Now she walked down the stone-flagged aisle, the great arches opening to her left into one of the exercise yards. On her right, rows of stalls with the dark narrow heads of horses peering out. A groom came out of a tackroom at the sound of her steps.
“Yes, dama?” He looked confused; Esmay identified herself and his face relaxed.
“I was wondering—my cousin Luci mentioned a mare she’d looked at—that Olin showed her—?”
“Ah—the Vasecsi daughter. Down here, dama, if you’ll follow me. Excellent bloodlines, that one, and has done very well in training so far. That is why the General chose her for your foundation herd.”
Outside the mare’s stall, a twist of blue and silver; Esmay looked down the row and saw more such twists. This was her herd, picked by her father, and although she could exchange them, it would shame him. But to make a gift of one mare, to Luci—that would be acceptable. She hoped.
“Here, dama.” The mare had her rump to the door, but when the groom clucked she swung round. Esmay recognized the qualities for which her father had chosen the horse: the good legs and feet, the depth of heart-girth, the strong back and hindquarters, the long limber neck and well-bred head. Solid dark brown, just lighter than black—“You would like to see her move?” the groom said, reaching for the halter that hung beside the stall.
“Yes, thank you,” Esmay said. She might as well. The groom led the mare out of the stall, across the aisle, and out into the courtyard. There, in the open ring, the groom put the mare through her paces, which accorded with her conformation. A long, low walk, a sweeping trot and long level canter. This was a horse to cover the ground, mile after mile, and yet she would be handy as well. A good mare. If only Esmay cared particularly—
“I’m sorry I was rude,” Luci said, from the arches. Her face was in shadow; her voice sounded as if she’d been crying. “She’s a lovely mare, and you deserve her.”
Esmay walked nearer; Luci had been crying. “Not really,” she said quietly. “I’m sure you heard all about my regrettable attitude towards horses back when I left.”
“I inherited your trail horse,” Luci said without answering the comment. She said it as if Esmay might be angry about it. Esmay had not thought about old—Red, had that been his name?—in years.
“Good,” Esmay said.
“You don’t mind?” Luci sounded surprised.
“Why should I mind? I left home; I couldn’t expect the horse to go unused.”
“They didn’t let anyone ride him for a year,” Luci said.
“So they thought I might flunk out and come back?” Esmay said. It didn’t surprise her, but she was glad she hadn’t known that.
“Of course not,” Luci said, too quickly. “It’s just—”
“Of course they did,” Esmay said. “But I didn’t fail, and I didn’t come back. I’m glad you got that horse . . . you seem to have inherited the family gift.”
“I can’t believe you really haven’t—”
“I can’t believe anyone really wants to stay on one planet,” Esmay said. “Even when it feels right.”
“But it’s not crowded,” Luci said, flinging out one arm. “There’s so much space . . . you can ride for hours . . .”
Esmay felt the familiar tension in her shoulders. Yes, she could ride for hours and never come to a border she need worry about . . . but she could not eat a meal without wondering if some old family grievance were about to explode. She turned to Luci, whose eyes kept following the mare.
“Luci, would you do me a favor?”
“I suppose.” No eagerness, but why would there be?
“Take the mare.” Esmay almost laughed at the shock on Luci’s face. She repeated it. “Take the mare. You want her. I don’t. I’ll square it with Papa Stefan, and with Father.”
“I—I can’t.” But naked desire glowed from her face, a wild happiness afraid to admit itself.
“You can. If that’s my mare, I can do what I want with her, and what I want to do is give her away, because I’m going back to Fleet . . . and that mare deserves an owner who will train her, ride her, breed her.” An owner who cared about her; every living thing deserved to be cared about.
“But your herd—”
Esmay shook her head. “I don’t need a herd. It’s enough to know I have my little valley to come home to . . . what would I do with a herd?”
“You’re serious.” Luci was sober again, beginning to believe it would happen, that Esmay was serious, and that different.
“I’m serious. She’s yours. Play polo on her, race her, breed her, whatever . . . she’s yours. Not mine.”
“I don’t understand you . . . but . . . I do want her.” Shy, sounding younger than she was.
“Of course you do,” Esmay said, and felt a century older, at least. Embarrassment hit then—had she seemed this young to Commander Serrano, to everyone who had a decade or more on her? Probably. “Listen—let’s go for a ride. I’ll need to get back in shape if I’m going to visit the valley.” She couldn’t yet say “my valley” even to Luci.
“You could ride her—if you wanted,” Luci said. Esmay could hear the struggle in her voice; she was trying hard to be fair, to return generosity for generosity.
“Heavens, no. I need one of the school horses, something solid and dependable . . . I don’t get any riding in Fleet.”
Grooms tacked up the horses, and they rode out toward the front fields, between the rows of fruit trees. Esmay watched Luci on the mare . . . Luci rode as if her spine were rooted into the horse’s spine, as if they were one being. Esmay, on a stolid gelding with gray around its eyes and muzzle, felt her hip joints creaking as she trotted. But what was her father going to say? Surely he had not expected her to manage a herd from light years away? Had he expected to manage them for her? As Luci cantered the mare in circles around Esmay, she decided to go the whole way.
“Luci—what are you planning to do?”
“Win a championship,” said Luci, grinning. “With this mare—”
“In the long run,” Esmay said. “Strategy, cousin.”
“Oh.” Luci halted the mare, and sat silently a moment, obviously wondering how much to tell her older cousin. Is she safe was written on her face as if with a marker.
“I have a reason for asking,” Esmay said.
“Well . . . I was going to try for the vet course at the Poly, though Mother wants me to study ‘something more appropriate’ at the University. I know there’s no chance of getting on the estate staff here, but if I qualified, I might somewhere else.”
“I suspected as much.” Esmay meant it benignly, but Luci flared up.
“I’m not just dreaming—”
“I know that. Get the hump out of your back. You’re serious, just as I was serious . . . and nobody believed me, either. That’s why I had the idea—”
“What idea?”
Esmay nudged her horse, and it ambled over to Luci’s mare. The mare twitched her ears but otherwise stood still. Esmay lowered her voice. “As you know, my father gave me a herd. The last thing I need is a herd, but if I try to give it back, he’ll be hurt and I’ll hear about it forever.”
Luci’s face relaxed; she almost grinned. “So?”
“So I need someone to manage my herd. Someone who will make sure that the mares go to the right stallions . . . that the foals get the right training, and are actually put on the market—” Family horses almost never went to market. “—And so forth,” Esmay said. “I would expect to compensate the manager, of course. The eye of the master fattens the herd . . . and I will be far away, for a very long time.”