Page 70 of Outcast’s Vow

“I will.”

I watch her leave, my fingers still curled into a fist.

I don’t bend for my enemies, or even my brotherhood. Yet for her? What would I do for her?

I dare not think about it.

27

SYLVIE

The sound of horses’ hooves striking the hard ground punctuates the calm early afternoon silence of upstate New York as Jolie and I ride through the sprawling fields of my family’s estate. The scent of pine lingers in the air. The sun shines brightly high above us.

I’ve always enjoyed riding. As with skiing, it’s been a fixture in my life since childhood. I love the chance to take the reins, but nowadays, with my studies and life in the city, I barely do. I understand how privileged my life has been, and I vow never to take it for granted.

I’m in full control of my stallion. He dips his head and lengthens his stride, his gait smooth and fluid.

We steer down a tree-lined path.

This land we canter on is owned by my family and has been for generations. I half-grew up here, in the shadow of my father’s close and watchful surveillance. Because of that, I have mixed feelings about this place. It’s both a reminder of the luxurious prison of my childhood, but also of the immense advantages and opportunities granted to me. Nowadays, I only like to come back for the horses, and only when I can ride with Jolie Auclair.

Jolie and I ride side by side. She flicks her jet-black hair back and winks at me. Unlike my careful and precise maneuvering of my steed, Jolie is brash and reckless, but still very much the authority. Her horse tosses his head playfully, his mane flying.

With the Auclair family name, Jolie might come from the same kind of privilege I do, but she’s very much her own woman now. There are so many things I admire about her; she’s quick-witted, smart, and resilient. And just as stubborn as I am.

I guess that’s probably why we’ve always gotten along.

Because our fathers are both senior members of the Castaways, Jolie and I basically grew up together. In parallel. Almost like twins. We couldn’t escape each other’s presence even if we tried. Being daughters of the elite Order, we were both sworn to silence about it, but we could always talk to each other. Jolie is someone I’ve never had to worry is only friends with me because of my last name, my family’s money, or the connection to my father.

And, just like me, Jolie really, really hates the Castaways.

“So, how did the art auction go?” she asks me. “You never told me whether you got that painting you were after.”

I sigh.

Just before I took part in the Chase, I flew to London, hell-bent on securing one of Juniper Wren’s paintings at a fancy art auction.

“I came away empty-handed,” I reply.

“Damn.”

“I swear I’ll never get one of her pieces.”

“Sorry to hear about that,” Jolie says.

“It’s fine. I’ve resigned myself to the fact I’ll just have to admire her work by visiting expensive exhibitions in art galleries.”

“And tell me, how is married life treating you?” Jolie asks.

I have a feeling that probing into my new marriage is the reason she invited me to go horse riding. She’s just been waiting for the right moment.

My horse huffs, as if it can sense the thrill slipping through me when thoughts of Baptiste bubble up.

Okay, I’ll indulge my friend.

“It’s treating me well, Jolie.”

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that you married Baptiste Tremblay and that you took part in the Chase. Were you high or crazy or both?”