Toby Bishop - Horse Mistress 01 by Airs Beneath the Moon

Author:Airs Beneath the Moon [Moon, Airs Beneath the]
Language: fra
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Herbert—do you have a Tarn?”

He gave her a startled look. “A Tarn?”

“Or some other fetish.” Lark’s cheeks warmed, and she shrugged a little. “I know we’re not supposed to believe in small-magics, but—”

He put a finger on the side of his nose, frowning. “I think—seems to me there might have been something Rosellen favored.”

“Do you still have it?”

“Give me a minute.” He turned and went up the stairs to the room Rosellen had used before Erna. In minutes he was back, a worn and faded object in his hand. He handed it to Lark.

“Don’t know what it’s called. But Rosellen was a great one for charms and simples.”

Lark caressed it between her fingers. It seemed to her that a touch of sea air still clung to it, and though it was almost shapeless, little more than a bundle of soft yarn and some sort of dried grass, it must surely retain some of the power Rosellen had believed it to have.

She twirled the little fetish above Bramble’s wound, as she had once twirled her own Tarn over a teapot or a pot of soup, then she tucked it close to the dog’s head in a fold of blanket. Bramble’s eyes fluttered closed, and she gave a deep sigh.

“There,” Lark whispered, stroking the oc-hound’s flank. “There you are, lass. Rosellen’s little charm will watch over you.”

When she emerged from the stables, she shivered in the hard cold. Automatically, she let her eyes stray to the northern horizon, hoping to see Mistress Winter and Winter Sunset winging toward them, though it was so late. She saw nothing except sharp white stars in a black night sky, not even a sliver of moon. She paused, hugging herself against the chill, and took the icon of Kalla into her fingers to whisper a prayer for their safe return.

Across the courtyard the lights of the Hall still glowed in the Headmistress’s office and in the dining hall.

The Domicile was brightly lit, its reading room awaiting the horsemistresses. The Dormitory entryway shone with lamplight, vivid in the darkness. With the icon still in her hand, Lark felt a quiver of anxiety,

but she couldn’t think why. She saw no tall, dark figure with ice-blond hair lurking between the buildings or creeping across the courtyard. Bramble was safe inside the stables, with Herbert keeping watch. Tup was in his stall, with Molly beside him. Still, something was wrong. She didn’t know what, nor did she even know why she knew.

She walked on trembling feet across the cobblestones toward the Hall, trying to convince herself that it was her imagination, that it was exhaustion after the stressful day, and her fear for Bramble, but she couldn’t drive away the feeling that something had happened, some further disaster.

“Zito’s ears,” she muttered, an epithet that had not come to her lips since she left the Uplands. “Will no one tell me what is happening?”

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