Page 14 of Queen of War and Ruin

When she smiles at me again, it’s softer, like the sun hiding behind a veil of clouds.

“Yes,” she says. “We’re done.”

I place the hoof gently on the road, then come to my feet, brush off my clothes, and step away from the horse as gingerly as I can. She ignores me, but the big red stallion tied to the cart nearby whinnies and snorts.

“He’s the problem?” I say, turning to Lilias.

She nods. “He’s bossy, he’s not very well-trained, and he doesn’t like the others.”

“Are we still talking about the horse?”

She flashes me a small smile, then leans closer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s stolen,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if everything in here is stolen,” I reply, glancing at the tattered canvas pulled tight over the creaking cart.

Lilias nods, and her lips press into a tight line.

“If my mare goes into heat,” she says, “it’s going to be a problem.”

“Oh,” I reply.

I glance at the mare Lilias was riding. She’s grazing placidly next to the horse I rode. But now that Lilias has mentioned it, I notice the big red horse does seem to be staring directly at her.

“Shit,” I whisper. “When does she go into heat?”

Lilias shrugs. She walks over to the ox pulling the cart closest to us. The poor bastard looks half dead.

“Here,” she says, pointing at the harness. “Take this strap.”

I do as she says. Lilias walks to the other side, grabbing a different strap on the harness.

“I think it’ll be a couple of days before she goes into heat,” she whispers. “I hope.”

I look at the mare again. She looks like a horse. I have no idea what a mare looks like when she’s in heat, let alone when she’s thinking of going into heat.

“We should be through the toll by then,” I say.

Lilias frowns over the harness. “We’d better be.”

I stare at the strap, then at my wife. “What do I do with this?” I whisper.

She winks at me.

“Look busy,” she whispers.

Chapter 8

Lilias

I CAN BRING YOU HOME

Idon’t like the way the man leading this group looks at my mare, and I really don’t like the way his stallion looks at her. The stallion prances on the edge of the road, holding his tail high and completely ignoring the way the woman with his lead rope tries to pull him back.

“Honey,” I whisper to the mare. “You can do much better than that.”

She shivers as I scratch her ears, but that does nothing to reassure me. I don’t know much about this mare, and I didn’t think to ask when she had her last cycle. Zarek is riding a gelding; why would it matter?

But the blood bay stallion who looks so out of place in this group wouldn’t be so damn interested in her if she wasn’t getting close to her heat. And that could really complicate our lives. If she does go into heat, the stallion won’t want to let her leave. But we can’t leave her behind, and I’m not about to trade this sturdy, healthy mare for the poor old gray nag this group is pulling behind one of the wagons.