Page 23 of Bride of Ash & Dust

I smile until it hurts. I’m almost certain the snake hates me, but I don’t think I have much to gain from admitting that.

“You’re from Marion, right?” Alia asks.

“I am.”

“So, you might know a thing or two about horses,” she says, as if she’s conceding something.

“I can ride,” I reply.

The words come out a bit sharper than I’d intended. Being told I have no friends must bring out the worst in me.

“Course you can,” Alia says, with a smile that feels like a slap in the face. “Lots of people can ride Zarek.”

She stares at me. I smile sweetly and twist my fingers together until they hurt, but I don’t look away.

My husband was right. I have no friends here.

“Come on,” Alia finally says, standing up straight. She’s taller than she looked when she was leaning against the hay. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

She leads me to a tack room, then brings me older but serviceable riding pants, shoes, and a jacket. I take off my blue velvet dress with a pang, brushing straw from the hem as I lay it over an empty spot on the saddle rack. When I emerge, Alia is leaning against a post and watching me through narrowed eyes.

“What kind of riding do you like to do?” she asks. “Leisure? Hunting?”

“Racing,” I answer.

Alia chews on her lower lip as she stares at me. “Racing, huh?”

I don’t reply. I hold her gaze as my heart dances inside my chest, and some strange, distant part of my mind reminds me that I didn’t exactly have friends in Marion either. I had my brother, I had Anura, and I had the horses. Later, I added Blayne, at least to that strange gray territory between friend, teacher, and lover.

That was all I needed in Marion. Perhaps that’s all I’ll need in Vsenrog too.

“Come with me,” Alia says.

She leads me to another part of the stable, one with larger stalls and higher ceilings. The scents are thicker here, which makes me think most of the horses in these stalls are stallions. War horses, probably. It’s not exactly reassuring that at least half of the stalls stand empty.

Alia stops next to one of the stalls. The horse inside, a shorter bay, sticks his head out and nuzzles her empty palm.

“Pick any horse you like,” Alia says. “But this one’s mine.”

I raise an eyebrow. The stallion behind Alia doesn’t look like much; he’s shorter than most, with a crooked ear and a nasty glint in his eyes that says I’d be a fool to underestimate him.

“Pick a horse for what?” I ask.

“Racing,” Alia says, with a grin.

I take my time with my selection. Several of the stallions snort and kick when I approach their stall. I rule those out, along with the ones who don’t react at all. The massive, hulking black stallion alone in a stall at the end of the barn seems too obvious, so finally, I settle on one of the few mares in this wing. She’s gray with a dark mane and tail and wide, bright eyes. She’s slightly taller than the stallion Alia chose, but not by much.

“This one,” I announce.

Alia chews her lip as she watches me.

“Zarek’s gonna kill me if you break your neck,” she finally says.

I very much doubt that. My husband would probably send her a basket of wine if she managed to get rid of me.

“I won’t break my neck,” I say.

“We’ll see,” Alia replies.