BY THE TIME KATE REACHED the Relay house, roll call was over. The other riders were already coming out of the meeting room when she crossed the threshold into the office building attached to the main stable. Their boots made heavy thuds against the wood floor. For a second, she tried to duck into one of the staff rooms, but true to the theme of her life recently, she was too late.
A familiar voice called out to her, “Late again, Traitor Kate!”
She braced, ready for a repeat of last night’s torment as she watched Cort heading toward her. He will not get a rise out of me this time, she silently swore.
Cort stopped in front of her, blocking her way. He slid the saddle he was carrying off one hip to rest it against the other. He’d been the only rider carrying one. Most preferred to keep their saddles in the tack room, conveniently located in the stable. Not Cort, though. This saddle was too valuable to leave in the care of anyone else—or so he claimed. And it was indeed valuable. Custom crafted from the finest calfskin leather, brass fasteners, and gold-laced thread, it was a saddle made for nobility. Kate knew it well—it had belonged to her father.
The sight of it in Cort’s arms brought emotions surging to the surface, as it always did, only worse after her run-in with Prince Corwin. It was as if the past were stalking her this day. The saddle was one of the few of her father’s possessions she’d been allowed to keep after his execution. She’d given it over to the Relay to cover her apprentice fee. It was worth three times as much as that, but it was all she’d had. Through a cruel twist of fate, bad luck, and Relay politics, it belonged to Cort now. She forced her eyes away from it and onto his face, a glare heating her gaze.
“What was the holdup this time?” Cort said. “You look like you took a tumble in the gutter.” He sniffed at her, then grimaced. “Yuck. What’d you do, spend the night at the slaughterhouse with Pip?”
Kate balled her hand into a fist, wishing she could punch him.
“Well, never mind,” he said, then with mock apology added, “but thought you should know that . . . unfortunately . . . you’ve been bumped.” He grinned, leaving no doubt that he’d been the one to do it.
Kate started to go around him, pushing her way between the other riders still departing, but Cort grabbed her arm with his free hand, stopping her.
She yanked out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.”
The grin on his face twisted into a sneer. “Believe me, I’ve no interest in touching you. Who would? Treachery might be contagious.”
Do not respond, do not—oh hells. She flashed a cold smile. “Well, that’s great news for me, then. Now I won’t have to worry about catching stupidity from you.”
Cort snorted. “Stupid, am I? At least I know how to be on time.”
“Oh yes.” Kate rolled her eyes. “Because it’s so difficult to do that when you live in the Relay house. You just roll out of bed and here you are.”
Cort’s eyes narrowed. “You’re welcome to bunk with the boys. Like I said, a traitor like you wouldn’t have to worry about any unwanted advances.”
Mutinous tears stung Kate’s eyes—her deeper emotions betraying her. Corwin’s face swam into her mind once more. He had looked on her like she was a stranger, someone unknown and beneath his notice or care. Someone who didn’t matter.
But she had. Once. Once she had been wanted.
She forced the thoughts away, holding off the tears with a will forged by years of hardships. “Like any girl would be safe with you, Cort. One look from you and—”
“Kate Brighton!”
Flinching, she turned to see Deacon Lewis standing in the doorway of the meeting room. The foreman’s gaze was fixed on her in an expression so displeased, it chilled the heat of her anger in an instant.
“I need a word,” he said, and stepped back into the meeting room.
Swallowing, Kate headed for the door.
“Have a nice ride to Andreas, Traitor Kate,” Cort called from behind her. “Hope you fare better than poor Eliza.”
Dread began to thud in her chest at this news. She’d known she would be bumped, but she hadn’t realized it would be to the Andreas route. Deacon had forbidden female riders from taking the route after Eliza Caine failed to complete her ride a few weeks ago.
No one knew for sure what happened—other than that the nightdrakes had taken her and her horse. All they found afterward were the remnants of the saddle, mail pouch, and bits of clothing. Speculation was that she’d run into trouble with the ferrymen of the Redrush. Ever since High King Orwin had commissioned the bridge, the ferrymen went out of their way to delay riders, often forcing them to wait until nearly dusk before letting them cross. Especially the female riders. The Redrush ferrymen considered themselves Andrean above all else, and most held the belief that women had no business in a profession that required them to ride horses, carry weapons, and wear breeches beneath their skirts.
Deacon was waiting next to the podium at the front of the room as she entered. Behind him, the massive blackboard held the details of this week’s rides. Kate scanned it, quickly finding her name next to the Andreas route, surrounded by telltale smudge marks. She glanced at the Aldervale route—the one that should’ve been hers—and to her complete lack of surprise saw Cort’s name there instead. He wasn’t the most senior of the riders, but he’d earned the most honor points, giving him first dibs at bumping. Of course, just how Cort, son of the Relay master, earned those points was a different matter.
Kate stopped a few feet from Deacon and reluctantly met his gaze.
His expression was no less displeased than it had been a moment before, and he was already worrying at his scars. “How many times have I told you not to engage in arguments with Cort or any of the other riders?”
“Hundreds.” Kate resisted the urge to squirm. “I’m sorry. I was already in a foul temper, and he does his best to provoke me.”
Deacon shook his head. “I don’t care. Your best is better than his. You must stop taking the bait. If he complains to his father about you, I won’t be able to save your job.”
Kate huffed. “No chance of that. He enjoys tormenting me too much to get me fired.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Deacon let out a sigh. “I suppose you might be right.” His eyes flicked to the board. “At least the Andreas route won’t be as bad as you’re expecting.”
She arched a single eyebrow. “How so?”
“The Relay council has decided to add an extra day to the route, giving you time to compensate for any troubles with the ferrymen.”
Kate bit her lip, judging her response carefully. The last thing she wanted was to sound disrespectful. “That’s great for dealing with ferrymen, but it doesn’t help us avoid the nightdrakes. I mean, the sun keeps setting same time as always.”
“I have something to help with that, too.” Deacon headed for the desk in the far corner where he did most of his work. He had a private office nearby, but he detested small places. This room was large enough to hold thirty people comfortably, but Kate suspected Deacon would work outside in the stable yard, beneath the open sky, if he could. They had that in common.
He opened a bottom drawer on the desk and pulled out three fist-sized wardstones, glowing with fresh enchantments, and set them on top of the desk, which was littered with parchment and maps. Then he opened the drawer in the center and withdrew a large key. He held it out to her. “This will unlock the Relay tower half a mile east from the Redrush crossing. Do you know the one?”
Kate accepted the key, frowning. “Sure, but it’s been closed for years. Is it even usable?”
“It should be fine. I had Henderson take a look at it when he returned from the last Andrean run. The well is still good and the walls are solid. These will be enough to keep you safe inside for a night if need be.” Deacon motioned to the wardstones. “They’ll be in your mail pouch before you leave. You’re scheduled to depart at noon.”
“Thank you,” Kate said, trying to put as much gratitude as she could into her voice. The wardstones and key to the tower were the first bright point in her day. And a noon departure gave her time to get cleaned up and then drop in on her friend Bonner, a necessary stop whenever she returned from a ride.
“You’re welcome, but it’s not as generous as it sounds. I need you to inspect the horses this morning.” Deacon rubbed at the scars on his forearm. Kate wondered if he would one day smooth them away entirely.
She nodded, unhappy at the request. Inspections weren’t her job, but Deacon had learned early on that Kate Brighton had inherited her father’s ability for judging horseflesh. Usually, she could tell when one was in danger of pulling up lame or was off in some other way that might affect the ride. But not always, she thought, remembering Pip.
There was the risk involved, too. She didn’t think Deacon suspected the truth—that she was a wilder capable of communicating with horses—but she had to be careful. If she was too insightful, detecting a problem without any physical indication to go along with it, then Deacon, or someone else watching, might guess. Someone like Cort might be too stupid to see her insight for what it was, but the magists weren’t. They didn’t often visit the Relay house, but she had no idea how close they needed to be for the magestones to detect wilder magic. She had no plans to find out.
“I wouldn’t be asking you again so soon,” Deacon said, “but we’ve gotten some extra scrutiny from the Relay council of late. What with Eliza’s death and all.”
Kate bit her lip. “Are you sure you want me to do it? I didn’t realize Pip’s injury until it was too late.”
“No one’s perfect, Kate. I’m sure if there’d been warning to find with Pip, you would have.” The foreman’s confidence in her made Kate feel better, if only by a margin, and she stowed the key in her pocket, where it clanked against the moonbelt.
Then, summoning a brave smile, she said, “I’ll do it right now.”
Later that morning, Kate left her room at the Crook and Cup once more, this time cleaned and dressed in a fresh tunic, breeches, and overskirt. At Signe’s insistence, she’d even put on the moonbelt.
“Don’t be such a prude, Kate,” Signe had said. “Even if you have no one to play with yet, it will still stop your monthly flows. How can you say no to such a boon?”
Kate couldn’t, and so had conceded. At least it was safely hidden beneath her clothes and in no danger of falling out of her pocket anymore. Still, the feel of it around her waist made her nervous as she walked along, certain every person she passed could tell she was wearing it. She knew she was being foolish—her virtue didn’t matter now that she was no longer a part of the gentry—but the trappings of childhood morals were not so easily cast off.
She found Tom Bonner standing over the forge in the back of his father’s blacksmith’s shop, his face red from the fire and glossy with sweat. He’d stripped out of his tunic, wearing only trousers and a thin undershirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his massive arms.
A broad smile lit his boyish face when he spotted her. “I didn’t think you were going to make it.”
She pulled her saddlebag off her shoulder and set it down on a nearby chair. “When have I ever not made it?” she said, grinning back at him.
He snorted. “More times than I would like.”
“We can’t all be as perfect and punctual as you, Tom Bonner.”
“I know. It’s too bad. The world would be a better place if everyone were like me.”
Kate didn’t doubt it. “I can’t stay long.”
“I know that, too.” He pulled out the horseshoe he’d been heating in the forge with a pair of iron tongs and dropped the hot metal into a nearby water trough. Both the water and the metal protested the convergence with a loud hiss.
Bonner set down the tongs and then came around the forge to Kate. Even though they were the same age, almost to the day, he towered over her by a foot and a half and was at least twice her width. He pulled her into a hug that squeezed all the air from her lungs.
She giggled breathlessly and patted his back. “It’s only been four days since I’ve seen you.” He squeezed harder. “I missed you, too, but I’m about to pass out.”
“So fragile.” With a sigh, he let her go. He stood to his full height and gazed down at her with moss-green eyes. He wore his auburn hair in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was handsome like a bear was handsome—large and intimidating but with an alluring gentleness. “It’s why I worry you won’t come back one of these days.”
Kate poked him in the chest—it was like jamming her finger against solid rock. “I am not fragile. And you of all people know how unlikely it is that I would fail to come back.”
He cast her a dark look. “Just because you can read horses doesn’t mean nothing bad can happen to you out there. I worry about you, Kate.”
She shrugged, dropping her gaze to the floor. He didn’t know how right he was, but she knew better than to tell him about Pip. Aside from Signe, Bonner was the only person she’d ever told about her magic, and only because Bonner was a wilder, too—an earthist. He could control minerals and ores, with a particular affinity for metalworking. It was an ability she’d spotted in him by accident—and with a bit of carelessness on his part—when he’d visited the Relay house to shoe some of the horses and had used his ability to smooth out a bent horseshoe without a hammer. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed, but Kate had been paying particular attention that day. Later, she’d admonished him for using his gift so openly, but only after she’d confided in him her own.
A smile crested her lips. “I’m glad you worry. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I mean, between you and Signe that makes two whole people who would miss me if I died tomorrow. It’s some kind of record.” She spoke glibly, but after her painful morning, this truth struck her hard, and the smile slipped from her face.
Fortunately, Bonner had already turned away, heading for the cabinet on the far side of the shop. Swords, knives, spears, maces, morning stars, and various other weapons adorned the walls beside the cabinet. “Better to have two people whose love is true than a whole city of fair-weather friends,” he said over his shoulder.
“You sound like your father,” Kate replied, then winced at her blunder when she saw Bonner’s spine stiffen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t . . . I meant that as a compliment.” She cleared her throat. “Is he doing any better?”
Bonner pulled out a wooden box from the cabinet and set it on the table, his movements careful, gentle, like he was handling a babe. “No.”
Kate let out a low sigh. For months now, Bonner’s father had been bedridden with a sickness the healers had been unable to cure. In truth, Kate had begun to doubt there was a cure. She’d seen the effects of a wasting disease before, and Master Bonner showed clear signs. Not that she would dare say it aloud to his son.
She crossed the floor to Bonner and gave his shoulder a pat. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replied, optimism brightening his voice already. “He’s going to be fine any day now.”
Kate managed a meager nod; then, searching for an easier topic, she motioned at the box. “Did you finish the latest model?”
An eager grin broke over his face. “Just last night, and this time, Kate, I’m certain I’ve made a breakthrough.”
“You’ve said that once or twice before.” She touched a finger to her chin. “Wait, make that six times.”
Bonner huffed, puffing out his chest in indignation. “All new inventions take time and refining. Anyone will tell you.”
He raised the lid to reveal the pistol inside. Except the gun was unlike any other in all of Rime, in all the world. It was breech-loading instead of muzzle, with a circular chamber to hold the bullets. A revolver, Bonner called it, based on the way the bullet chamber rotated with each press of the trigger. For months now, Bonner had been obsessed with creating a gun that could fire multiple rounds without reloading, enough shots to take the place of the mage-enchanted arrows the Relay relied on. Enchantments did not come cheaply, and Bonner wanted to give Kate a better way to protect herself from nightdrakes. In truth, he wanted to give all of Rime a better way, although he rarely spoke of the ambition out loud. Like most wilders, Bonner hated the Mage League. Only for him, it wasn’t about the injustice of their persecution, but rather the cost of their magic. The green robes might be able to heal his father, if only Bonner could afford their price.
Pulling the revolver from the box, he handed it to Kate. “Same one, better design.”
The weight of it tugged at her hand, but the hilt fitted easily in her palm. She aimed it at one of the swords on the wall, cocked the trigger, and pulled. Not loaded, it made only a faint pop, but the action on the gun worked smoothly. She cocked it again, marveling at the easy way the cylinder rotated.
“Okay,” she said, lowering the gun. “I accept that it’s a better design, but you’re sure it won’t jam this time?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. The trick was in the new bullets. See.” He pulled one of the bullets out of the pile in the box and held it before her. With a wave of his hand, he dismantled the bullet with his magic.
“Bonner,” Kate hissed, “don’t do that. What if a magist walks in?”
“I’ll use him for target practice.”
She shook her head, flustered by his bravado. The risk of using magic inside the city was greater than ever these days, with more and more golds turning up at every turn, on the hunt for wilders. Kate blamed the influx on these rumored Rising attacks. She wished they would stop. Such violence could only create more support for the Inquisition, making it harder for wilders like her and Bonner to go on living in secret. And here Bonner is, courting the danger, she thought. The Mage League wished to purge all of Rime of wilder kind. The Rising was just helping it along.
With the bullet’s innards spread across his hand, Bonner launched into a complicated explanation about how the cartridge case needed to be copper, the soft metal better suited to seal the barrel and prevent it from backfiring. Kate made a face, knowing all too well what that backfiring entailed. She’d nearly lost a hand “testing” his designs. She was no less leery about this one.
“Well, to be honest, changing the casing was Signe’s idea,” Bonner said, “since she’s the one who knows how the black powder works, but I’m the one who decided on copper, what with my understanding of metals.”
And your ability to manipulate them, Kate thought. That was the irony of Bonner’s quest to create these weapons—they still required magic to manufacture. Modern tools would never accomplish it, though few who enjoyed Bonner’s wares knew it.
“Well,” Kate said, “I hope you’re both right this time.” Bonner and Signe had been in on this together from the start of their friendship. Black powder, the substance crucial to the firing process in all pistols, was made only in Esh but could be bought in most stores in Rime. But for some reason the regular mixture wouldn’t work with Bonner’s design—something to do with the rate at which it burned. Signe had had to modify it somehow. The secret of mixing black powder was known only to the Furen Mag Sisterhood, a mysterious and secret order of Eshian craftswomen, and—for some reason she’d never divulged—Signe Leth. She was far too young to have learned the trade, even if she once had been an initiate in the order. Both Bonner and Kate had tried to get the truth out of her, but Signe refused to tell. Nevertheless, it was their secrets, both shared and not, that bonded the three of them together in such a tight friendship.
“So will you test it?” Bonner asked, brows raised in an eager expression.
“I suppose I must,” Kate said with a resigned air.
Beaming, Bonner slid his arms around her waist and spun her around. “Thank you. It’s going to work this time, and I’ll finally be able to stop worrying about you.”
“I hope not,” she said as he set her on her feet again. “A little worry feels nice.” Her voice broke over the words, memories of Corwin ambushing her again.
“What’s wrong?” Concern creased Bonner’s brow.
“It’s nothing. Just an unpleasant morning.”
“What happened?” he insisted, hands on hips.
Biting her lip, Kate debated whether or not to tell him. But then the story came spilling out of her. That was how it always was around Bonner—openness like an impulse. It helped that he already knew about her past with Corwin. For some reason, it was a story she’d shared only with him and not Signe. Kate managed to tell the story without crying, but only barely. Not that she could fool Bonner.
He pulled her into another bear hug. “Forget about him. He doesn’t matter.”
“I know. I’m just being silly.”
“No, you’re not. It has to be hard to be confronted with your old life like that.” He took the revolver from her hands and slid it into a holster. “But you’ve got a new life now. And I swear to take care of you forever.” He held out the holster to her like a promise.
An ache squeezed Kate’s chest at his words. He’d said such things before, but he didn’t mean it. Oh, he loved her, for certain, but not in the way that would last forever. Not in the way she wanted to be loved. Their love was like that between a brother and sister. But someday he would find someone who stirred the deeper parts of his heart, the way Corwin had once stirred hers. For a second, she wished it were different—that Bonner felt that way about her, and she him. But no amount of wishing could change their hearts, and desire could not be mined, only ignited.
Swallowing regret, Kate accepted the holster and stowed it in her saddlebag along with a case of bullets. “I’ve got to go or I’m going to be late.”
“Safe ride, quick return.” He planted a chaste kiss on the top of her head and pushed her toward the door.
She hurried outside, trying to force her mind anywhere except on Bonner and the future that she knew waited for him. A wife and children to claim his devotion. Any woman would be lucky to have him. There was no such future for her. Who would want a traitor’s daughter?
Trying to escape her own head and the image of Corwin’s face, Kate hurried faster, soon arriving at the Relay house. Deacon was waiting for her, holding the reins of a bay gelding called Darby. Kate quickly fastened her saddlebag to the back of the saddle, then mounted.
“The wardstones are in the pouch,” Deacon said, checking Darby’s girth. “And I added some extra valens for you to help sway the ferrymen to let you cross—if you need to.”
“Thanks.” Kate adjusted her grip on the reins. Darby was eager for the ride, his hooves shifting beneath her. She was eager, too, if only to escape Farhold and the troubles it had brought her today. No matter how much time she spent here, this city never felt like home. It was a place to stay, not belong.
Deacon patted the gelding twice on the neck. “May the luck of Farrah be with you.”
Kate headed out of the stable yard and into the street. Passing through the city gates a short while later, she gave Darby his head, allowing him to run off some steam. The wind shrieked in her ears, tugging at her braid as they picked up speed. As Kate fell into the rhythm of Darby’s stride—horse and rider becoming one—she felt her spirits soar. For a little while, with the scenery blurring by, she was no longer Traitor Kate. No longer the girl despised by a kingdom. No longer the girl cast aside by the friend and prince she had once loved.
In moments like these, atop a horse and flying over the ground, she glimpsed her old life. She became Kate Brighton again. Daughter of Hale Brighton, master of horse to the high king. She was free. A girl with a future. Someone who mattered.