chuckling. ‘Don’t argue with her, boy. If it’s information you’re after, you’re a fool not to take the monster at your disposal.’
‘The roads are dangerous,’ Archer said, practically spitting.
‘It’s dangerous here,’ Brocker retorted. ‘Isn’t she safest with your bow to defend her?’
‘She’s safest inside, in a room with the door closed and locked.’
Brocker turned his chair toward the exit. ‘She has precious few friends, Archer. It would be cruel for you to rush off to Roen and leave her behind.’
Fire found that she was holding the kitten close, cradling him against her breast, as if she were shielding him from something. From the way it felt to have her movements, her feelings, even, debated by two prickly men. She had the sudden mad wish that this little green-haired creature in her arms were her own baby, to hold and adore and to deliver her from people who did not understand her. Foolish, she thought to herself furiously. Don’t even think it. What does the world need with another mind-stealing baby?
Lord Brocker grasped Archer’s hand and looked into his eyes, steadying his son, calming him. Then Brocker rolled to the exit and closed the door on their quarrel.
Archer watched Fire, his face uncertain. And Fire sighed, finally forgiving her stubborn friend and the stubborn father who’d adopted him. Their arguments, however they squashed her, were drawn from the wells of two very large hearts.
She dropped the kitten to the floor and stood, taking Archer’s hand as his father had done. Archer looked down at their joined hands soberly. He brought her fingers to his mouth, kissed her knuckles, and made a show of inspecting her hand, as if he’d never seen it before.
‘I’ll pack my things,’ Fire said. ‘Just tell me when we’re leaving.’
She stretched onto her toes to kiss his cheek, but he intercepted her and began to kiss her mouth, gently. She let him, for just a moment. Then she extricated herself and left the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
F IRE’S HORSE WAS named Small, and he was another of Cansrel’s gifts. She had chosen him over all the other horses because his coat was dun and drab and because of the quiet way he’d followed her back and forth, the pasture fence between them, the day she’d gone to one of Cutter’s shows to choose.
The other horses had either ignored her or become jumpy and agitated around her, pushing against each other and snapping. Small had kept on the outside of the bunch of them, where he was safe from their jostling. He’d trotted along beside Fire, stopping when she stopped, blinking at her hopefully; and whenever she’d walked away from the fence he had stood waiting for her until she came back.
‘Small, his name is,’ Cutter had said, ‘because his brain’s the size of a pea. Can’t teach him anything. He’s no beauty, either.’
Cutter was Cansrel’s horse dealer and his favourite monster smuggler. He lived in the western Great Greys and, once a year, carted his merchandise all over the kingdom in large caravans, showing his wares and selling them. Fire did not like him. He was not kind to his animals. And his mouth was wide and loose and his eyes were always settling on her in a way that felt proprietary and disgusting, a way that made her want to curl up into a ball to cover herself.
He was also wrong about Small. Fire knew the look of stupid eyes and the feel of a fatuous mind, in animals and in men, and she had sensed none of this with Small. What she had sensed was the way the gelding trembled and balked whenever Cutter came near, and the way the trembling stopped when Fire touched him, and whispered her greetings. Fire was used to being wanted for her beauty, but she was not used to being needed for her gentleness.
When Cutter and Cansrel had walked away for a moment, Small had strained his neck over the fence and rested his chin on her shoulder. She’d scratched him behind the ears, and he’d made
‘The roads are dangerous,’ Archer said, practically spitting.
‘It’s dangerous here,’ Brocker retorted. ‘Isn’t she safest with your bow to defend her?’
‘She’s safest inside, in a room with the door closed and locked.’
Brocker turned his chair toward the exit. ‘She has precious few friends, Archer. It would be cruel for you to rush off to Roen and leave her behind.’
Fire found that she was holding the kitten close, cradling him against her breast, as if she were shielding him from something. From the way it felt to have her movements, her feelings, even, debated by two prickly men. She had the sudden mad wish that this little green-haired creature in her arms were her own baby, to hold and adore and to deliver her from people who did not understand her. Foolish, she thought to herself furiously. Don’t even think it. What does the world need with another mind-stealing baby?
Lord Brocker grasped Archer’s hand and looked into his eyes, steadying his son, calming him. Then Brocker rolled to the exit and closed the door on their quarrel.
Archer watched Fire, his face uncertain. And Fire sighed, finally forgiving her stubborn friend and the stubborn father who’d adopted him. Their arguments, however they squashed her, were drawn from the wells of two very large hearts.
She dropped the kitten to the floor and stood, taking Archer’s hand as his father had done. Archer looked down at their joined hands soberly. He brought her fingers to his mouth, kissed her knuckles, and made a show of inspecting her hand, as if he’d never seen it before.
‘I’ll pack my things,’ Fire said. ‘Just tell me when we’re leaving.’
She stretched onto her toes to kiss his cheek, but he intercepted her and began to kiss her mouth, gently. She let him, for just a moment. Then she extricated herself and left the room.
CHAPTER FOUR
F IRE’S HORSE WAS named Small, and he was another of Cansrel’s gifts. She had chosen him over all the other horses because his coat was dun and drab and because of the quiet way he’d followed her back and forth, the pasture fence between them, the day she’d gone to one of Cutter’s shows to choose.
The other horses had either ignored her or become jumpy and agitated around her, pushing against each other and snapping. Small had kept on the outside of the bunch of them, where he was safe from their jostling. He’d trotted along beside Fire, stopping when she stopped, blinking at her hopefully; and whenever she’d walked away from the fence he had stood waiting for her until she came back.
‘Small, his name is,’ Cutter had said, ‘because his brain’s the size of a pea. Can’t teach him anything. He’s no beauty, either.’
Cutter was Cansrel’s horse dealer and his favourite monster smuggler. He lived in the western Great Greys and, once a year, carted his merchandise all over the kingdom in large caravans, showing his wares and selling them. Fire did not like him. He was not kind to his animals. And his mouth was wide and loose and his eyes were always settling on her in a way that felt proprietary and disgusting, a way that made her want to curl up into a ball to cover herself.
He was also wrong about Small. Fire knew the look of stupid eyes and the feel of a fatuous mind, in animals and in men, and she had sensed none of this with Small. What she had sensed was the way the gelding trembled and balked whenever Cutter came near, and the way the trembling stopped when Fire touched him, and whispered her greetings. Fire was used to being wanted for her beauty, but she was not used to being needed for her gentleness.
When Cutter and Cansrel had walked away for a moment, Small had strained his neck over the fence and rested his chin on her shoulder. She’d scratched him behind the ears, and he’d made
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