WILLIAM felt as if his whole world had become one of the smell of horses, the crunch of straw, the taste of sawdust. He stayed in the filly’s stall day and night, watching her suckle, seeing her begin to strengthen. Her slender legs steadied, and her coat of puppy fur thickened. He summoned Jinson when the stall needed mucking out, but otherwise no one came near the foal except her dam and himself.
The dam, being wingless, accepted William’s presence. The foal, however, was wary. He saw her nostrils widen when he approached her, heard the intake of her breath as she sniffed at him. He kept a careful distance. He didn’t want a disaster like the last one.
He sent Jinson to fetch Slater, and when he arrived, he ordered, “Slater! Get to the apothecary. Tell him to make it stronger.”
Behind Slater, Jinson frowned, but Slater only grinned, showing his snaggleteeth, and said, “Aye, me lord. Back in two hours, then.”
“M’lord,” Jinson said, when Slater had gone out into the snow. “D’you think that’s wise?”
“It’s not a question of wisdom,” William said. “It’s a question of courage.”
“But, m’lord, you—the changes—”
“Poor Jinson. You just don’t understand, do you? I’ve had a bellyful of those horsemistresses and their monopoly. Men like you will praise my name one day.”
“Your Grace, the risk—”
William made an exasperated noise. “That’s enough, Jinson. When I want your views, I’ll ask for them. Now get me some food, and a bottle, port, or brandy. Both.”
Jinson did as he was ordered, but to William’s irritation, he was not done making suggestions. He stood in the aisle outside the stall, a covered plate in his hands, a bottle under each arm. “M’lord,” he said, with evident diffidence, “the foal should have a dog with her, an oc-hound. Then you can—”
“Not yet,” William said. He took the plate and set the bottles in the straw. “Now go. I won’t need you for a while.”
“But, Your Grace, if she has a dog for a companion, you don’t have to—”
“Damn you, Jinson! Don’t you see how important this is? Do you want another dead foal?”
Jinson’s look of misery at this made William want to throw one of the bottles at his head. “Oh, Zito’s ass, Jinson, leave. Let me do what needs doing.”
“Aye, m’lord,” Jinson said. He walked away, shoulders slumping, feet dragging with reluctance.
William turned back to his filly, admiring the way the filtered light coming through the small, high window shone on the ghostly dapples across her back. He pried the cork out of the bottle of port and sat down, his back against the wall, his legs stretched across the pallet of blankets that had served as his bed for the past two nights. He took a long draught of rich red wine, then sighed, a deep sigh of satisfaction.
The filly lifted her head at the sound and cocked her ears toward him. Toward him, he noted, with a thrill of pleasure. Not away, not laid back. Toward him. Even better, she took one cautious step in his direction.
He sat very still. When she didn’t move away, he said, softly, “You’re exquisite, my little friend. You’re like a perfectly cut diamond, aren’t you? Every facet catching the light, every detail glorious.” Her ears flickered, and he chuckled again. “Not that I would hesitate to put you down, little friend. But I confess, I would be sorry to lose something as beautiful as you are.”
When she took yet another step toward him, he held his breath. She was everything he had dreamed, the realization of every ambition. She was, of course, merely a means to an end, but…the liquid glory of those eyes, the delicate cut of her muzzle, the silver glow of her mane and tail…He would have been less than human had he not felt moved by such a creature.
And she was his. His filly. His little diamond.
She took another step closer, and William almost wept with joy.