“No, pull the animal’s head down. Farther. Will it bite you?”
Florian heaved a sigh. Anthea echoed it.
“He won’t bite,” Anthea said, trying for patience as she shortened the reins again so that Florian’s head was hanging right over her shoulder. “He’s not a wild dog.”
“Oh. All right.”
Watson ducked under the black cloth that hung from the square box of his camera. Anthea held as still as she could, sending thoughts of calmness and steadiness to Florian as she did. He didn’t need them: he was intrigued by the idea of the camera and eager to have his picture taken.
“Now his head is covering too much of your, um, coat,” Watson said.
Anthea sighed again. Jilly had tried to get Anthea to wear her tailored and embroidered coat, but Anthea had refused. She had always thought that photographs were strange. People dressed up in clothes that they would never normally wear, their hair in stiff styles that forced them to hold their heads at unnatural angles. Watson was here to take pictures of the Horse Brigade for the historical record. Not a fairy tale, but a real accounting of them, and so Anthea wanted to look like herself.
She wore her best trousers, and had her boots polished to a shine. Jilly had retaliated by pinning the back of Anthea’s coat so that it was more fitted and fell open to show that Anthea wore one of her favorite middy blouses underneath, of which Jilly actually approved.
“I don’t recognize you without your sailor suits,” she had joked as she did Anthea’s hair.
Anthea’s hair was the other thing they both agreed on. Jilly had carefully twisted Anthea’s long wavy tresses into curls and then pomaded them so that they would stay, then she pulled them to the side and tied them with a red ribbon under Anthea’s right ear. Anthea wore the silver rose earrings that the queen had given her for her birthday last month, and pinned the silver rose pendant her aunt Deirdre (a former Rose Maiden to the queen) had given her next to the silver horseshoe charm from her late father on the lapel of her coat.
Of course the red ribbon wouldn’t show up in the black-and-white picture, and now Florian’s head was covering her jewelry. The photographer had him standing straight on, with his head hanging over her shoulder and her hand gripping the reins.
“No, no, no,” Finn said, coming out of his tent and seeing what was happening. “That’s terrible. You can’t see Florian or Thea, so what’s the point?”
“Are you a photographer?” Watson snapped.
“No, but I have eyes,” Finn retorted.
Florian snorted. Anthea snickered in her throat, still trying not to move.
“Here,” Finn said.
He took the reins from Anthea and moved Florian around so that the horse was standing behind Anthea, her against the saddle. Finn put the reins back in Anthea’s right hand, and gently moved Florian so that his neck was curved around and his head was next to Anthea’s shoulder but not hanging over it. Finn then arranged Anthea’s hair, to her embarrassment, turning the curls so that they hung nicely and adjusting the ribbon so that the bow was straight.
Finn was standing very close to her to do it. She could feel his breath stirring the tendrils of escaped hair on her forehead. He smiled down at her and then cleared his throat.
“You should let Jilly fix your coat permanently,” he said in a low voice.
“I—I can’t get it buttoned like this,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks burn.
“Oh,” Finn said.
Anthea glanced up and saw that now Finn was blushing, too. He stepped aside.
“There, try that,” he said to Watson. “Now you can actually see both of them.”
“I’ll have to move the camera back,” Watson said.
“Then do it,” Finn said shortly.
Fussing and muttering, Watson moved his tripod back a few inches and then disappeared under the cloth. Anthea and Florian both sighed but didn’t move until he replaced the cap.
“All right,” Watson said. “Who’s next?”
Anthea started to lead Florian away.
“Wait,” Finn said. “Let me bring out some of the others and we can all have a picture together. Keth is ready, and hopefully Jilly is done beautifying herself. Let’s have a picture of the four of us,” Finn said.
“I will never be done, because I am worth waiting for,” Jilly announced, coming out of the tent she shared with Anthea.
Watson wasn’t the only one gaping.
She had smoothed and shined her light brown curls so that they made a halo around her face. She had pinned her own rose (a gift from the queen) and a horseshoe charm from Uncle Andrew to her lapel, along with an emerald brooch that was so large it looked fake (though knowing Jilly, it was likely very real). She was wearing a tightly fitted silk blouse and a blue-and-pink-paisley ascot, riding breeches that looked painted on, and boots so glossy you could see your reflection in them.
As usual, Anthea instantly felt grubby and younger than her years. Jilly, eyes twinkling, pulled a ruby brooch out of her pocket, pinned it to Anthea’s lapel, and grinned at her. Then she reached into her other pocket and pulled out Arthur, setting him on Anthea’s right shoulder so that he wouldn’t hide in her hair.
“You look gorgeous,” Jilly said. “Are you sure you won’t let me fix your coat like this permanently?”
“Finn asked the same thing,” Anthea whispered.
“Did he, now?” Jilly waggled her eyebrows, and Anthea found herself blushing again. “I’m going to get Caesar and Buttercup, because it’s only fair. Do you want me to bring Bluebell and Leonidas, too?”
“Let’s see how many horses we can get in the picture,” Keth said with a laugh. His laugh turned into a cough. “Woof! Excuse me,” he said.
Keth was the fourth of the young people, a half-Leanan, half-Kadiji boy whose mother was the brigade’s beloved Nurse Shannon. He had come back from a courier mission to Travertine just in time to join the photography session.
“And how was the big mission, by the way?” Anthea asked as they waited for Finn to arrange the horses, while Watson paced back and forth, wringing his hands.
“Boring,” Keth said.
“I’m sorry, did you just spend the last month standing in some mist and looking at nothing?” Anthea demanded.
“Well, no,” Keth laughed. “But I did spend it sitting around an army barracks, having people whisper about me, and occasionally passing on messages. Not even important messages, you know, but random words and things.”
“I know,” Anthea sighed. “All the messages were coded that way.”
“And I never thought I’d say this,” Keth said, “but passing messages through the Way was boring!”
Sometimes they were close enough to send the message directly through the Way, sometimes they had to ride closer to reach. It depended on the rider, and the horse, and the strength of their bond. And while being close enough to pass a message through the Way made Anthea feel proud, she also had to admit that just standing there thinking “teapot caterpillar dragon florist” was not half as exciting as galloping down the highway to deliver the message in person.
“I know,” she sighed again.
“So boring,” Keth agreed.
He stroked Gaius Julius’s nose and stepped in close to Anthea. Finn brought Anthea’s two other charges: Leonidas and the gray mare Bluebell. Anthea had Florian hanging over her right shoulder, so Arthur flapped up to sit between his ears, wrapping his claws around the headstall of Florian’s bridle.
Beyond Keth, Jilly was fussing around rearranging Caesar and her mare, Buttercup, and wondering aloud if they should have put flowers or ribbons in the mares’ manes to show that they were female.
“I want to sleep,” Keth said. “Please can we do this so that I can go sleep?”
“Not yet,” Andrew said, coming out of his tent. He looked at the arrangement and then, to Watson’s evident annoyance, he said, “Good, good, perfect.
“Then we will see how many of the men we can fit into a picture. We need plenty of photographs, and always with at least one horse in them.”
“The Crown ordered me to take a few photographs—” Watson began.
“The letter you gave me said that I was to dictate how many photographs you took and who they were to be of,” Andrew said, cutting him off. “And I want as many as possible. And always with a horse in them.”
“We can get more men in the picture if the animals aren’t there.”
Andrew looked him square in the face. “I want to make it very hard to erase the Horse Brigade, when the king eventually tires of us.”
“I don’t know what you’re … I’m not sure I can—” Watson spluttered, but Andrew cut him off again.
“You can and you will,” Andrew said. “Or we’ll have the queen here in a matter of days.” He paused. “She keeps horses, too, you know,” he added, making it sound like a threat.
Anthea couldn’t tell if Watson did know, or if he was just intimidated by Andrew, but it worked either way. He kept on taking pictures until the light began to fade, only speaking to tell someone to hold still or move in closer.
And all while this was happening, Anthea and the other riders with the Way were carrying on a lengthy conversation through their horses about Kronenhof and the impending war.
What is an act of aggression? Florian wanted to know when they were done. How is sailing on a boat a thing that becomes a war?
I don’t really understand it, either, Anthea confessed as she finally let him loose in the paddock. He stayed nearby, however, his ears back with concern. But they are not supposed to have boats like that, boats with guns on them, in our rivers.
And now everyone must fight?
Apparently, my love.
But would the king ask the Horse Brigade to fight? The king didn’t trust them to carry messages more secret than “blue triangle teacup” or “Today in Bellair it rained for one hour.”
We should be allowed to take our place in the army, Finn said via Marius, as though he had read her thoughts.
Caesar and I are ready to fight, Jilly said through Caesar, baring her teeth in a devil-may-care smile.
I’ll be offended if we aren’t allowed to fight, Anthea said. But I’m terrified at the idea all the same!
We still don’t know what’s happening for certain, Brutus said, on behalf of Caillin MacRennie.
“Well, if we need to know,” Jilly said aloud as they finished up the last photograph, “there’s clearly only one thing to do!”
She looked at Anthea, as though expecting her to finish the thought, but Anthea just blinked in confusion. Watson stopped putting away his camera to look at her. Jilly did have a very carrying voice. Everyone stopped to look at her. She threw an arm around Anthea as though they were having another picture done.
“Anthea and I will just go visit our dear friend the queen, and find out for sure if we’re going to war!”