Wind howled in sharp gusts that raked grass from its earthen moorings. Modran shivered behind him on Nightfire’s saddle. She’d complained the whole way through and out of Fremr. Dawn had barely begun to light the sky with fingers of gray.

“Still can’t believe nobody saw us off.” Modran muttered under her breath. “We finally get to make something of ourselves, wear these ribbons with pride and they don’t care?”

“They’re probably just scared.” He shrugged, his eyes dropped to the unimaginatively brown ribbon wound around his upper arm. Why did all of the Titles of Horse have to have brown as its color? Although he supposed Modran had to wear a black ribbon. She’d decided to twine hers in her braid.

Every time Modran moved behind him a stone dropped into his stomach. What if she touched Nightfire? She had some control, but those weren’t the moments that frightened him. That and the sword she’d somehow gotten kept prodding his side, the hilt dug and dragged into his hip.

It was when she didn’t think and all that remained was a cloud of dust. Like now, with her constant litany of everything that went wrong or will.

Pain stabbed at his hands. He loosened his grip on the reins with a sigh. He tried to center himself with Sevra’s meditation. In, hold, exhale.

Horror of plants and animals, most recently those piglets, crumbling into ash. Within moments, and it’s not enough, and here she was riding on Nightfire. In, hold, exhale. Theo wondered if their mother died the same way, but he doubted it. Their family might be decent enough, but they’d have both been mistaken as wasteborn and had their necks wringed out and been thrown in a fire immediately after if their mother had turned into dust.

In, hold, exhale. Something trembled in the center of his skull down to the peak of his spine. Glimmers of red light sparkled in his mind’s eye like morning dew.

Blue, the family’s dog, has also been reduced to nothing but dust by her. He’d been a perfect work dog, but still a pet. He’d had a long life, his fur marbled with white and gray. They’d play fetch with him with a stick or a scrap of old leather. He loved to be scratched behind the ears and to climb into people’s laps out on the porch.

Modran’s lap had been the wrong one. And now she was in Nightfire’s saddle.

“Slow down! Aleyr damn you!” Modran arms tightened around him and he blinked away unshed tears, realizing that Nightfire had flown into a blinding gallop at the squeeze of his knees. He relaxed and muttered an apology. “What’s the matter with you? Are you that eager to race?”

“The sooner we get there the better,” Theo sighed. Muscles taut, he forgot to let his body flow with Nightfire’s movements, and kept biting his cheek each time he gripped his reins too tight.

“Why? You don’t want to enjoy the sunrise over the empty roads?”

Theo frowned as he turned to look at the road shadowed by trees and early dawn. Why were the roads empty? The festivals were timed the closer you were to Aethel, the later you started, and the farther away the earlier. He shouldn’t have been able to set them into a gallop at all quite yet.

Heartbeats seemed to echo all around him.

Theo eased Nightfire’s reins so they slowed to a stop. Was this a part of his talent or paranoia?

Did it matter? He had to be careful regardless. The races cost lives as often as not.

“Theo? Why are you acting so odd?”

He snarled silently as he reached for his bow and tore it from the carefully knotted ties so it came free in one smooth motion. He nocked an arrow, but didn’t draw. There was still a chance he was wrong.

“Can you sense life?” He asked coldly, his eyes flitted from shadow to shadow in the suddenly ominous woods that had once been his home and retreat. Until he’d been ambushed. He would not let that happen to him, again, or to his sister.

“... Yes.” Modran admitted in a strained whisper.

“Do it.” The heartbeats seemed to thud closer, he tightened his focus on the very center of his mind and that faint babbling resonance he’d discovered last night. It grew louder as he felt Nightfire’s breath puff from her lungs in powerful bursts, the lightning shooting through strands and filaments throughout her body right before her muscles flexed, then relaxed.

“I’ll get down.” Modran murmured as she dropped from the saddle in an unsteady wobble, nearly falling to her knees and knocking her head into the stamped dirt. Theo sawed on the reins to pull Nightfire around as he raised his bow right where the road curved.

For some reason while he could feel Nightfire beneath him and even the barest of sparks coming from many things in the woods… he couldn’t feel breath or heartbeat from Modran at all.

“Well?” Theo asked his sister who had her head cocked to the side and her arms crossed over her chest. She’d eased the sword from the simple scabbard of leather and cloth she’d stitched together last night. Its blade had to be two feet long with a glittering sharp edge even in the early light. Gold gilding coated the hilt in a fine filigree.

He’d have to press her again where she got it, later. No matter what she said it was too fine of a Pageship Gift.

“I sense… I sense six people on horseback. Five horses.” She nodded with far more assurance than he’d expected. Had she been practicing with her talent while they hadn’t known?

Dad had forbidden her from it.

“Do they mean us harm?” He hunched down in the saddle, yesterday’s blows far from forgotten.

“How would I know?” Modran snapped at him with a fierce glare that would’ve shriveled him if he wasn’t already expecting to be rode down by six bandits. Rissa and Elora had made it sound like there had been a whole band.

Perhaps they’d been tricking Isidora, an obvious mark, dolled up in lace and cotton riding on top of a prime stock racing horse.

Muffled hoofbeats became audible, a distant echo fast approaching back the way they had come from.

Theo braced himself, but lowered his arm as he thought. That pulsating rhythm inside of him sang in time with his own heart until if suffused every pore of his skin, every minute hair. He was only dimly aware of Modran glancing at him in surprise for a moment before it was too late.

Two familiar women on a single horse rode with a spear and axe in hand. Snatches of conversation drifted on the wind. Had they reneged on whatever pact they held with Isidora?

Hesitation could kill. Modran might survive, but he wouldn’t let anyone discover what she could do. Nor would he leave her alone in the Chalice.

Fletching tickled his cheek as he drew his bow in a mighty pull and loosed.

Screams shattered the stillness and Theo dropped his bow, fingers numbed with a chill.

“Aleyr, Treassi and Muna! Theodran!” Modran shouted at him, but he only dimly noticed over the sight of his arrow lodged into a wine red barrier of light right in front of Isidora, who was in the middle of the two former bandits.

“You almost shot my daughter.” Tyren frowned as he squeezed his fist and the floating barrier tightened until it pulverized the arrow into dust. He kicked his horse to a roaring gallop straight towards Theo. Steel glinted as he drew a sword from a sheath tied to his saddle and brandished it to draw Theo’s blood.

Nightfire pranced back nervously as they approached. Theo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the flutters of sawdust on the wind. He had almost shot Alanna’s sister.

“Father! Stop!” Alanna spurred Fleet forward and halted him with her own bared blade. She glanced at him searchingly, eyes pleading but he had no answers to give. She turned back to Tyren whose face was violet, veins bulged from brow to cheek. His left eye twitched. Barriers of amber light flashed around Theo and Nightfire to cordon him off. He shivered at the casual display of a talent enforced skill being used to trap him so effortlessly.

Theo dismissed Tyren and his rage to look at Isidora who was being comforted by Isidora’s bandits as well as Sevra. Theo tightened his grip on the reins as he struggled with the weight of what would’ve happened if Tyren’s barrier hadn’t stopped his arrow… but if they truly were bandits then Theo would’ve had the upper hand. Otherwise, Modran and him would’ve been in danger.

Especially on a horse like Nightfire. She wasn’t an endurance horse meant to sprint at high speeds for that long, especially with a second rider and extra packs full of rations and supplies.

“You don’t get to fucking look at her! Tyren pointed his sword right at Theo’s heart. “I’ll flay your skin inch by inch to hang you with. You think you can offer a weak proposal to my daughter if you win then try to take my other daughter out of the running? I’ll fucking—”

“Nice sword, Tyren.” Modran interrupted as she stepped forward, she held the one she’d mysteriously gotten as a gift up. “I think one sword was enough though. I don’t need another offering, do you, Theo?”

Nightfire, Fleet and Tyren’s horse all shied away from Modran as she stood between Tyren, Alanna and Theo.

“You!”

“Really? All of you, calm the fuck down now!” Sevra screamed as she held Silverwind’s reins and her own horse’s in one solid grip. “She’s fine. You protected her, now, explain yourself,Theo.”

Everyone’s eyes bored into Theo’s with a raw intensity. He leaned back and looked away, his mouth flapped from open to closed. What could he say to make this right?

The truth would sound like a shallow excuse, but it was all he had. Sorry, I thought we were about to be ambushed by bandits! Oops!

He’d drawn and loosed his arrow knowing it could take a human life, what did it matter that he thought a bandit was his target?

“Well?” Tyren growled, driving his horse closer to Theo’s, but Modran stepped forward and Tyren was nearly thrown by his mount in its haste to escape her. The amber dome of light narrowed slightly until Theo heard the buzz of its power and prayed to Aleyr that it didn’t crush him and Nightfire into a pulp.

“I… I… Ahem,” he cleared his throat and closed his eyes, but that shot had been ingrained, no, seared into his memory. He saw it even in the darkness of his eyes. “After all of the news of the bandits,” he eyed Isidora’s bandits, who were sobbing with their hands still pressed against their shaking heads for some reason, “I feared an attack. What better targets than two ribbon-wearers?”

“Oh? That’s it? You’re going to cry bandits?” Tyren growled with his finger pointed straight for him. “You think spinning a story like that will save you? You grew weary of watching your betters have more chips than you would ever hold. So you decided to take up arms and steal it from us.”

“What? No! That’s not what happened!” Theo held his hands out pleadingly, even though irritation was beginning to curdle his desire for forgiveness. “Look, I just want to make amends. Isidora… What will it take to set this right?”

“Nothing will. You shot me. Only a day after I offered you peace and favor… and you not only proclaim yourself my competitor, but you decide to remove me from the race all together?”

“That’s not what happened!” He snapped. “I will do what I must to make this right, even if I’m not in the wrong. Bandits are an issue. I should have waited a second longer, maybe, but I didn’t want to risk it. It isn’t as if Modran and I have skills yet! Nearly every bandit will have at least one.”

“Fine. Give me your ribbon.” Isidora’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but her voice was coolly even.

“I can’t do that.” Theo winced. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“You could die.” Tyren spat.

“Tyren, that isn’t helping.” Sevra butted in with a glare at her husband. Were they married? Theo realized he’d never really heard one way or another, but they had to be, right? Not the time Theo. Not the time.

“Duel him,” Alanna suggested with a shrug. Her face brooked no expression, and her voice was smooth as if she’d suggested someone bought a spool of thread. “When two parties have a grievance they settle it with a duel. First or second blood should be enough.”

“Daughter, I’ll gladly stand for you. How about this dogbreathed fiend’s head for an offering? I’ve just realized you haven’t gotten one from me yet.”

“You all realize they’ll race each other right? Isn’t that a duel enough?” Modran interrupted, her head craned back to glance at each of them with a raised brow.

“I’ll already win. Why would beating him then change anything now?” Isidora shrugged. “Give me your ribbon. Every chip in your purse, that horse of yours, then break your bow and arrows over your knee.”

“Nightfire is not mine to give.” Theo narrowed his eyes at her. “You can have everything but my ribbon and my dad’s horse.”

“Did I ask for only those? No. Give them all to me.” Isidora’s eyes seemed to sparkle. Guilt needled him even worse than before. By Aleyr, he should bow his head and let them do whatever they wanted to him.

“Fi—”

“Don’t.” Modran snapped at him. “It was an accident. You were right to think of bandits. It’s unfortunate this happened, but it is what it is. Give them something you actually owe them.”

“Like what? What will balance these scales oh tradePage-elect? What do you propose?” Tyren asked scathingly, then glared at Theo with a smile. “Maybe you could vow to never marry either of my daughters?”

“Father!” Alanna shouted as she blushed a little then sighed, “That’s none of your business first of all, and secondly, he legally can’t make another vow that nullifies his Pageship vow. You know that.”

“Let her stab him back.” Modran held her palms up and the horses nickered shyly in response. “And even that isn’t fair, considering she wasn’t even hit. But, we need to move.”

“Hm.” Tyren grunted then turned to Isidora. “It’s your choice, but I suggest you stab him and we move on. You’ll beat him in the Pageship Races, anyway, so he won’t matter past that point.”

Theo gaped at Modran. She suggested they stab him! Whose side was she on?

Isidora nudged her horse forward, past Sevra and her bandits, past Tyren and Alanna, even past Modran where she stood her ground, until Isidora had her nose nearly touching the fizzing barrier of amber light.

“If you lose the race, Theodran, then I will have everything. You will leave your family behind. You will leave Fremr without a chip to your name. And I will have you swear an oath to never again hold a bow again. On top of that, you will provide me a horse as fine as the one you disgrace by sitting in her saddle.

“Are we clear?”

“I…” Theo started to protest, but Modran nodded her head slightly at him from the corner of his vision. “Yes. Agreed.”

Tyren dismissed the amber barrier with a firm glare even as he leaned in forward to watch. Alanna paled as she turned away.

“Excellent. Give me one of those arrows.” She held her hand out impatiently.

He placed the arrow in her hand, but his hand shook so much he nearly gouged her with the tip. Wouldn’t that have been ironic?

“Do you favor your right or left hand?”

“Left,” he whispered and shut his eyes with a shiver.

“Keep them open!” Isidora barked as she slapped him. He reeled away from the stinging blow. “You will watch. I didn’t get to close my eyes before I was shot. If it weren’t for my father, who knows where you would’ve wounded me? Where were you aiming roughly?”

Theo paled. “The shoulder or the throat, I thought it was a bandit since—”

“Quiet. I believe the proper form is to say, ‘Yes, Mistress.’” Isidora smirked as she drew her hand back until the arrowhead broke the dawnlight in shining arcs. “After all, you’re mine now unless you win.”

The arrow plunged down into his thigh with a loud crack as the shaft broke in her hand Agony speared through him, tears burned as he curled protectively over the wound.

“Your arrow snapped and it cut me.” Isidora waved her now bleeding hand in front of his unseeing eyes. His vision strobed with streaks of nauseating black, red stars danced and rained. “Bandage it.”

Theo dry heaved as the world swayed. Strangely, he felt that pulsing rhythm deep in his mind double to match his breakneck heartbeat. It was all that held him together as his vision slowly knit itself back together.

He reached for some loose rags from his satchel, but Isidora swatted his hand.

“Tear your shirt.”

“Yes, Mistress.”