Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(63)

She had to dig more than she liked, but she loosened the stone, carefully drew it out. And tossed it to Mick. “Another minute,” she all but crooned as she stroked the leg, slid her knife back into its sheath to free her other hand.

She held it over the bruised hoof, that tender area, soothed it. “If you come with me, I have balm that will make it feel even better. You don’t have to stay. Or I can ask Mick to run back and—”

“Fallon.”

“I’ll be fine. You can get there and back in no time. Mallick will know what to give you.”

“Fallon,” he said again, and with some impatience she looked around.

Saw Taibhse cast his shadow over the ground before he chose his branch. Watched Faol Ban step out of the shadows.

“They’re together. We’re together.” Filled with joy, she stroked a hand up Laoch’s leg. She felt the quiver, felt that strong bunching of muscle, and instinctively stepped back.

In wonder, she watched with Mick as the silver horn speared out of the great head. And when he once again reared, bugled, the silver wings that flowed out.

“Man. Jeez. Shit! He’s not a horse.”

“An alicorn.” Fallon let out a reverent breath. “His breed is called alicorn. And he’s mine. He’s mine, and I’m his. As he’s Taibhse’s and Faol Ban’s, and they are his. As we are ours.”

She pointed skyward, and color flashed, spread. Joy, she thought again. And laughed as she let hers fly into dozens of rainbows.

She gripped the white mane to launch herself into the golden saddle.

“He—he doesn’t have any reins,” Mick stuttered.

“We don’t need them. Want a ride back?”

“I think I’ll walk. I’m fine down here. Nobody’s going to believe me.”

“Tell them to look up.”

Laughing, she threw her arms up. In one smooth leap, Laoch rose, and with the owl gliding after, the wolf racing below, she rode the alicorn into her own joy.

Mallick watched her streak across the blooming sky on the white horse. A shooting star, he thought, bright and glorious.

The man responsible for the girl felt his heart drop as she dipped and rose, circled and spun. The sorcerer responsible for The One felt his soul lift.

“At least she could hold on,” the man grumbled.

Instead, she flung out an arm for the owl, dived down, and landed a foot away from the charging wolf.

So they came to him. She came to him glowing like the sun.

And the beauty of it, the power of it, all but closed Mallick’s throat.

“I found him! You didn’t say alicorn.”

“It wasn’t for me. Laoch chooses whether to reveal his full nature.”

“Well, he sure did. Mick might’ve wet his pants.” Laughing still, she rubbed a hand over Laoch’s neck. “He’s so beautiful. But he needs some balm. He had a stone in his right front hoof. I got it out, and eased most of the bruising, but it was deep, and he needs more care.”

“We’ll see to him.”

“I know what they are to me, what we are to each other.”

“He would never have allowed you to find him otherwise.”

“We need to add on to the stable, for when he wants to stay.”

She tossed a leg over the horse, dropped down to the ground—a considerable drop—with a kind of careless fluidity.

“Yes.”

“But not a stall. Just a shelter. He wouldn’t like to be shut in. Just a lean-to and bedding and water. He needs to come and go as he pleases.”

As Taibhse flew off to a nearby tree, Fallon gave the wolf a rub before she walked to Laoch’s head. “I understand now. Grace is mine, but she’s not built for war. But he is, and he’s mine, too. I wish he could just fly or run or just be.” She laid her cheek on the horse’s. “That all of us could. But we can’t, can we?”

“There are battles ahead. But not this day.”

“Not today.” She stepped back. “I’ll go get the balm.”

“You’ve said nothing about your great wish.”

“I just said I wished we could just be.”

“The bathroom.”

She stared a moment, then laughed. “I nearly forgot all about it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it. A deal’s a deal. We’re going to need supplies. But Laoch needs the balm. And an apple.”

Mallick stood with the horse, the owl, the wolf under a sky still rioting with color. He watched the girl he would send to war run into the house.

And felt a wild pride and a sick dread.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


On a sunny day in June, Fallon knocked Mallick on his ass.

Though her skill with a sword had improved steadily through the spring, the moment stunned them both. Mallick sat on the ground, his breath gone, his sword beside him where it slipped from his hand at the force of her blow. Fallon stood, feet planted, both hands gripping the hilt, as she’d swung back for another strike.

Her own breathing ragged, her face dewed with sweat, she slowly lowered the sword. Then lifted it again, along with her other hand, pumping them toward the pure blue of the sky while she let out hoots. And danced.

“Yes, yes, yes! Finally!” She jiggled her shoulders, shook her butt and, sword in hand, executed a kind of boot-stomping pirouette.