, so fast Vesper struggled to keep track of them. Two of the players from the green team flew their horses into the air and instantly collided, but a third player in red navigated his horse around them on the ground and took control of the ball.

It was Maximilian.

Vesper’s breath caught as she watched his horse canter down the field, using his wooden mallet to keep the ball in play. She tensed as a member of the green team accelerated on his own horse, closing the distance between them. The opposing player raised his mallet, as though to steal the ball away, but without warning Maximilian tugged on his mount’s reins. The horse flapped its broad brown wings and leapt into the air. Maximilian used his mallet to hit the ball at an angle so that it rose with them, then twirled his mallet artfully in his hands and drove it directly in between the goalposts. The referee blew his whistle, announcing a goal. Maximilian and his horse descended to the ground with ease before he pumped the air with a triumphant fist. The crowd cheered.

“Now, that’s sorcerer’s polo,” said Ada appreciatively.

Vesper clapped. She’d never seen a spectacle like that in all her life. It was surprisingly thrilling.

Ada stood. “I’m going to get some lemonade from the refreshments table. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you,” said Vesper. Her eyes were glued to the match. The players and their mounts were already returning to the center of the field. This time, when the umpire pitched the ball into the air, it went right instead of left. A member of Maximilian’s team tried to assert control of it immediately, but a player on the green team was faster. He raised his mallet and swung hard, sending the ball soaring down the field, but suddenly one of the red team’s horses broke away from the rest. It began to snort and turn in circles, ignoring its rider’s commands. Its eyes were rolling, frantic. Vesper tensed. She didn’t know what was going on, but something was very wrong. The massive horse whinnied, rose on its hind legs, then sent its rider tumbling from its back. There was no warning before the beast tossed its massive head and charged, galloping at full power toward the spectators, and directly toward her.

TWELVE

MONDAY, 7TH OF NOVEMBER—11:58 A.M.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Vesper watched the giant horse hurtling toward her.

She heard its thundering hooves as it drew level with her, then there was a rush of wind to her left. She screwed her eyes shut and covered her head, waiting for the inevitable crash; instead, a muscled arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her out of her chair. Vesper cracked an eye open, then started.

The rogue horse was mere feet from her, the whites of its large, frantic eyes clearly visible in the late morning’s light. Its nostrils were flared, and its forelegs were raised as though it was preparing to leap at her, but the creature remained still, frozen in place as though held by invisible bonds. For a moment, Vesper was reminded of a painted wooden horse on a merry-go-round. She turned slightly, and her heart skipped.

Maximilian now stood beside her inside the pavilion. One of his arms was still wrapped around her middle, holding her partially behind him so that he stood between her and the animal. His other hand was raised so that his palm faced it, and his lips were moving quickly as he muttered in Thaumaric under his breath in an endless stream. Vesper stared from him to the horse a moment before comprehension dawned.

He’s commanding it. Somehow, he’s holding the horse in place.

The moment ended as quickly as it had begun. In a rush, several polo players from both teams ran toward the horse and took hold of its reins. The animal began to move again, but now seemed slower and clearly disoriented. Vesper watched as they led it away, her heart thundering in her chest.

“Miss Evans?”

She looked up. Maximilian was staring at her. He’d paled and his expression had grown drawn, but his eyes stayed locked with hers. He was still holding on to her. “Are you all right?” he whispered. “Are you hurt?”