Airs of Night and Sea

DIAMOND’S silver wings beat against the hot summer air, lifting the dapple gray filly above the park, beyond the beech grove, and on toward the hills, where the first autumn chill gilded the grasses and bronzed the leaves of ash and oak. Her ears flickered as she flew faster, invigorated by the taste of freedom. The saddle and sand weights, though she carried them for the first time, were no hindrance. Her monitor, a Foundation gelding, flew slowly and steadily beside her, both he and his horsemistress keeping watch over the young horse.

William of Oc and his Master Breeder watched from the paddock as Diamond darted above her monitor with an exuberant flick of her tail. Her coat caught the sun in brilliant spangles as she carved dazzling spirals above and below the old gelding. From the ground, William heard the horsemistress calling to her, trying to settle her.

Jinson groaned, “Your Grace! She’s so hard to control!”

William laughed and tapped his thigh with his quirt. “Nonsense!” he said. “She’s just spirited. Flying with a monitor bores her. I’m bored with it myself! I’ll fly her before winter.”

“Duke William, I can’t recommend it,” Jinson protested. “She’s so young, and you’re too heavy—”

“I’m not too heavy,” the Duke said. “I’ve not eaten more than one meal a day for weeks now.” He held his hand up in the sunlight. The fingers were so thin his bones showed beneath the skin. He liked the effect. He liked looking gaunt and hollow-cheeked, and besides, the paucity of food diminished the swelling of his chest, as well. “You see, Jinson?” he said. “I’m ready. And so is she.”

“But—Your Grace—you’ve never flown, and if you can’t control her—” Jinson began.

William slapped his quirt across his palm. “Enough of your whinging, man! If I can’t control her, I’ll fall and die. Then you’ll have something else to complain about.”

“My lord, I didn’t mean . . . It’s not as if I want you to . . .”

William caressed the quirt in his fingers, and eyed Jinson. He said in his silkiest tone, “I don’t doubt your loyalty, man. Why, if something should happen to me, the Council Lords would probably banish you to Aeskland.”

Jinson paled at that, and William chuckled. The winged horses turned back toward the paddock, the gelding trying to hold the lead, Diamond swerving this way and that, sparkling in the sunlight like her namesake stone. William’s heart beat faster at the sight of her. She delighted him in ways he had never expected, and the affection he felt surprised him.

Jinson said, “My lord, if you’re not successful—that is, I’m worried the Council might—” He broke off when William threw up his hand.

“Damn it, Jinson! And damn the Council.” His mood darkened instantly. “That lot of foolish old men can’t see past their own great noses. I’ll pass the tax without them.”

Jinson subsided with an obvious sagging of his shoulders and mouth. “Come now, Jinson,” William chided. “They can’t have it both ways. They’re always quoting my great-great-great-grandfather at me, and he did exactly what I’m trying to do. He levied a tax to build a flying school. It’s precedent, and the Lords of the Council love precedent.”

Jinson kept his eyes on his boots as he said, “Yes, Your Grace.”

William turned away from him, knowing his unvoiced thought, irritated by it. It was true that his ancestor, that long-ago Duke, had faced little opposition to his tax. The Academy of the Air had been a popular undertaking. The people of Oc had been convinced that training girls properly to become horsemistresses, protecting and preserving the bloodlines of the winged horses, would strengthen their little Duchy, both in its own principality of Isamar and in the larger world. They had been right. His ancestor had been a wildly popular leader.

William switched his quirt impatiently against his trouser leg. Why could no one see? It was time for something new, a new day, a new bloodline. These damned weaklings in the Council, so married to the past, to the old ways . . . Wait until they saw him fly Diamond! That would bring them to heel. Even that damned Philippa Winter—wherever she had fled to—would have to bow to his will. In fact, he had a good idea how to force her to come back. He could kill two birds with one stone—deal with that Hamley brat, who managed to stand in his way at every turn, and bring Philippa back to pay for her crimes.

He looked up into the hard blue sky. The gelding, a black called Sky Baron, flew with deliberate wingbeats. His rider, Felicity Baron, had protested this assignment, but William had cared nothing for that. Mistress Baron was getting a bit long in the tooth, in any case, and surely her mount was past his service at the South Tower. Both of them should be damned grateful to be living at their ease in Fleckham House, nothing expected of them except teaching a beautiful filly to fly.

He hated Mistress Baron’s doubtful glances, but at least she did what he told her to do. He had some very persuasive ways to remind her who was master in the Duchy of Oc.

These cursed horsemistresses! The thought of their insolence made his heart pound beneath his embroidered vest. Sometimes at night he could calm himself only by picturing them, a whole line of them, bending the knee to him as he rode past. When his own Fleckham Academy was built, they would curtsy properly to their Duke. None of this insulting nodding of the head, as if that showed sufficient respect.

He thrust his irritation away as he watched Diamond come to ground, her wings fluttering as she glided, forefeet flashing silver as they reached for the grass of the park. Her hindquarters collected, then settled as she found her balance. She cantered toward the paddock, wings still spread wide. Baron’s canter was too slow for her, and she dashed past him. She galloped, head high, white mane and tail streaming, toward William, leaving the old gelding to trot behind.

Diamond skidded to a stop a few feet from William and stood, tossing her head and stamping her pretty forefeet. “Get back, Jinson,” William said. Jinson backed away so that Diamond could come close to William, blowing through her delicate nostrils. William put his hand on the cheek strap of her halter, murmuring, “Beautifully done, my girl, beautifully done! We’ll show them, won’t we? We’ll be flying before you know it!”

She threw up her head, pulling away from him. She sidestepped, shaking her head so her bridle jangled, then came close again. It was, William thought, like a little dance, a flirtation. It had become a habit with her, as if she couldn’t quite make up her mind.

He worried about it sometimes. She didn’t press her nose against him the way the other winged horses did with their bondmates. He wished she would nuzzle him, nose at his pockets for treats, simply stand close to him, as he wanted to stand close to her. She was so restless, pawing at the ground, sometimes showing her teeth when he tried to stroke her.

They needed to fly, he thought. They needed to rise above the ground, leave all distractions below. In the air there would be no problem. In the air they would be utterly alone, just the two of them.