“Whether you can believe it or not,” Jeremy said, “these are our friends.”
The funny thing was that Rafe could believe it. He wanted to believe it anyway.
Rafe took a breath. “Is the palace close?”
“We have to ride,” Tempest said.
“Where are our horses?” Jeremy asked her.
“At the palace,” she said.
“You knew we were here. Why didn’t—”
“You want your horses? Come back to the palace,” Tempest said.
“What are your names?” Rafe asked them.
“Rebel,” said one and bowed. “River,” said another. One by one they each said their name with a bow.
“I’m not a fan of the bowing,” Rafe said.
The smallest Valkyrie, the pale one called Winter, said, “You never were, Highness.” In lieu of a bow, she gave him an awkward curtsy, which he found painfully endearing.
“All right. Let’s go,” he said. And if he hadn’t quite believed he was a prince before, he did when every one of them, Jeremy included, immediately scrambled to obey.
“Mount up,” Tempest cried out.
Seven horses for nine riders, so Rebel and River rode together, leaving a horse for Jeremy. Rafe assumed he’d ride with one of the others, but Winter offered him her horse, a brown mare dappled in white spots like a newborn fawn.
“Take mine. I’ll ride with Gale,” Winter said. “Her name is Sparrowhawk.”
“I don’t know how to ride,” he told her.
Her white eyelashes framed eyes so pale they were almost pink. They widened at that statement, and she shook her head.
“It’ll come back to you at once,” she said. “Just like bossing us around.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be, Highness. It’s your job.”
She handed him the reins and mounted her horse. Her complete confidence in his abilities unnerved him as much as it comforted him.
Everyone was ready but for him. Instinct led him to put his left foot in the stirrup. He did and hopped up, throwing his right leg over the saddle.
“Like riding a bike,” Jeremy said. “If the bike could bite you. Let’s go. You lead,” he said to Tempest.
She ignored him. “Your orders?” Tempest asked Rafe. He looked at Jeremy, who only shrugged as if to say, Don’t look at me. You’re in charge.
“Um…Lead the way?” Rafe said.
“Yes, sir.” To the others, she said in a commanding tone, “Ride on.”
With a kick of her heels, Tempest shot off down the path.
Rafe looked at Jeremy. “You a prince too?”
“What? Me? No.”
“Oh, yeah, because that would be ridiculous.”
“It would,” Jeremy said. “I’m a knight.”
—
Hooves and earth. Sweat and snot and flying chestnut mane. Rafe leaned in, clung to Sparrowhawk’s mane, all on instinct. It felt like when he painted or carved…his body remembered what his mind couldn’t. He did know how to ride a horse. Knew how and loved it. The exhilaration, the speed, the wind in his face, and the incredible power of the animal under him. Grief and joy warred in his heart. Joy of rediscovering what he’d lost. Grief when he thought of the past fifteen years and what he’d missed out on. After all, you didn’t have to be rich to own a horse in West Virginia.
They passed through the forest in what felt like the blink of an eye. From forest to river’s edge and then along the banks of a river flashing silver and gold in the evening light. Finally a village or something appeared in the near distance.
Tempest called for a halt, and they reined in the horses and trotted across the stone bridge.
Sweating and tired, Rafe was grateful for the small break.
“What’s happening?” he asked Jeremy, who trotted his horse over to him. It was strange to see Jeremy so comfortable in the saddle, like he was born on a horse.
“Water break for the horses.”
They rode into the town. Everywhere Rafe looked, it was like seeing a page from a book of fairy tales. Small colorful cottages, thatched roofs, stone bridges, and cobblestone streets, old women sweeping the dust from their front porches with witch’s brooms. A blacksmith’s shop. A bakery. Children, free and fearless, running barefoot from house to house. He smelled chimney smoke and the sweat of horses. The setting sun over the distant hills turned the clouds to watercolors.
