The Book of Forbidden Wisdom by Gillian Murray Kendall Page A

suspicions would crystallize. The disappearance of Silky would make him believe what would otherwise be inconceivable: I had run.
    And then, as we watched, a river of torches flowed out of the house.
    â€œLet’s go,” said Trey urgently. “We have to keep moving.”
    I was suddenly afraid that he had no real plan, but then, beautiful and fully formed, an idea came to me.
    â€œOur chance is the river,” I said. “If we walk the horses through the shallows, they may lose our trail. As it is, we might as well have left ‘we went this way’ signs.”
    â€œWe stayed on the grass,” said Silky.
    â€œWe squashed the grass,” I said. “They’ll make out the prints in the dew easily enough. We go to the river.”
    â€œThat’s what I had in mind,” said Trey shortly.
    Trey urged Bran to a gallop. I stared up at the house one more time, mesmerized. Light was everywhere. Now I could see men holding torches and trying to mount their horses in the front courtyard. Fire and horses didn’t mix, and the mounts were wheeling around in protest and skittering away from the flames. I hoped such stupidity would buy us enough time to reach the river.
    And then a winding silver ribbon was in front of us, and Jasmine went crashing into the slow-­moving water.
    â€œDownstream,” I said. “In case the horses have to swim for it. The current will carry us.”
    Silky’s Squab had followed Jasmine and now stood fetlock deep in the river shallows. But Bran—­Bran, a bold horse—­ had stopped at the edge.
    Trey groaned. “He only likes water he can jump over—­puddles, streams—­and this does not qualify.”
    â€œNow might be a good time to show off your horsemanship,” I said.
    â€œMy horsemanship is just fine.”
    Trey urged Bran forward—­finally, reluctantly, using his switch on the sensitive horse. But Bran only backed up; he would not enter the water.
    â€œHurry, Trey,” I said.
    â€œI am hurrying,” he said. I looked over my shoulder. Not so very far away, I could see lights bobbing through the trees.
    I swallowed hard. “You’d better leave Bran and take the packhorse,” I said.
    â€œBran’s faster and fitter,” said Trey.
    â€œIt won’t make any difference if you can’t get him into the river,” I snapped.
    The dark water swirled around the horses’ legs. The moon shone down on us, and it occurred to me that, as in the old bardsong about the lovers and the coming storm, the moon didn’t care.
    And I thought ahead to the humiliations and death that probably awaited me. If word got out that I had fled with a man, there would no marriage, ‘Lidan or otherwise. I would be stripped to my petticoat, and, if Kalo went for the full extent of the law, I would be tied to a stake to be either stoned or burned. Kalo’s choice. And my father’s, of course—­technically—­but I was under no illusions about who was making all the decisions now.
    I wondered, too, if Leth would want to come after me. It was one thing for him to back out of our contract, it was another for me to run away from him .
    Trey hit Bran on the flank as hard as he could with his fist. Bran half-­reared but would go no further into the water.
    Then I had an idea.
    It’s not hard to lead a horse. One can lead a horse places it would never take a rider.
    In a moment I was off Jasmine’s back and sloshing in the water toward Trey and Bran.
    â€œThis is cold, and this is wet,” I said to no one in particular. Then I had Bran by the reins.
    He followed me meekly into the water.
    â€œLooks like you’re doing some rescuing yourself,” said Trey.
    I remounted Jasmine, and we moved deeper into the river, but we were still in the shallows. In the moonlight, I could easily see the swath we had cut on land—­it reached to the river’s edge