Page 57 of The Silversmith

“Besides,” Gavin continued, eyes lingering on my hair and neck, “Tovick is safe beneath Simeon’s wards.”

With his hand on my lower back, he led me into a stable filled with a half dozen horses. It was roughly the size of the house in Warrich, covered with a straw-thatched roof and fully open on opposite sides—no doors—for the horses to easily move in and out.

“Why is it just the towns that have wards?” I asked, brow furrowed. “Why not other villages, like that village yesterday?”

“Simeon prioritizes places, people, things he deems vital to his cause—stopping and destroying Molochai.”

“And what do you think of that?” I asked. “Why should he get to decide who gets to be protected?”

Gavin sighed. “I can hardly fault him. I would let the whole world suffer if it meant seeing you safe and free.”

My mouth opened in shock. He was wrong to say such a thing, but the honesty in his eyes and clarity in his voice stole my ability to say so. And before I could—

“Have you ridden a horse before?” he asked me.

“Not that I—”

“Remember,” he muttered wearily, reminded of the burden of my lost memories. “Well, you’ll learn today.”

“These are your horses?” I watched him stride confidently toward a stall on the left side of the stable.

“A friend’s,” he replied over his shoulder. I wondered if it was the same friend who owned the tavern. How many friends did a man like Gavin Smyth have?

“Is this my birthday present?” I ran to catch up to him.

“No.”

I blushed, embarrassed I had mentioned a birthday present. I expected nothing. Why would he bother? Why would anyone bother, when there were so many important and grave concerns in this world?

Gavin stopped before a sleek black mare with a gray-speckled crest and tail. He opened the door to her stall, gave her a sturdy pat on the neck, dropped the bag he had slung over his shoulder, and fixed her with a saddle. He did the same with another horse before guiding them both out of the stable and into the open air.

I smiled at the mare. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes.” He looked at me. “She’s always been my favorite.” Gavin enveloped my left hand in his calloused one and guided it down the mare’s neck, stopping at the reins. “Grab the mane with your left hand.”

I obeyed, and then instinctively lifted my left boot into the stirrup and kicked my right leg over the horse’s back.

“Yes.” Gavin smiled proudly and rested his hand on my knee. My eyes lingered on his touch, but he kept it there. “I knew you’d be a natural.”

The mare’s ebony coat was sleek and fine, flexible beneath my fingers.

“Wait for me.” Gavin started to turn toward his own chestnut-brown stallion but paused to ensure I would obey. My attention was fixed forward on the well-trodden trail before me. “Ella,” he warned, but I let the leather dig into my skin. It felt right.

I grinned, collected the reins, squeezed my heels into the horse’s side, and leaned into her movements like I’d been doing it my whole life. “You’ll catch up.”

He cursed and faded behind me as the horse’s trot climbed to a gallop.

She ran with a yearning for freedom I felt deep in my bones. Her graceful bounds, synchronized with my racing pulse, made me feel like I was flying. My body felt light, not weak or hungry like I’d been in Warrich. The powerful mare carried me faster than my worries as her brilliant black shimmered in the winter sun. She carried me faster than my burdens. She ran through fields of harvested wheat. For a little while, we left the heaviness behind.

I steered her in a circle to go back the way we came and threw my head back in carefree laughter when I saw even mighty Gavin Smyth and his stallion were struggling to keep up with us. We rode for minutes, but I could have gone for hours. I smiled and laughed all the way back to the stables.

Instinct was the only way I could explain how I knew to sit back, relax my hips, and sink my weight into the saddle to slow the mare down to a trot and then, when Gavin caught up to us, a complete stop. With my bottom lip between my teeth, I braved his heated glare to gauge the amount of trouble I was in.

His dark hair was disheveled from the wind and the muscles of his arms were straining the sleeves of his jacket. His strong, pulsing jaw was clenched tight, and while fury burned in his gaze, relief washed over the flames.

“You really did chase me.” I grinned, breathless. “All the way there and back. And you only look a little mad.”

“I will chase you to the ends of the earth, Aryella.” A hint of distress darkened his deep timbre. He dismounted his horse and added, “Though I’d prefer you not make me.”