Page 110 of Seducing the Sorcerer
Fenn moved in, murmuring in a low voice so as not to startle the poor creature. The pony gave him a tired glance, too exhausted to be curious, and lowered his head. Fenn ran his hand down the flaccid neck and began checking the legs. Both front hooves were cracked, as Morgrim had said, but not too bad. The animal’s overall condition was far more concerning.
Morgrim was leaning against the stall door. “His name’s Minnow. He’s from Padalla Bay. Carried seaweed all his life. The old woman who owned him died recently and he’s been standing in a yard the last couple of weeks. They didn’t mean to forget about him. Everyone thought someone else was taking him to the knackers.”
“Ah.” Fenn was examining the pony’s teeth. Worn, but sound. “Poor little bastard.”
“Yes. He’s had a hard life.”
“Mm.”
The pony had a strange lump above one eye, but it didn’t seem sore or infected. Maybe just some old injury. He let Fenn poke and prod it without even a shake of the head. Patient. Uncomplaining.
Fenn glanced down. There was a bucket of water and few fragrant wisps of meadow hay remaining in the hay net. “You fed him, then?”
“Mr. Anjula saw to it, as a favour. He put something on those sores too, I think.”
The animal wasn’t in any pain. It had been fed and watered and given a bit of doctoring. It was a tad cold in here though, for an animal so thin. Fenn would find a rug next, quick smart.
But first there was something else needed doing. Because there was a quivery feeling in Fenn’s chest and a prickling behind his eyes. It was plain who the pony was really for. Fenn faced Morgrim over its curved white spine.
“This pony’s for me, ain’t he?”
“Certainly not. He’s mine. And I shall never sell him or give him away. But I suppose you might help me look after him?”
“Ah, go on with you. I know why you got him.”
“Fenn, I can’t give you Philo back. Or any of your lost horses. But there are plenty of others who need someone. I thought maybe Minnow could be the first? There’s room on the mustering ground for a hundred horses. It’s not as if the worple herd eats grass.”
Fenn wiped his eyes on the pony’s scraggy mane. “Bloody hell.”
“Does that mean, ‘what a brilliant scheme, Morgrim. You are marvellous, sometimes’?”
Fenn gave a short laugh and blew his nose on his handkerchief. He left off the pony and took Morgrim in his arms.
“No one ever did anything like this for me,” Fenn managed. “Never.”
“To be fair, not everyone has a magical floating pasture at their disposal. So perhaps it’s not their fault?”
“Aye. You’re still the sweetest bloke I ever met.”
“Me? Oh dear. I’m almost sorry for you.”
“No, you are. Thank you, petal. It’s a prime idea. And you are marvellous, aye.”
Morgrim made a noise suspiciously like a purr. “Thank you. I know.”
“Got a lifetime of your schemes to look forward to, don’t I?”
“Cunning schemes are what court sorcerers are for. Didn’t you know?”
“Aye, reckon I did.”
Fenn kissed him, with the scent of horse all around, and with such love and hope in his heart that he felt he could fly up to play in the clouds, as ridiculous and as joyful as a half-sized, grizzled worple horse.
***
That evening, as dessert was being served in the palace, a pink silk worple horse with two riders was seen to alight briefly on the top of the Unket Tower and then to launch itself into the cloud below.
Fenn fair belted out of the dining room, through the palace, along the stone bridge and into the tower courtyard. Jasper was waiting under the loggia with the horse and a girl of about nine who was the spit of him only much shorter and very pale, as if she’d been kept a great deal indoors.
