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and tassels. The
    sols’ horses further would have ribbons braided into their manes and tails, and
    Kisha had a particularly long silky tail. (She would doubtless be cross at missing
    the mounted salute at Galanna and Perlith’s wedding.) She never shied at waving
    banners and flapping velvet saddle skirts; but if Aerin tried to ride her out in the
    countryside, she shied sulkily at every leaf, and kept trying to turn and bolt for
    home. They thoroughly detested each other. Galanna rode her full sister, Rooka.
    Aerin was convinced that Rooka and Kisha gossiped together in the stable at night
    about their respective mistresses.
    Talat was still too much on his dignity to admit how thoroughly he enjoyed
    being groomed; but his ears had a tendency to lop over, his eyes to glaze and half
    shut, and his lips to twitch, when Aerin rubbed the brushes over him. White hairs
    flew in a blizzard, for Talat had gone white in the years since he was lamed.
    “Hornmar,” she said, several days later, trying to sound indifferent, “do you
    suppose Talat’s leg really hurts him anymore?”
    Hornmar was polishing Kethtaz, Arlbeth’s young bay stallion, with a bit of soft
    cloth. There wasn’t a dust mote on the horse’s hide anywhere. Aerin looked at
    him with dislike: he was fit and shining and merry and useful, and she loved Talat.
    Hornmar looked at Arlbeth’s daughter thoughtfully. All of the sofor knew by now
    of the private friendship between her and the crippled stallion. He was glad for
    Talat and for Aerin both, for he knew more than she would have wished about
    what her life was like. He was also, deep down, a tiny bit envious; Kethtaz was a
    magnificent horse, but Talat had been a better. And Talat now turned away from
    his old friend with flattened ears.

    “I imagine not much anymore. But he’s gotten into the habit of favoring that
    leg, and the muscles are soft, and stiff too, from the scarring,” he said in a neutral
    voice. He buffed a few more inches of Kethtaz’s flank. “Talat is looking good, this
    season.” He glanced at Aerin and saw the blood rising in her face, and turned
    away again.
    “Yes, he’s getting fat,” she said.
    Kethtaz sighed and flicked his tail; Hornmar had tied it up so it wouldn’t slap
    him in the face. He worked his way round the stallion’s quarters and started the
    other side; Aerin was still leaning against the stable wall, watching. “Talat might
    come back a little more,” Hornmar said at last, cautiously. “He’d never be up, say,
    to a man’s weight again, though.”
    “Oh,” said Aerin, still indifferent. Kethtaz had a black dapple on one shoulder;
    she rubbed it with a finger, and he turned his head around and poked her with his
    nose. She petted him for a moment, and then she quietly slipped away.
    The next day she rode her crippled stallion. She brushed him first, and when
    she was done, she dropped the grooming things together in a pile. She ran a
    finger along one wide cheek; Talat, nothing loath for a little more attention,
    rested his nose against her stomach so she could stroke’ the other cheek with the
    other hand. After a moment she worked down his left side, and placed her hands
    on his withers and loins, and leaned on them. He was smaller than most of the
    royal war-horses, but still too tall for her to put much of her weight into her
    hands. He flicked his ears at her. “Well,” she said. She rested one hand on his
    shoulder and he followed her to a rock she had picked out for the purpose some
    days before. She stepped up on it, and he stood quietly as she slowly eased one
    leg over his back.
    She was sitting on him. Nothing happened. Well, she said to herself crossly,
    what was supposed to happen? He was broken to saddle while I was still learning
    to walk. The first time.
    Talat cocked his ears back toward her, his head bowed as if he felt the bit in his
    mouth again. She nudged him with her legs, and he walked away from the
    mounting stone: