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Toast stomps again. I pat his neck reassuringly and inhale the horsey smell, letting it soothe my brief spell of melancholy.
Benedikt’s breezy voice filters from the boards at the back of my stall from the one adjacent, low so no one farther away will hear. “You do like to live dangerously, huh, Knives?”
Knives? Is that what he’s going to be calling me now?
I guess I can think of less fitting nicknames.
“I seem to have a knack for it,” I retort in a similarly low tone. “I didn’t know hunting was your thing.”
He hasn’t really struck me as the aggressive type.
Benedikt chuckles. “When you’re a bastard’s bastard, all things can be your thing.”
My head swivels toward the back wall. “Pardon?”
Here we go,Julita remarks with amusement.
“I’m the bastard son of a royal bastard,” Benedikt says, sounding no less amused himself. “Part of the family but definitely not. It’s a very unique position—a certain amount of recognition with none of the responsibility. I try to make the most of it.”
Julita fills in one of the blanks in that story.Benny’s father is King Konram’s half-brother… who apparently picked uphisfather’s tastes for stepping outside his marriage.
That’s how Benedikt has connections in the palace. It doesn’t sound as if the situation bothers him.
Questions itch at me, but the hunt master hollers from outside the stables for us to get a move on. I grip Toast’s reins and push open the stall door.
Thirteen
The stallion follows me down the aisle, shaking his head and swishing his tail. At the sight of the outer yard, he leaps forward.
The reins dig into my fingers with the effort to hold him with me. “Whoa, there,” I murmur.
Other students are leading out their horses around us. I guide Toast farther away from the stable so we’re not too close to anyone else. Then I grip the pommel and back of the saddle, set my foot in the stirrup, and heft my other leg over.
Before I’ve quite landed on the leather surface, Toast kicks up his back legs. I jolt forward, just barely catching my balance by clutching the pommel and his mane.
A nervous sweat breaks over my skin. Dotty showed some attitude from time to time, but she never did anything like that.
Julita sighs.You know how he got his name? Because the trainer said anyone who rides him without knowing what they’re doing is toast.
I grit my teeth. I do know what I’m doing, and I’m not going to let a few stuck-up nobles mock me into fleeing from the challenge.
Even if my heart is now thumping faster than before with the knowledge of just how big a challenge it might be.
I gather the reins and keep a firm but not aggressive hold on them as I nudge my heels against the stallion’s sides. He whirls around and nearly bolts off across the field before I rein him in.
The muscles in my arms strain with the toss of his mane.
Anya shoots me a coy smirk from the back of the mild-mannered gelding she’s perched on. “I hope he doesn’t give you too much trouble.”
“Oh, we’re getting along perfectly well,” I say, pretending my palms aren’t sweating from the effort.
When I manage to keep Toast standing relatively still for a minute, my confidence begins to recover. Then the dumpling-faced hunt master weaves between the horses with a couple of helpers, handing out… bows.
I can’t help staring as even Anya slings one over her head and touches the quiver of small arrows that’s been fixed to her saddle. Somehow I hadn’t quite processed that the hunt required all of us to actually… hunt.
It’s all right,Julita says.We don’t kill anything. Just take our aim at the conjured targets and see who can hit them best.
The other students are chattering with each other enough that I risk murmuring, “I’m not sure I’ll hit anything at all.”
