Saving the Immortal

Chapter Thirteen: The Wild Horse

"Feel free to occupy yourself however you please," Ruselon said, before departing that morning, his dark hair now properly bound once more, the composed formality of the court already settling back over him like a second skin. "There is much within the palace grounds to explore, should you wish it. I regret only that my own duties keep me from exploring it beside you today."

"I shall manage well enough," I said, and found, somewhat to my own surprise, that I meant it.

I dressed carefully once he had gone — a gown of deep emerald silk, one of the finer things my mother had insisted travel north with me, and settled my tiara properly atop hair my maid had arranged with considerable skill. I did not know, precisely, why I felt the need to present myself with such particular care for a day that held no obligations at all. Perhaps it was simply the residue of the previous morning's confrontation, some quiet insistence within me that whatever this court thought of me, I would not appear diminished by it.

I made my way toward the stables, having heard from Bess that the grounds beyond them offered pleasant walking, and had scarcely crossed the courtyard when Marrow appeared, falling into step beside me with an ease that suggested he had been watching for my emergence.

"Princess," he said, inclining his head with more courtesy than I had witnessed from him at dinner two nights prior. "I owe you an apology, I believe. For my behavior at the feast, and again before my father. It was unkind, and unworthy of any true welcome you deserved."

I regarded him carefully.

"That is generous of you to say," I said, though something in his easy smile left me less than entirely persuaded of its sincerity.

"I mean it truly," he said. "Ruselon has always borne the worst of this family's cruelty, and I have been guilty of adding to it more often than I ought. I should like the chance to make some small amends, if you would permit it."

"And what amends did you have in mind," I asked.

"Horse riding," he said, gesturing toward the stables now visible ahead of us. "A fine morning for it. I could show you the grounds properly, if it would please you."

I considered him a moment longer.

"Very well," I said finally, deciding that whatever reservations lingered within me, a simple ride through open country seemed harmless enough, and perhaps some genuine reconciliation with Ruselon's family was not entirely beyond hoping for.

The horse Marrow led out for me was magnificent — a great black stallion, muscles rippling beneath a coat that gleamed like polished obsidian, eyes carrying a wildness I noted with some unease even as Marrow assured me the beast was perfectly suited for a lady's use.

"He is spirited," Marrow said, with a smile I did not, in hindsight, examine quite carefully enough, "but entirely manageable, I assure you."

I should have questioned it further.

I did not.

I allowed the stable hand to help me into the saddle, arranged my skirts as properly as the position permitted, and had scarcely settled my grip upon the reins when the stallion reared beneath me with a violence that gave no warning whatsoever.

I do not recall the fall itself with any clarity.

I recall only the sensation of the world tilting entirely, the ground rushing toward me with a speed that offered no time for thought, and then the impact itself — a pain so total and so sudden that it swallowed every other sensation entirely, driving the breath from my lungs and the sight from my eyes in the same terrible instant.

I heard shouting.

Distant, as though filtered through water, voices calling my name, calling for help, calling for someone to fetch the physician immediately.

I could not answer them.

My body had gone strangely numb in places, and sharply, unbearably alive with pain in others — my arm bent at an angle I understood, even through the fog claiming my thoughts, to be entirely wrong, my side screaming with every shallow breath I managed to draw.

Fragile, I thought, distantly, as darkness began pulling at the edges of my vision. I have always been so fragile. My mother always said as much.

I do not know how long I lay upon that ground before the darkness finally claimed me entirely.

I know only that the last thing I registered, before consciousness slipped away completely, was Marrow's face above me — not concerned, I thought, though I could not be entirely certain given the state I was in.

Something closer, in that final blurred moment, to satisfaction.