“Well?” Merile turns around slowly, to catch the ghosts’ reply. They can’t leave the house, but they aren’t often wrong.
“There,” Irina replies, backing away from the daylight as if it hurt her.
“I can’t…” Olesia trails off, and with that, both ghosts fade away.
I’d call them back, I would, but just then, the most beautiful black horse I’ve ever seen bursts out from between the trees. Its long mane flutters in the wind, and the oiled hooves glint in the sunlight. The rider stands on the golden stirrups, dressed in the reddest of red coats. His white grin is wide, and his skin is akin to Merile’s. No, darker. The rider is…
“The Poet,” Merile chimes, and runs to the yard, past Boy, who’s spotted the rider too, and is struggling with his rifle’s strap to unloop it from around his shoulder. “Don’t shoot! It’s my seed!”
I hurry after my sister as the Poet gallops the long, even stretch of the road, past the fields like starry skies. I bless his name! At last, Papa has sent someone to our rescue! I can’t wait to see my sisters’ expressions!
But then another rider emerges from between the bare trees, one on a leaner, meaner pony. His leather coat flaps hurting-sharply against his sides. Great, gray-black dogs leap barking behind him. This second rider…
“Get back inside!”
I swirl around just in time to see Captain Janlav and Belly and Beard striding down the stone steps. They look startled and… even furious to find me and Merile in the yard. Our older sisters, they didn’t follow us out! I know it then, I’m definitely somewhere where I shouldn’t be, but also that I can’t leave even if I should.
“Will you get them inside now,” Captain Janlav snaps at Boy as he leads Belly and Beard past us, to the closed gate. He’s angry, but also excited, as if something he’d awaited for a long time were finally about to come true.
Boy flounders to me and Merile, but we repeatedly ignore him pointing toward the house. Then Belly and Beard are already leaning their elbows against the gate, rifles unslung, aimed toward the riders. As the Poet reaches the slope, he glances over his shoulder, at the rider behind him, and he’s so close now that I recognize him.
“It’s Captain Ansalov,” I whisper.
Boy stops waving. His mouth gapes, but no words come out. This is no rescue. This is something else, and it feels as if the very ground were giving in under my sabots.
“Drat,” Merile curses as the Poet digs his spurs against his horse’s sides. His grin widens as he leans forward. He buries his head against the fluttering black mane. The horse speeds up, hooves scattering gravel. “They’re racing.”
“Lower the rifles!” Captain Janlav orders. He must have realized the same thing. “And move aside, unless you want to get trampled.”
He has just enough time to swing the gate open and dodge aside before the Poet canters to the yard, past the dazzled Boy and Merile’s companions. He draws his horse to a halt so sharp that it ends up sitting on its hind legs. He pats the horse on its foaming neck and then swings down from the saddle. “My sweet, little Merile!”
Merile dashes to her seed, even as Captain Ansalov enters the yard at a trot, his hunting dogs leaping behind him. I don’t dare to look at him, and so I run after Merile. Rafa and Mufu follow me, barking over their shoulders. I’m happy that they have my back.
The Poet’s oiled hair is twisted into a dozen braids with silver crescents tangling at the ends. He wears a fine red coat with golden epaulets that toss and turn as he lifts Merile up in the air. His black, soft trousers are tucked into shiny boots. He doesn’t wear any gloves. The ghosts were right about that, at least. But there’s still more questions than there are answers.
“I do apologize for taking so long to find you.” The Poet swings Merile around. My sister laughs, her head bent back, her black curls bobbing. Rafa and Mufu yap around them, running small circles. I stand there, hands tucked into my dress’s pockets. I don’t know what to do. I’m confused and excited and a bit afraid, if it’s possible to be all of that at the same time. “No doubt my visit is long overdue!”
“Captain Janlav.” Captain Ansalov’s call is more like a jeer. His hounds sniff the air and growl, maybe at me. I shuffle closer to the Poet’s magnificent horse. Its tack is splattered with mud and the leopard skin under the saddle is soaked through. “It seems like these days your prisoners run around rather freely.”
It’s the first time someone calls us that, but it might just be the truth. For Captain Janlav grits his teeth, glances at me and Merile, as if thinking what he can say when we’re within earshot. But before he can make up his mind, Merile’s seed lowers her. He hooks his thumbs on his wide belt and speaks in a loud, booming voice. “And are we not all prisoners of our body, minds knotted inside skin and bone shell? Do we not deserve to run when we can, before the empress rings the last bell? Those young of age, those unconcerned, let them remain that way. For rather sooner than later, I’m sure of it, darker will be the day.”
Everyone, including the two captains, turns to stare at the Poet. Merile beams at her seed’s words, though I bet that she didn’t understand either what they were about. Captain Ansalov’s frown turns smug. I realize he likes this sort of thing, operas and poetry.
“Captain Ansalov! We meet again.” Captain Janlav strides to Captain Ansalov, Belly and Beard in tow. Their rifles are strapped against their backs once more, though their elbows bear wet stains from aiming the guns earlier. “What brings you here on a fine day like this!”
“Come, Bopol!” The Poet reaches out for the reins and pats his horse on its sweaty neck. He grimaces and wipes his hand clean on his trousers. “Daughters, let us walk. For soon, I think, adults must talk.”
Adults… Celestia must be disappointed and upset with me and Merile slipping out on our own. Maybe we should return inside.
But Merile couldn’t seem less concerned about that. She slips her arm around the Poet’s, and though she reaches only up to his chest, her smile is like the rising sun. It dimples her cheeks, and her teeth flash white. Seeing her so happy is almost enough to make me forget the awful Captain Ansalov and his hounds and everything else that’s broken or wrong in this world. Almost. For the captain’s shadow is very dark, and it almost seems as if… as if it were reaching out toward us.
I hurry to keep up with my older sister and her seed. I’ll tell Celestia this outing was Merile’s idea.
Poet’s horse—Bopol, and that’s a fine name for a fine horse—follows us like a tame giant, neck arched and ears bent forward. I bet he’s as gentle as a lapdog. Though unlike some lapdogs, like Rafa and Mufu, he doesn’t bounce after his master but walks majestically. I wait for either the Poet or Merile to speak, but neither does, not until we reach the wooden rail before the stables.
As Bopol extends his teeth to gnaw at the rail, the Poet reaches out for the saddlebags and unclips the closest one. He rummages through the content. Merile’s big brown eyes sparkle. “Did you bring me something? Did you?”
I’m getting curious, too. Or I want to get curious. I only glance at the two captains, who talk in voices so low they don’t carry this far. But there, beyond the gates, I see more soldiers arriving, some of them riding ponies, others sitting on a horse-drawn cart. There’s one, two, three… five of them, I think.
“Indeed I brought you a fitting present.” The Poet pulls out from the bag a red silk scarf. He flourishes it before Merile so that the sun shines through it and I can see the shape of his face, now colored red, behind it. “The very thing is Moon-sent!”
“White.” Merile’s forehead wrinkles. She taps her sabot against the gravel. “But it’s not white!”