Page 5 of Silverbow
“Gods help the poor man,” he sighed as he retreated down the hall to his rooms.
“Indeed,” Enya muttered, but most men didn’t keep faith with the gods. They hadn’t been worshiped in Estryia in earnest in over a thousand years. No, no gods would help whatever poor soul tried to shackle himself to her.
She popped another chocolate into her mouth and watched the flames flicker as she pondered those gods, the abhorrent construct that was marriage, and even more ghastly, the king’s decree that left only male heirs eligible for inheritance.
Enya didn’t care much for the politics of kings and lords, but as much as men grumbled about the slow decline of the Trakbattens, she supposed that was one thing the queens who reigned before Pallas Davolier had done right. Perhaps that was why he’d dispensed with equal inheritance so quickly. Mistress Alys sometimes whispered that men were the greatest plight on Estryia when she didn’t think anyone was listening, but Enya had heard it, and supposed the woman was old enough to remember life under the queens.
She didn’t have long to ponder the fall of that ancient line before she heard Liam’s boots climb the porch steps. A moment later, he dropped into the chair herfather had vacated and started helping himself to the abandoned tray. She watched over her teacup as he spread a thick layer of jam on a slice of bread and folded the entire thing into his mouth in one go.
“Men,” she scoffed.
“Your gift?” He asked around a mouthful, jerking his chin at the quiver. “Nice.”
“Chocolate?” She asked as if she didn’t already know.
Her father was nothing if not reliable, and he always brought them each a bag from the confectioner in Bridgewater, or wherever it was he ventured off to. Liam’s bag only grew heavier once the man realized he was doling his chocolates out to the stable boys in his charge.
“Stones?” He asked.
She nodded and he began placing his game pieces on the board.
two
Enya
Aweek passed before Lord Penrose and his son Aric inexplicably came riding into the yard at Ryerson House on a bright, chilly morning. The birds had returned to Greenridge Forest, trilling their spring songs, but Enya could still see her breath in the stable.
She peered out at the fair haired youth, but she couldn’t overhear what was transpiring between the two lords. She knew it was to be nothing good even before her father called, “Enya, saddle Arawelo!”
“She’s already saddled,” she grumbled, pulling the mare along behind her.
After Liam, Arawelo was Enya’s closest friend. She had helped deliver the filly on a morning like this six years ago. From the moment she hit the ground with a fire that matched her flaming mane and tail, Enya had claimed her as her own.
Arawelo remained the biggest foal ever born at Ryerson House, and in the intervening years, she only kept getting bigger. With the deep chest and strong hip of a war horse, and the towering height of Estryia’s finest racing stock, she was nearly flawless, even if she did hold her ears back in an expression of irritation most of the time. Most of the time, Enya knew it was more theatrics than bite.Most of the time.
“What happy chance,” her father mused, a smile crinkling the corners of his dark eyes. “That Lord Penrose and Aric should catch us just before we departed.”
“Happy chance indeed.” She shot a look at her father who busied himself with checking his girth instead of meeting her gaze. Liam had saddled Farrah, and Enya knew the girth did not need checking.
Bloody men.
The portly lord and his son inclined their heads in greeting.
“Do you need a leg up, my lady?” Aric asked.
It was a foolish thing to ask the so-called horse lord’s daughter and Enya shot him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Arawelo towered over her, but she leapt into her saddle with ease. The young lordling was wise enough busy himself with his own reins as she took up hers.
Her father led the party to the small gate in the northern wall behind the farmhouse. The trees of Greenridge were just beginning to unfurl their leaves overhead as tender new shoots pushed up beneath their horses’ hooves. The tangle of streams and ponds that ran underfoot were high with the spring rains that would turn the surrounding land lush and verdant in the coming weeks.
Her father and Lord Penrose rode on a bit ahead, no doubt attempting to encourage conversation between their offspring. Enya ground her teeth as she stared daggers at her father’s back.
“It’s a fine spring we’re having so far, wouldn’t you say, Miss Ryerson?” Aric asked.
She shot him a sidelong look. He was handsome enough, she supposed, but she still hadn’t forgiven him for crying to his mother all those years ago when she’d routed him with a wooden play sword at Penrose House. Perhaps she ought to consider that a blessing. That had mostly ended their visits to the other lords and ladies of Westforks. Her father feared someone might take offense to a little girl walloping their boys. But there was something about Aric’s face that looked a bit broody, and she decided she would maintain her grudge.
“Indeed,” was all she said.
“How many foals are you expecting in the stable?” He asked.
