away.”
“A dragon!” Ianthe exclaimed. “Cousin, you must tell us all the details!”
“I will, at some other time,” he said, rising to his feet. “You ladies must excuse me—I need to talk with Prince Lleyn. We have bet on the next race, and I want to see his face when he loses.” He distributed smiles all around and left the silken battlefield with relief.
After the fifth race—which Rohan lost to Prince Lleyn, much to the old man’s delight—there came a break for refreshments and the paying off of debts. Rohan declined Lleyn’s offer of lunch and went down to the track; there jumps were being set for the next few races. Two fences, two hedges, and two “stone” walls made of painted wood—he measured them with his eyes and nodded to himself. They were nothing Pashta couldn’t handle with ease.
He watched the sixth and seventh races from railside, making mental notes about the number of strides necessary between jumps. No one paid much attention to the slight, plainly dressed young man who cheered on Lord Chaynal’s horses. Prince Haldor of Syr’s entry took the sixth, and a stallion from Radzyn Keep won the seventh. As the eighth was called, Rohan felt a tug on his sleeve.
“It’s time, my lord,” his groom said. “I’ve brought your shirt.” He held up a sky-blue silk blouse, and Rohan stripped off his tunic before sliding his arms into his colors. The men and women around him, having heard the honorific and seen him change clothes, gaped. Then someone gave a mighty guffaw and clapped Rohan on the back.
“I’ll be wagering on you, my lord!”
“The odds should be very good against me!” Rohan answered, grinning. “Enjoy your profits!”
On the way to the paddocks, the groom provided him with a wealth of information. The course was easy enough until the climb to the sea cliffs began. There the trail turned rocky and dangerous; many horses would founder on the way up, still more on the way down. Pashta’s training in the Desert would serve him well here. As for the other entries, all were considered inferior, but Rohan was to keep an eye on Prince Haldor’s stallion. The Syrene horse had been battle-bred to sink his teeth into anything that got in range.
“I’d slow Pashta a bit during the two measures back from the Bay, my lord,” the groom finished. “He won’t save much for the jumps on his own—you know he’ll run his heart out for you, so you’ll have to make him spare himself.”
“I’ll remember.” He entered the paddock and approached the stallion, who was in fine trim and seemed to know that all the attention meant he would be racing today. He butted Rohan’s shoulder playfully with his nose, and the prince laughed.
“No plain river stones for our Sioned, eh, my lad?” he whispered, rubbing the white blaze down the stallion’s face. “We’ll beat them all in a walk.”
Pashta’s huge dark eyes closed lazily, almost a wink. Rohan laughed again, then mounted and gathered the reins.
“I’ve had to slip in weights, my lord,” the groom said. “Rules say all the horses carry the same. You haven’t enough flesh to cover your own bones, let alone make up the legal weight—so remember he’s carrying extra today.”
The blue silk clung to him in the afternoon heat, and he shifted his shoulders against the trickle of sweat down his spine. As the trumpet sounded he stood in the stirrups to signal his readiness and told himself he was not nervous. He’d never ridden in a Rialla race before—no prince had—and as he walked Pashta decorously to the starting line the prize jewels became secondary to not making a fool of himself. He glanced up at the stands only once, but could not see Sioned’s red-gold hair in the crowd. Perhaps it was better so.
Nothing prevented her from seeing him, however, and her careful composure nearly cracked. What did that madman think he was doing? She shared a horrified glance with Tobin.
“Ianthe, look!” Pandsala exclaimed. “There’s Rohan!”
“I didn’t know he would enter the races himself!” Ianthe said.
“Neither did I,” Sioned muttered. “I didn’t think he was that foolish.”
A section of the railing had been shifted so the horses could exit the track before the first jump. Excited spectators strained against the fences as the yellow flag dropped. Sioned held her breath as thirty horses thundered past, jostling for the best position through the gap. It was surely too narrow for all to get through safely, but somehow they