Aelfeva listened absently to the bargaining, still patting the stallion and whispering to him. He was so responsive that she felt optimistic he could learn to get past this, with the right hands on the reins.

Another man came over to claim the rope reins. “Well done, girl,” he murmured. “Would’ve been a shame, losing him over bad handling. I’ll keep an eye out for that. You have a solution to handling a stallion with no bit?”

“I put together a bridle that uses pressure on the bridge, poll joint, and jaw, and I’m careful not to over-use it. I’m only dealing with the horses in one small market town, how is this a new idea to anyone trading here?”

He chuckled. “Oh, heard variants, but never seen one in person that worked. Seen bit-shy stallions before but never a practical way for them to be useful for anything but covering mares, and usually there’s a stallion easier to handle who can do that.”

“Really? I don’t have mine here, it’s at home, otherwise I could show you what I came up with by trial and error.”

“What town’s that, then?”

“Rosebridge.”

“The boss might want to stop by. He’s always interested in new things that work. Like a new style of saddle he picked up in the east. Make sure you get something out of it, don’t give it away free.” He winked at her. “Come on, big boy, let’s get you out of here, out of that saddle, and all groomed and fed and watered, hm?”

Aelfeva backed up to let them go.

The stallion’s new owner met her halfway to Josceran. “Could I persuade you to join me for a drink? No untoward intentions, I promise, your... betrothed, was it?... is welcome as well.”

“We’re expected back soon,” Aelfeva said.

“But we were thinking about having one drink before that,” Josceran added, the reins of both mares in one hand. “The Three Axes was suggested to us.”

“And an excellent suggestion it is.” He eyed Swallow and Brook. “Lovely pair.”

“The parents of the violet one keep throwing excellent foals,” Aelfeva said, taking Swallow’s reins herself. “Her younger sister is at home waiting for me to get back to training her, and she has an older sister and brother who both turned out beautifully. I’m thinking of asking my father about breeding this one to my stallion.”

“Ah, yes,” the other man said. “The bit-shy one?”

“He was part of a property settlement my father collected—he wasn’t quite fully mature but close to it. My father gave him to me after I’d worked with him a while.”

“That stallion,” Josceran said, “will do absolutely anything she asks of him, although he’s less fond of the rest of humanity.”

The other man chuckled. “My manners are terrible. I am Braccio Dagomari, a humble trader in horses and all things related, and always pleased to meet another lover of horses.”

“Aelfeva Glaedwin and Josceran Denisot,” Josceran said. “Even more humble farmers from Rosebridge. A market town so small it barely deserves the name, a day’s ride northeast from Blaecstan.”

“A market town with good horses. I saw you racing. For all-purpose working horses, your mares get a decent turn of speed. Move nicely, too.”

“My grandfather bred half the horses in Rosebridge,” Aelfeva said. “He’s the one who taught me that you should never, ever make it an adversarial relationship between you and any horse. Your job is to convince them that you’re both on the same side and that working together is the best way. They’re herd animals, teamwork isn’t a stretch for them. You just need to approach it right. It takes a lot more patience than just trying to force obedience, but the horses my grandfather broke don’t easily develop behaviour issues. I try to live up to that.”

“Not a common occupation for a young woman, if you don’t mind the observation.”

“Aelfeva is not a common young woman,” Josceran chuckled. “And never has been.”

“My father lets me do what I’m good at,” Aelfeva said noncommittally.

“And it sounds,” Braccio said, “like your betrothed respects that and isn’t likely to insist you stay home and cook and clean.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Josceran said. “Seriously, we can find someone to cook. Anyone who can handle horses the way Aelfeva can should do so as much as possible.”

“If you weren’t betrothed, and to someone appreciative, I’d offer to either hire you or marry you myself,” Braccio said.

They tied the mares to a long bar in the shade of a great spreading oak behind the Three Axes, with a trough of water in reach, and chose a table outside where they could keep an eye on them.

Braccio was quite intrigued by Aelfeva’s descriptions of Dragon and of her usual training methods. Mindful of what the hand who had taken the stallion had said, she stayed vague about her own bridle design, saying only that she’d improved it multiple times until she and Dragon were both comfortable with it.

“Obviously it would be stupid to ride a stallion without being able to control him if necessary,” she said. “It would be possible to use a bridle with no bit in abusive ways, just like it’s possible to use a bit without being abusive—the mares both have them. It isn’t the tack, it’s what you do with it—but if someone muddies the waters, sometimes you have to work around it. Not just that, though. I made a bitless bridle for a neighbour whose mare just has a particularly short jaw and small mouth and a bit is physically uncomfortable for her. She’s a very willing hard worker and extremely calm.”

“I’ve seen them occasionally for well-trained mares and geldings of calm temperament,” Braccio said. “I’ve never seen one that could work on a stallion.”

“You’ll just have to drop by Rosebridge some day,” Aelfeva said. “We’re still uncertain about a few details...”

“There’s some family dispute over my settlement,” Josceran said.

If that was true, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

“If you ask at the inn, there’s only one, they’ll be able to tell you where we are. My brother’s marrying one of the owners’ daughters.”

“Celebrations all around in your family. I’ll certainly make time to stop by Rosebridge when I can. My usual route goes farther west, through Hazelford, since it’s a protected road.”

“The Rose Bridge is about to be a tollbridge,” Josceran said. “Which, obviously, makes a considerable stretch on either side of it a protected road.”

“That’ll make it more appealing. And you mentioned an inn, so there’s nothing to keep me away. I’m always looking for new stock to buy that will sell elsewhere, so I’m looking forward to seeing what you and your father have, as well as seeing this stallion of yours and the bridle you use.” He rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. “Purely speculatively, no commitments anywhere, but... it’s a shame sometimes that I have to pass up animals that would be precisely what I know a buyer is looking for, just because someone mishandled them and they’re too difficult to manage. It would be a wonderful thing if I knew someone who had a talent for undoing the damage and might be persuaded to do so for a share of the difference between their purchase price and sale price, just now and then.”

“It’s possible,” Aelfeva said slowly, trying not to look startled. “But it will depend on where we end up living and what facilities we have—or what my father will let me keep using. We can talk about it.”

“Good! Yet another thing for me to look forward to when I can arrange a trip in that direction. But I see your cups are empty, and you said you’re expected home, and I should get back to business. I’m grateful, though, for the assistance and the very pleasant chat.” He drained the last of his cup. “Congratulations, and best of luck getting that settlement dispute sorted out.”

With due farewells on both sides, he left.

Aelfeva and Josceran retrieved the two mares, mounted, and turned back in the approximate direction of Redsmith Lane, resigned to asking directions when they got closer.

“You’re a showoff sometimes,” Josceran said.

“I am not! They were missing the obvious.”

“Obvious to you. Sometimes you’re better at reading horses than humans.”

“I... all right, I suppose I can’t argue with that. But they’re professionals and any one of them has more experience than I do. They should know better.”

“Possibly some of them did and didn’t think it was their place to intervene.”

“And that stallion could have paid for that kind of excessive courtesy!”

“Calm down. I’m not complaining. I wouldn’t expect anything else from you. And that demonstration might lead to something useful long-term. But... ah... I’m not sure you could have gotten away with that as a man. They’d have been more defensive. Instead, they underestimated you and that gave you an opening.”

Aelfeva mulled that over. “I didn’t think of that. Any of that. I was just annoyed that they were doing it wrong.”

“Mmhmm.”

Conversation got more difficult as they reached busier streets, and their attention all turned to finding their way back to the townhouses.

They returned the mares to the stable, with their thanks to the stablemaster for the excellent suggestion, and paused to consider which of the townhouses.

“Ours,” Aelfeva said. “At least for the moment. I need the privy. If anyone’s around, we can tell them we’re home. If not, it’ll be a quiet place to try again to think.”

“All right.”

Aelfeva made use of the privy, and emerged to find no sign of Josceran, but she heard motion upstairs; after a moment, he returned to the reception room.

“No one around,” he said. “Over at the Cristovals, I suppose.”

“Garden?”

He nodded.

From the garden, they could hear voices and laughter from the second yard over. Josceran whistled and called, “We’re home.”

“Good ride?” Guillen called back.

“Very!”

Aelfeva stretched out on the grass in the full sun and closed her eyes. Without looking, she felt Josceran join her, not touching, not speaking, just there.

“Is your father really raising a fuss about your settlements?” Aelfeva asked. “I don’t know why I’m even asking, honestly.”

“He didn’t want either of us marrying at all, of course he is. Ferrand and I are trying to convince him to just let us share the mill. It’s slightly less than a third, but it makes enough that over a couple of generations it paid for everything else. Split in half it’ll be less generous, but it’ll do well enough. Then he can keep the house and all the damned sheep and the leased properties.”

“The house? We’re not living there? You’re the oldest son.”

“No,” Josceran said flatly. “I’m only going in that house once more, to pack my things, and there is absolutely no way that you are spending even a single night under that roof. I’d rather camp in a tent and build us a house with my own hands.”

That was unexpectedly unequivocal. “I imagine we could pay to have someone do the framing and roof and fireplace who actually know what they’re doing. But why...?”

A sudden flurry of motion two gardens down interrupted.

“Aelf! Jos!” Richold called. “Need you out front immediately!”

“Coming!” Aelfeva levered herself to her feet with a sigh. She’d have to get answers later. “So much for relaxing in the sun.”

In front of the three townhouses was a wagon, or maybe an open carriage. It was sturdy and fairly long but not extremely wide, drawn by a pair of geldings that were an unusual matched reddish-brown colour, and there was a red stallion painted on the side; inside it had a trio of seats, the front one facing backwards, the rear two facing the front.

All three Cristovals, Richold, and Ferrand were on the narrow walk between the building and the street, talking to a youngish man in very dark trousers and very pale shirt and a sort of tunic with a red stallion rearing on it.

“Herlinde is inviting us to come talk,” Ferrand said. “We told Vituccia and Melisend. Everyone in.”

The man in the stallion tunic opened a door in the side of the carriage. As it turned out, the back seat and front seat each held three, but the middle one only two, allowing room to get in and out.

They scrambled in and got settled, and the man in the stallion tunic climbed up on the driver’s seat and picked up the reins.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Ilduara said, as the carriage began to move. “It will take less time out of her day if we’re there instead of her coming to us. But I can’t help feeling like this puts us even more firmly in her territory.”

“I’m not sure it matters,” Aelfeva sighed. “But I know what you mean.”

“How did your ride go?” Richold asked, in a rather transparent attempt at getting them all thinking about something else.

“The usual,” Josceran said. “Aelf beat me twice at short races, Aelf showed up a bunch of professional horsemen who couldn’t control a stallion, we might have made a new friend or at least a future business contact. Nothing too surprising.”

“Oh, not at all,” Guillen chuckled. “More detail, please.”