of the fire, and watching the ripple of red and orange across the surface of coals.
Soon, Teriyan dragged a chair and sat beside her, with a head toss to keep his long red hair clear of the chair back. “So Kessligh's got a visitor?” he said. His tone suggested he'd had several ales already…but Teriyan was one man Sasha knew could hold his drink.
She nodded, taking an absent sip. It was her first, and only, ale of the night. Kessligh didn't like her drinking the stuff at all, but she liked to be sociable…more than she liked the taste, in truth.
“His name's Aiden,” Sasha replied, somewhat sourly. “He rode all the way from Petrodor, just to talk to Kessligh.”
“About what, do you know?”
Sasha shrugged. “Nasi-Keth business, I guess. I was booted out of the house before I could hear.”
“Could you be a little more enthusiastic?” Teriyan suggested, taking another pull at his ale. “You'll be heading to Rathynal soon, you'll get to see your Sofy again.” Sasha smiled. “Aha, I thought that would do it. Cheer up, kid, you look like Lynie did when her pet rat died.”
“Lynie had a pet rat?”
“She did until the dog ate it. She nearly killed the poor mutt, never seen a boarhound so frightened.” Sasha grinned, well able to imagine that. “But then she teamed up with you and your horses, hasn't looked at a rat since.”
“I think it's a Goeren-yai thing,” said Sasha. From the other side of the room, there came a roar of triumph—some of the men were playing a game with knives and a throwing board. Another night, and another mood, she might have joined them.
Spirits, she'd loved it when she'd first come to Baerlyn. There were animals here. Kessligh had brought six classy mares with him, gifts from the king's stables, and her new life meant being around them all day. Every morning when she'd awoken within the timber walls of her new home, the horses were waiting for her. And there were the dogs, the two cows, birds in the trees, deer in the woods, the occasional bear, big and small wildcats, and wolves howling at the moon.
Well, she'd not loved it entirely at first. Kessligh had been a hard taskmaster. There were no more servants prying into her life, which was wonderful…but also, there had been no one to make her bed, prepare her meals, set the fire, fetch water, chop wood and all the other small tasks that took her away from her precious horses and important svaalverd work.
There'd also been Kessligh's training. She'd thought it would be fun, at first, for she'd loved training on her own or with Kessligh and Krystoff in the privacy of the empty stables in Baen-Tar. But Kessligh's new routines were far more advanced than the little exercises he'd suggested in Baen-Tar. These included painful stretches every morning and evening, long runs up the hill behind the ranch, and endless, tedious sessions of repeating the same, basic swing over and over and over again.
Soon enough, the little loud-mouth brat princess had begun whining and complaining about her aching shoulders, her blistered hands and the sheer, mind-numbing boredom of not getting to do any real fighting. And she'd been tired all the time, and sometimes ill, and winter had been well on its way. Kessligh had explained, time after time, the necessity of learning the svaalverd's most basic forms until they became as second-nature as walking and breathing. But her tantrums had grown worse, especially in the freezing downpours and howling gales of autumn.
After one particularly hysterical tantrum, Kessligh had dragged her from her room where she'd flung herself on her bed, and sat her down before the fireplace. He'd explained to her, in a very serious way, that if she no longer wished to be his uma, she could always return to Baen-Tar and become a proper princess again. She'd wear dresses, learn manners and etiquette, and practise needlework instead of svaalverd. There'd be no more pain, no more exercises and stretches, no more bruises, strains and blisters. But there'd also be no more horses, no more wide open spaces, no more hiding on the forest ledge along the hillside to spy on the wolfcubs playing before their den. No more spear fishing in the little stream at the bottom of the hill, or swimming in the waterhole beneath the little falls on a warm summer's day. No more crackling log fires in the evenings, and the cabin filled with