The stablemaster, who had seen Aelfeva briefly when they’d brought the horses back before lunch, looked only a little puzzled when they asked for Swallow again along with aquamarine Brook, but sent hands to fetch both.

“Is there anywhere around here we can just go for a ride to get out of the house and away from all the people?” Aelfeva asked. “Preferably somewhere we can move past a slow walk?”

His expression changed to sympathy. “Go straight south. You’ll reach the livestock market, where all the trade in large animals has to be held, outside the city centre. East of the market there’s a space used by the horse traders as much as the various city stables. There’s a sort of track worn into the ground and everyone follows it the same direction, walking along the inside and faster outside that, but best not to go all out when another horse could cut in front, so the traders use the open space past that to show off an animal’s speed. We use it too if we’ve got a feisty one who needs a good workout. Mind yourselves, though. The market wardens get testy about horses that aren’t under proper control and interfere with others.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Josceran said. “I assume that’s still no-weapons territory, even if it’s outside the city centre?”

The stablemaster nodded. “That’s what the market wardens are for.”

“Thanks. It’ll feel good to get out. None of us are used to having nothing to do.”

“Noticed that. Your southerner friend has been by now and then, and fussed over all of yours earlier—didn’t take offence, even my boys knew he wasn’t doubting their care. Here’s your ladies.”

Aelfeva declined the offer of help into Swallow’s saddle and swung up herself, waiting for Josceran to follow.

“If you fancy a rest on the way back,” the stablemaster added, “just north of the field on Granary Street there’s a tavern called the Three Axes. They’ve got a passable ale, a decent mead, and a trough for the horses, and this time of year, they’ve got a few tables outside overlooking the field.”

“Thank you,” Josceran said. “Ah... this was a rather impulsive decision and we haven’t seen anyone else. Is there any chance you could ask someone to run across the street to... what’s the number? The one with the red and yellow scarf, and tell someone where we’ve gone?”

“Not a problem at all.”

“We really appreciate it,” Aelfeva said. “South it is, which from here is... that way.”

It was, as before, hard to have much of a conversation while riding on the busy streets: they needed to watch for pedestrians of all ages, other riders, carts powered by humans or by animals, and countless other possible hazards.

The livestock market was detectable by sound and scent well before they saw it.

“There must be a positively epic manure pile somewhere,” Josceran said.

“Someone’s probably making a living off carting it away and selling it for fertilizer. There must be vegetable gardens around the outskirts, at least, even if there’s no room in the centre.”

“Probably.”

They turned east and skirted the edge of the market, passing cattle and poultry in separate areas, and from what they could hear, goats and sheep were farther south, possibly mixed together. Finally they passed a section of the market that was all horses. Aelfeva would have liked to stop and see what was available, just to compare them against the ones she bred and trained in Rosebridge, but she was fairly sure that Josceran would recognize that as a way to run from thinking about decisions. Maybe she’d get another chance before they left.

Being out and riding felt like being freed from a prison. A normal day was full from sunrise to sunset and sometimes after that. There was work to do around the farm, despite having hired hands: they had an extensive vegetable garden and an herb garden and the largest orchard in several villages, poultry and cattle and pigs, fields of grain and hay and legumes, and of course anything involving the horses Aelf preferred to do personally. Melisend and her maids might need help around the house itself for repairs or a major project of some kind.

Riding around the area on Dragon could always be justified as a way to keep an eye out for anything the reeve should be aware of or just to lend a random friendly hand to the neighbours.

When there was a lull, more likely to happen in some seasons than others, there was always the hope that a friend or two would have some free time, even if that meant helping them finish their own tasks, or would just be amenable to company while working. There were any number of ways they could still usefully spend a couple of hours in company if everything was finished for the moment: go fishing, bow-hunt game birds for the table, help Rosebridge’s temple to all the gods distribute donations to the poorer households, put practice swords to use. In the winter, it might involve board or dice games.

In any season, at any time of day, there was always something to do. A bit of harness to mend or adjust. A mare to check on who was due to foal. A horn spoon to carve or an antler comb to decorate as a gift. Something.

Being completely at loose ends was new and Aelfeva hated it, and that constant frustration was doing nothing to make it any easier to concentrate. She already felt better, just being out. Maybe this would help her collect her scattered thoughts.

The field in question was broad and reasonably flat. The horses being ridden in loops around the great oval track reminded Aelfeva of a race, but the speeds never seemed to break a moderate canter, more often walking or trotting. She spotted several people watching one horse or another intently, maybe a potential buyer observing how the animal moved and responded.

They kept their pace sedate as they went around the track to the open space on the far side.

Aelfeva reined in Swallow once to ask a small group of men watching a young stallion being put through his paces whether there were any dangers to watch for in the field—rocks, animal burrows, or the like. They assured her that it was used so often for horses, some of which were very expensive, that the field was about as safe as anyone could reasonably expect.

“Good,” Aelfeva said. “I don’t want Swallow or Brook coming down wrong and breaking a leg. Race you to the tree line over there.” She gestured to the trees, something like a quarter of a mile away—not a long race at all, but enough, and theirs weren’t used to races that were much longer. Much less would make it harder for a potential buyer to really see a horse go all-out—roughly half to reach full speed, half to see what that was.

Josceran laughed. “I never even come close to beating you.”

“I’m not on Dragon. You have a better chance than usual.”

“Anything less than humiliating defeat is a better chance than usual. All right.”

“You can call it.”

Racing was, paradoxically, less exciting on Dragon: he could beat any horse in Rosebridge with the exception of Guillen’s Breeze and a couple of other mares to which he’d taken a fancy. Being on him at a full gallop was unquestionably one of her favourite experiences, though, and she took him without fear cross-country, where he hurdled obstacles like he was one of those legendary horses that had wings and never missed his footing. She was certain he loved those runs as much as she did.

Swallow, on the other hand, was fast but she lacked his sheer power. That made a race much more about Aelf’s own skills and their teamwork than just pointing Dragon in the right direction and hanging on.

Aelfeva won, but not by much.

Josceran laughed again as they turned around to walk back, letting the mares catch their breath. “The day still hasn’t come when I can beat you.”

She chuckled. Even the moderately-short race had done wonders for her mood. “Best two out of three?” Giving the mares a chance to just walk in between would help keep them from being overworked in the midday sun.

“Sure.”

Aelfeva won the second race, too.

“We can still do a third one if you want,” Josceran said. “Although probably then we should consider grabbing a quick drink at the tavern the stablemaster suggested and heading home. I’m sure the others can handle it if Herlinde makes an appearance, but...”

“Yeah, you’re right. I suppose going out was irresponsible, but it really feels good, and just might help me actually focus.”

“If it does, then it’s absolutely worth the time.”

“We don’t need to do a third run. We should just go back.”

Closer to the track, they had to stop to keep clear of a loose ring of men surrounding a stallion. The stallion kept shaking his head and snorting, trying to back away from the man holding his reins, and sidling to keep him from being able to mount.

Aelfeva had seen exactly that kind of behaviour in Dragon when her father had first brought him home. She waited for someone to recognize what was wrong, since these were presumably professionals, but when no one did anything, she shouted, “He’s bit-shy! Get the bridle off him!”

“Mind your business, young woman,” someone snapped without looking around. “Pero, get that beast under control!”

Aelfeva rolled her eyes, swung off Swallow and dropped the reins there, and strode over, shoving her way between two of them. Spotting a coil of rope in the hands of one, she appropriated it and slung it on one shoulder.

“Get back here!” She felt hands on her upper arms, pressure, and jabbed backwards with her elbows until she hit something. Someone grunted. She didn’t care who; her eyes were on the stallion.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” she said. “If you can’t figure out how to handle a bit-shy stallion, I’ll do it.”

“Take your hands off my betrothed, if you don’t mind,” Josceran said, only a couple of steps behind her. It annoyed her that his mild statement was more effective than her demand, but right now, she didn’t care: the hands went away.

“Just don’t hold us responsible when your betrothed gets killed,” the one who had told her to mind her business snapped.

“Not by any horse alive,” Josceran said. “She normally rides a stallion who notoriously won’t tolerate anyone else. If she says she knows what’s wrong, she knows.”

“Let her try, Siserich,” a different male voice said thoughtfully. “Your man’s not doing so well.”

Aelfeva ignored the byplay. Josceran could handle that part. This stallion was completely unlike Dragon in colouring, a very dark purple-blue like the skin of a blueberry, and he was from a different bloodline, legs long and slender, deep chested, his head and neck a trifle longer than Dragon’s, overall a little taller but probably he massed less. This one was bred primarily for speed, not stamina and strength like the horses in Rosebridge who typically needed to be able to do multiple jobs. It didn’t really matter: he was still more than large enough to hurt or kill a human, and if she got this wrong, she’d be the human.

That didn’t matter either. She knew that behaviour and wasn’t going to see this beautiful creature destroyed by it. If that meant edging her way carefully towards a massive beast half again the size of a mare of the same line, then so be it—but she did it with a fervent prayer to Maerwin and a hope the goddess of horses wouldn’t be appearing in her other guise as escort of the dead.

She kept talking to him, a steady stream of soothing nonsense patter, until she could take the reins from the man who was supposed to be handling him. He retreated, his expression a mixture of scepticism and anger, but all that mattered was that he was out of her way.

The stallion threw his head up when she laid a hand on the side of his neck, but when she made no move towards the saddle and put no pressure on the reins, he stilled. Always talking, she freed one end of the rope and slipped it around his neck up high, tying it, a process slowed considerably by talking to him and patting him. With that secure, she glanced back and tossed the rest of the rope to Josceran, who caught it neatly.

“Tension?” he asked quietly.

“Just enough that he knows you’re there,” she said, working it into the calming singsong. “Easy, handsome, I know, I know, there are too many trainers who are too heavy-handed with stallions and bits. I’m going to get that out of there for you. Just please don’t take my hand off when I do. All right?” He tensed again, shaking his head, as soon as she touched the bridle. “Yeah, that’s definitely what’s wrong, isn’t it?” She’d have been highly embarrassed to discover that she was wrong, but she was sure she knew the problem now. “Easy, easy, I’ll take it off, handsome, and then you won’t feel so threatened, and then we can all get along. All right?” She unfastened the buckles necessary to get the bridle off from behind that horn, patiently, not trying to force his head back down when he flung it up out of her reach over and over. “Here we go.” She eased the bit out of his mouth and reached behind her with the bridle, not bothering to look; someone took it, though not Josceran because the rope stayed steady. “Good boy!” She smoothed the lines of disordered fur where the bridle straps had rubbed. “Good boy. There, and you’re much calmer now. You’re in excellent condition and your breath doesn’t smell bad, so I don’t think you have any bad teeth, but you’re not quite calm enough to let me take a look, are you?” She rubbed around the base of his horn, and smiled when he leaned into it. “There we go. You’re not bad-tempered. I think someone just taught you to expect that a bit meant being hurt.” When someone came up behind her, the stallion flattened his ears and backed up a step. “And I bet I know who. If you want him to cooperate, now that you’ve taught him that the bit is bad, you’re going to have to find alternatives without a bit. You can’t overpower him. Back away. Do you have another rope?”

After a moment, someone offered one.

Still talking to him, still fussing over him, she measured out a length of rope, tied a loose knot to form a loop for a noseband and eased it into place, adjusting the knot so it fit properly. Then she draped one of the ends over his poll behind his ears and brought it down to knot it to the noseband, checking that everything was in place.

Just to prove her point, she brought the reins of the makeshift bridle back, planted a sandalled foot in a stirrup that was so high she could not have reached it without her recently-increased flexibility, and heaved herself up onto his back. For just an instant she feared she wouldn’t make it all the way, but she did.

He snorted, but he stood still. He even cooperated when she clucked to him and gave him a gentle nudge with her heels, though admittedly the improvised rope bridle and the lack of familiarity severely restricted their ability to communicate and her willingness to push at all.

The men around them were, at least, too professional to make any sudden loud noises, but she did hear a few murmurs, and one, somewhere on the far side from Josceran said, “Hell of a demonstration.”

She reined the dark stallion to a halt in front of Josceran and swung down. “Who owns him?”

“That would be Siserich over there,” said a greying man who looked like he might be from roughly Vituccia’s part of the world. “At the moment. I’m considering buying him, but I’m not happy with even the best stud if he’s impossible to handle.”

“This one isn’t. Mine is the same and I’ve seen it in a couple of others. Trainers who think that the only way to manage a stallion is to prove to him with force and punishment early in his life that humans are in charge and he has to obey or else. You get either a stallion so broken he has no spirit left or a stallion with behaviour problems. And that includes being bit-shy because someone used too heavy a hand on the bit. You’re going to have to do a little extra work with him, to get him used to the idea that he’s not going to be hurt anymore, but he doesn’t seem nearly as frightened as my boy at home was and mine got over it. It just takes a little patience and gentleness.”

“I believe we’ve all been schooled.” He sounded amused, not offended. “Siserich, you should probably thank the young woman for saving you from a fine, because you were very close to having an out-of-control horse, and for doing your handler’s job for him.”

“Pero could have gotten him under control,” the man grumbled, but he did face Aelfeva and inclined his head. “That was quick and smooth, I have to admit. Please. At least have a drink on me.” He offered a smallish coin on his palm.

About to refuse, Aelfeva saw the greying man smile at her and tilt his head towards it, so she took the coin. “Thank you.”

“And I’ll buy him,” the greying man said, “for, say... twelve horns?”

“That’s outrageous! He’s worth more, at least sixteen!”

“Only to someone willing to put the time into correcting that behaviour.”