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“Only a bit of bruising.” The old man gestured at the straw-strewn paddock. “That be why I kept her on the lead. And I grant ye, I could’ve made a longer affair of this, picked a horse fit for her, tried to get her to tend it as I know yon girl will, an’ the end of that’d be more work for me when she didn’t. So instead, I cut across country, give her what she wanted, and—”

He shrugged. The king laughed ruefully.

She’ll find something to take this out on, Gwen thought sourly. But then the horsemaster turned to see her standing there, and she tried to make her expression pleasant. “Nah, Braith’s girl, let’s find ye a proper horse.”

In the end, it came to two, and the horsemaster couldn’t make up his mind which. One was a mare, one of the cavalry duns; the other was a stallion of the famous gray line, now almost a pure white, that had been both a chariot horse and a mount. After looking them both over for a long time, the horsemaster sighed and threw up his hands. “Naught for it,” he said. “Mun let them choose.”

He put Gwen at one end of the paddock and turned the two horses loose. “Call ’em, Braith’s girl,” he told her, and stood away from her so that they would not react to his presence but to hers.

Now alone in the paddock with them, her mouth went a little dry. They were very big, twice the size of the pony. She swallowed, licked her lips, and made the little chirruping sounds she made to call the pony to her.

They both looked at her, ears and heads up.

“Come!” she urged. “One of you has to teach me, now, so come!”

The stallion snorted; the mare shook her head. Both of them started forward at the same time, but before they were halfway across the paddock, the dun mare shouldered the stallion aside with a snort of her own and laid-back ears. She picked up her feet in a trot that brought her to Gwen while the stallion slunk sheepishly off to one side.

Gwen held out her hand and the mare nuzzled it, then put her head down and butted Gwen in the chest, blowing hay-scented breath into her tunic, surprising a delighted laugh out of her.

The horsemaster brought saddle and bridle but waited while Gwen put them on, only giving her a hand when something was too far for her to reach. “Ye mun find ways t’be doing this on yer own, Braith’s girl,” he told her gravely. “I dun help the boys, I shan’t help ye.”

She nodded. That was reasonable. So taking the hint, once the mare—Adara was her name—was saddled and bridled, on her own she took her over to a stump that had been incorporated into the paddock fence and used that to get herself into the saddle. Once there, she found it not as dissimilar to the pony as she had feared. She was a lot higher off the ground, it was true, but the pony was so fat that his girth wasn’t a great deal smaller than Adara’s. She couldn’t imagine why Little Gwen hadn’t been able to sit the saddle better, unless it was that her youngest sister really hadn’t learned to ride properly. She fitted her feet into the leather stirrups and was relieved that the horsemaster had judged the length right. She was even more pleased when he didn’t clip a lead rope to her bridle.

Since he was waiting expectantly, she chirruped to Adara, tightened her legs in the right places, lifted the reins a trifle, and nudged her a little with her heels. Adara moved out in a walk, circling the paddock, then increased her pace from a faster walk into a trot.

Gwen bounced for a few paces before she found her seat again. Adara’s ears flicked back and forth and she looked over her shoulder with what looked like amusement, and she moved into a canter.

Now this was the fastest she had ever ridden, and it was both thrilling and terrifying. The pony had never gone this fast, not even at a gallop. But the mare had another pace in her, and without Gwen doing anything, she lengthened her stride into a gallop.

The world blurred. All Gwen was conscious of was her own breathlessness, her heart racing, and the horse moving under her. And it was glorious. Like flying.

The mare