The White Spell (Nine Kingdoms #10)(6)

Of course, she saw no share of that gold, but she couldn’t have realistically expected anything else. Fuadain was her uncle, as it happened, but she was one of his much lesser relations by marriage. She was fortunate to have a roof over her head and enough to eat. She had incomparable horses to train, though, which made up for quite a bit.

As did the sea, which was perhaps the one redeeming feature of Sàraichte. She could see the faint sparkle of it from where she stood. If she’d had money enough, she would have built a house near it, with an enormous barn and a path that led to the shore where she could have ridden a different horse each day along the edge of the water. She would have had peace and quiet and the freedom to think whatever thoughts she cared to without having to guard her expressions.

With any luck she would have that, though perhaps not as quickly as she would have liked. She looked down at the coins she held in her hand. It was her se’nnight’s pay, those three coins that would scarce buy her a decent meal at the worst pub in town. But she would add them to the rest of what she had, as usual, and continue on as she always did.

She pushed away from the wall and walked into the stables, noting the condition of the floors between rows of stalls—one might eat off them if one were so inclined—and the condition of the horses housed inside those stalls—one might ride them to the ends of the earth if one were so inclined. She tried not to think about that possibility very often, lest the temptation prove to be more than she could bear.

The stables were less populated by lads than usual, but perhaps they’d snuck off for a bit of rest. She couldn’t blame them. The work was endless and they didn’t have the privilege of riding any of the horses they tended. The work was endless for her as well, but she was at least allowed to ride what she tended. If she generally limited herself to riding the finest horses in the barn, who could blame her?

She made her way without undue haste to her private tack room. In truth, the damned place was no larger than her uncle’s smallest wardrobe, but it was hers alone and there was a lock on her door. She was fortunate to have that much and she knew it.

She entered, then closed the door behind her purposefully, as if she indeed had many important things to do. She lit a lantern, then kept herself busy doing absolutely nothing for another few minutes until she was as certain as she could be that she wouldn’t be interrupted.

She carefully removed a stack of dusty, ancient saddle pads to reveal a very worn box full of half-used bottles of horse liniment. She looked at the nastiest of the lot but didn’t disturb it until she had made certain it hadn’t been moved by someone else. Finding everything to be as it should have been, she lifted the bottle and looked at what lay underneath it.

A key.

That key opened a lock that was found on a box that wasn’t found on her uncle’s property, a scheme that had been casually suggested to her a handful of years earlier by someone in town. She’d agreed just as casually that such seemed like a fine idea. The box in question, tended by that same trustworthy soul in town, was full of more silver than gold, but the modest collection of coins was hers, ruthlessly saved against a time when she might find it useful. She didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t imagine when such a day might come, but it had seemed a bit like having a loft stacked with a winter’s worth of hay. Security was nothing to be sneered at.

She deposited her trio of coins next to the key, then replaced everything in a way that left no indication that it had been moved. She sat down on a stool that still rocked despite the attempts she’d made over the years to file the legs to the same length. Her pay would be safe enough until she was able to get to town and put the coins where they needed to go. She took a deep breath, then let herself think thoughts that seemed so dangerous, she rarely entertained them. But since it had been that sort of day so far, she continued on with the anarchy.

She was going to get herself and her grandfather out of Sàraichte.

The truth was, she didn’t need a house by the sea. She wasn’t even sure she needed a house. All she needed was enough money to collect her grandfather from her uncle’s manor and spirit them both away to somewhere safe. Her grandfather’s frail condition demanded a place where she could find work and he could be cared for, but that was done easily enough. A town with a decent barn and a fair supply of women skilled in the arts of physicking would serve. Perhaps in time she might even find someone willing to try to heal him, for enough gold. She seriously doubted she would find anyone to do it out of the goodness of his heart—

A knock startled her so badly, she almost fell off her stool. She took a deep, steadying breath, then rose and opened the door. “Aye?”

Her head groomsman, Doghail, stood there. “Thought you should know that Fuadain’s in a temper,” he said in a low voice.

“When is he not?” she asked lightly.

“Aye, well, he seems to be in a particularly difficult mood today. You might want to keep that in mind.”

Léirsinn didn’t even consider arguing with that assessment. Doghail was a short, thin man who had spent the bulk of his life racing horses for this lord or that. He was wiry, malnourished, and canny as hell. The horses did his bidding without hesitation. She understood that. When he pulled her up with a pinky finger on her reins, she never hesitated to pause. If he said her uncle was in a temper, she was going to keep her ears forward—