“Far beyond the horizon,” he said. “Too many places to recount.” He fell silent again, back to brooding.
They entered a poorer section of the lower city. Wellwishers still stopped along the street to wave, but they were fewer, shabbier. Others skulked in doorways or shadowed closes glowering at the king’s party as it passed. The Weapons were always alert, but Estora sensed just the slightest change in their posture.
“Hey, where’s my falcon, King?” some man in stained clothes called out. Zachary shook his head when the guards started to move toward the man. Another king would have had him jailed and beaten for insolence. An old woman spat in the path of the king’s party. She was merely escorted out of the street by the guards.
“The lower city should be swept clean of this filth,” Richmont muttered.
“What would you have done with them?” Zachary asked. His tone was deceptively mild.
“Force them out of the city. Force them to work.”
“Most of them did not ask for poverty,” Zachary said, as though to himself. Estora, who rode right next to him heard, but she did not think anyone else had, certainly not Richmont who was muttering and complaining to her father. Richmont, whom she’d never been fond of, had gotten only more boorish since the betrothal. He had already declared his intent to stay in her service after the wedding. She would have to talk to her father about finding him something else to do.
The Winding Way curved past an inn with a disreputable air about it. The stench of old ale flowed to her all the way out into the street. Her father was pushing his horse up next to hers and appeared intent to speak to her, but something whined through the air and cut him off, and suddenly he was not there. His horse was, but he was not.
“Father?”
Cries shattered the air and everyone around her whirled into motion.
“Father?” she cried, turning in her saddle, but she could not see him. The Weapons were reigning their mounts around to surround her and Zachary.
Zachary slammed his horse into hers and the force almost knocked her from the saddle.
“What is—”
Even as the Weapons surged toward Zachary, he stood in his stirrups, blocking her. She couldn’t see what was happening. But she heard that whine again, and this time, the thud of impact.
Galen’s body shuddered when he loosed the first arrow, and he swore when it flew off course into some old courtier who had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had only moments before the Weapons threw themselves in front of his intended target, but as if he were still the great archer in his prime under the pressure of battle, he’d already nocked the second arrow. He must hold steady this time. He must not miss.
Faster than the Weapons could move, he drew the bowstring with an inhalation and marked his prey. Unbelievably the king rose in his stirrups to shield the lady beside him, rising above those who would protect him, as if to present a target Galen could not miss. He exhaled, loosed the arrow.
He watched it soar on its deadly path, his hopes, his vengeance, all riding on the air currents that stroked the shaft and fletching, the fletching he’d plucked from a goose himself and painstakingly glued to the shaft. He watched the arrow singing its way to the very end, its impact home. His tremors had not betrayed him, his aim proved true.
It had all come full circle, all his planning and waiting. He could rest now. Joyful and exhausted, with success and vengeance his, he could now join his wife and son in the heavens. He sank to the attic floor and whispered a short prayer, then drew the vial of poison to his lips.
CONSEQUENCES
Laren watched the scene with some amusement. The rest of the Riders had finished their lesson and were now cooling their mounts at a walk around the outdoor arena. Ben, meanwhile, hadn’t even gotten in the saddle, as usual. He faced Robin, and Robin was doing his scary horse act by staring right back and flicking his tail, more like a cat than a horse.
Elgin leaned against the fence beside her. “Don’t know what we’re going to do with that one.”
“Ben or Robin?” she asked.
Elgin grunted a laugh. “Either one of them. Ben’s got himself worked up before he ever gets out here for training, and that Robin, he’s too smart for his own good.”
“He is that,” Laren agreed, “but no one else has had this degree of trouble with him.”
“I’ll warrant none of your other Riders were ever afraid of horses.” Elgin stroked his chin. “Have you tried a pony with Ben?”
“A pony? They can be pretty mean-tempered.”
“I know,” Elgin replied. “They’re clever little beasts, but Ben probably doesn’t know that, and if it’s the size of horses that might be bothering him, then a pony might be the answer. An old, sleepy pony might be less cantankerous.”
“Hmm.” If size were the issue, it was worth considering. Off in the center of the arena, Horsemaster Riggs followed their gazes and shrugged.
“Riggs has tried everything else,” Elgin said. “She’s at her wit’s end.”
“Then we’ll find a pony. A nice, shaggy little mountain pony, sturdy enough to carry a man, and elderly enough not to care.” Laren turned her gaze to the other Riders sitting with relaxed postures upon their horses as they cooled. “Everyone else looks as though they’re coming along fine.”
“That they are. Riggs says she’s going to raise the jumps next lesson.”