Flame of Sevenwaters by Juliet Marillier Page A

excuse me, I must go and find Finbar.”
    I walked out of the chamber without looking back.

CHAPTER 4

    M y brother and his tutor were not in their study chamber, or in the kitchens consuming cake, or anywhere to be found, so I went to visit Swift on my own. That was just as well. I was wound tight as a harp string and not fit company for anyone. As I walked over to the stable yard I made myself breathe slowly. I should be able to do this. I should be able to sit in a room with a group of women and have a polite conversation with my own mother and sister. It wasn’t as if the place was unfamiliar. My sisters and I had plied our needles there day after day under our mother’s eagle eye, learning the skills that would make us fit wives for chieftains or princes. But it was hard, harder than Mother could imagine, to sit idle amid such industry. Rhian had seen it and had presented me with a perfect excuse to leave. Why hadn’t Mother left well alone? Maybe she thought she was doing me a favor. Maybe she thought I wanted her to act as if nothing had changed. That was half-true: I hated fuss. Yes, at Harrowfield I had sat at the family table, and nobody had taken a bit of notice when Rhian fed me, because it was simply the way things were. Here, it would be different.
    I paused to stroke the forehead of an old mare that was housed at the far end of the stables. She nuzzled close, expecting a treat. “What a disappointment I must be to her,” I murmured. “But Deirdre married a chieftain and Clodagh a prince—what mother wouldn’t be satisfied with that? Though I imagine a prince of the Otherworld is somewhat less desirable as a son-in-law than the ordinary kind. But then, Muirrin married a healer and Sibeal a scholar. And I won’t marry at all. Perhaps Eilis will find a king’s son in Galicia, one who likes horses. Maybe she’ll never come home again. But it’s just as likely she’ll fall for a lowly groom or decide she can’t be bothered with men at all.”
    What the mare thought of my ponderings I could not guess, but her quiet presence calmed me. I gave her another caress, using the back of my hand. Sounds of activity from the exercise area, a circular space of packed earth surrounded by a chest-high fence of woven wattles, drew me along the stable building to stand by the barrier. I watched in some surprise as one of the Sevenwaters grooms, a man I did not know, led Swift out into the yard. The yearling’s eye was uneasy, his gait nervous. My father’s stable master, stocky, gray-haired Duald, was by the doorway. He’d always been a hard-looking man, and time had only rendered his features grimmer. What were they doing, bringing Swift out so soon, when he was not recovered from the journey?
    “Go slow, lad!” Duald called out now. “Walk forward steadily. Let the creature know you’re in charge.”
    I held my tongue with some difficulty. Where were Emrys and Donal? Swift did not know either of these men, and he was edgy, sweating, uncomfortable. From where I stood by the barrier, I doubted if the horse could see me well enough to recognize the one familiar face.
    “Pick up the pace!” Duald called, louder than was quite appropriate. “Give him a touch!”
    Swift ran; the groom ran with him, careless of what damage rope and halter might be doing. If the yearling deviated from what was deemed to be a correct path within the circle, the groom corrected him with a light tap on the flank, using a short leather-boundstick. It was not a cruel blow; indeed, such a practice was common in most training yards. We had never used it on Swift. I felt cold sweat break out on my skin.
    A small group of onlookers had gathered on one side of the exercise yard. I craned my neck and spotted Emrys at the back, his features tight with anxiety.
    Under Duald’s commands, the Sevenwaters groom continued to put Swift through his paces. Perhaps they thought they had his measure, for the horse seemed obedient as he was led at a