Sea Glass. Maria Snyder V.
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I inspected her from nose to tail. Her reddish-brown and white coat gleamed. No mud or cuts marred her legs and her mane and tail had been combed free of briars and straw. Her hooves were trimmed and neat. No horseshoes, though. Sandseed horses won’t let a farrier near them.
She nudged me with her nose, searching for treats. The only white on her brown face was a patch between her eyes. I probably imagined the sympathetic look she gave me, suppressing the sudden desire to pour my heart out to her.
I checked Moonlight. His sleek muscles enhanced his powerful build and he appeared healthy, too. The only white on him—the circle on his forehead and the reason for his name—shone as if recently washed.
“No doubt they’re yours,” Peter said.
“What do I owe you for their care?” I asked.
He looked at Devlen in surprise. “Nothing. He paid for two full seasons. In fact, I owe you.”
“Perhaps we can work out a deal. I need three more horses.”
“They won’t be Sandseed horses. They’re too expensive. It’s been my pleasure to take care of these two. I’ve never seen such intelligence.” Peter led us to the main stable.
The large wooden building smelled of earth and horses. Sawdust littered the floor and dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the big open doors. Two rows of stalls, sitting back-to-back, lined each side, creating three walkways. The main through way was wider than the others. Ropes hung along the stalls to secure horses for grooming and saddling.
“Your tack is in the back room.” He pointed. “I’ll have my staff bring your horses and the rental horses. See what you think of them.” He hustled back to the pasture.
I entered the tack room. My saddle hung on the far wall and I unhooked it. The leather had been cleaned. In fact, the bridles, reins and rest of our tack appeared to be in good condition. The neat and organized room reflected Peter’s caring and professional attitude.
Which was why the crack of a whip surprised me so much. Laden with equipment, I hurried from the room.
Janco clutched his right hand. Blood poured from between his fingers. He dodged as a long leather whip snapped at him. His sword lay on the ground out of his reach. The two Sitian guards fought four men with pitchforks. Devlen stood to the side, grinning.
We were under attack.
Chapter 2
I DROPPED THE TACK. My sais and glass spiders remained in my saddlebags. Right where I had left them with Janco. A brute of a man attacked him with a whip. Janco ducked and darted, trying to get to his sword. He was fast, but with each snap, the whip tore his shirt to rags. Blood stained the shredded material.
No weapons. No time. I charged the man wielding the whip, intending to knock him over or distract him long enough for Janco to regain his weapon.
I had forgotten about Devlen. He plowed into me before I reached my target. We crashed into the side of a stall. My breath whooshed from my lungs as his weight pressed me into the ground. Gasping and choking on dirt, I struggled to push Devlen off, to no avail.
“Gotcha!” a man’s voice yelled.
The snaps stopped, but the ring of metal sounded for another minute until a furious round of clatters and curses ended in silence.
“What the hell is going on here?” Peter demanded.
Good question.
“Contingency plan,” Devlen said. He lurched to his feet with his hands still manacled.
I scrambled to grab him, but another man leveled his pitchfork at my chest. Our Sitian guards knelt with their hands laced behind their heads. Behind them two men pressed pitchforks into their backs. The man with the whip held Janco. The whip’s leather strap wrapped around Janco’s torso multiple times, trapping his arms.
The horse Peter had been leading shied away from the smell of blood, but he quieted the animal with a reassuring hand. “Explain now,” he ordered.
I counted six men—seven if I included Devlen—against three. The fourth pitchfork man searched Janco’s pockets and found the key for Devlen’s cuffs.
Once freed of the manacles, Devlen rubbed his wrists. “Thank you.” He turned to Peter. “As you said yourself, Sandseed horses are expensive. I am afraid these people here—” he swept his arm out, indicating me and Janco “—tried to trick you.”
“He’s lying—ow!” The pitchfork’s sharp metal points jabbed into me.
“Do not be rude, Opal. You spun your story. Now it is my turn.” Devlen smoothed his hair away from his face. “The reason I paid for two seasons is I planned to be gone for two seasons, but I had a feeling something like this might happen and confided in the stable manager.” He inclined his head to the big man holding Janco. “You see, Sandseed horses are prized in Ixia. These three are really Ixian soldiers.”
The two Sitians guards tried to deny the accusation, but were pricked into silence.
“I am a horse trader and had business near the Ixian border,” Devlen continued. “They disguised themselves as Sitians, kidnapped me and coerced me into bringing them here so they could steal my horses.”
Protests erupted and pitchforks poked. My body felt like a steak being tenderized. Janco remained unusually quiet. A good or bad sign? I couldn’t tell.
Peter’s expression had turned from outrage to confusion. “But what about her? The painted mare wouldn’t have let a stranger touch her. It took me three weeks to get her to trust me.”
“My sister. Unfortunately, she was romanced by him.” He pointed at Janco. “She is young and inexperienced. He used her.” He clucked his tongue.
Outraged, I stepped away from the pitchfork. “We’re not related. He’s lying to you.”
My guard glanced at Devlen, and I braced for the jab. Devlen gave him a dismissive wave. No holes for now. Yippee for me.
“I’m sorry,” Peter said, looking from Devlen to me, “I don’t know who to believe.”
“You will want proof, of course,” Devlen said. “Go ahead, Opal, prove your ridiculous story to Peter.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. All I had on hand was the message from the Council and it would do more harm than good. The permission papers to travel through and leave Ixia had been collected by the border guards. The only way to convince Peter would be if he verified my story with one of the magicians in the Keep or with Zitora, which would alert the Council to my location. But better to be forced to appear before the Council and locked in the Keep’s cells than be Devlen’s prisoner again.
Devlen smirked as the silence lengthened. “She has nothing.”
“Peter can contact Second Magician Zitora Cowan to verify my story,” I said. The stable owner looked suitably awed.
“Name-dropping. Very impressive,” Devlen said. “And it would take a long time, too. Extra points for creativity.”
“Do you have any proof?” Peter asked.
“Of course.” Devlen strode to Janco’s pack and opened it. He turned it upside down and shook out the contents. “Ixian uniform. Ixian coins. Ixian weapons.”
“It’s a knife,” I said. “Everyone uses a knife.”
He yanked the blade from its sheath. “Not with Ixian battle symbols etched in the metal.”
Real fear caressed my spine. Before, the whole situation was preposterous, but now I worried Peter would believe him.
“If you need more, I can saddle Moonlight. You know Sandseed horses are very particular about who can ride them.”
Peter nodded.
“At