Starsinger

Banquet

The day to day business of caring for a unicorn turned out to be very much like the day to day business of caring for horses. The creature needed to be fed, groomed, exercised, and eventually cleaned up after. Aaron often wondered if it was the sameness of it all that made the differences so stark and strange. The unicorn didn't eat hay, but tree bark, peeled from the copper-colored trees in long curling strips. All the familiar grooming brushes were there, hanging on the wall of the small stable, but no matter how many times he did it Aaron couldn't get used to the rippling waves each brushstroke sent across the unicorn's hide, as if the coat was made of water. Cleaning the stall was still unpleasant, but even the smell was different, a sort of sooty, burnt smell. When the refuse dried it looked more like ash than waste.

Olive watched Aaron's work with a critical eye, half the time redoing his tasks the instant he thought they were complete. Sometimes he'd hear her muttering about Errick. Aaron surmised that she must have been reasonably satisfied, however, since every morning she ushered him back into the small stable.

Malcolm had given the unicorn a long Vlynnish name, but Olive couldn't pronounce it so she called the creature Ember. When they walked her around the stable, the reds and oranges of her hide seemed to move like the flicker of flame.

They never exercised the unicorn in the yard with the other horses. When Aaron asked why not, Olive only shrugged.

"Milord loves this beastie more than his own son," she said. "Doesn't want to risk anything happening to her."

At least twice a day Aaron had to pinch himself to remember that he wasn't dreaming. Legend had it that if a star fell to earth, it would take on the form of a unicorn and walk the realms of its starborn descendants. Aaron had always thought that was silly, but when he saw the morning light glimmer through Ember's transparent horn, it was not hard to believe she was a god made flesh.

Who knew the gods could shit so much? Aaron thought as he raked through the unicorn's stall. Lord Malcolm's guest had arrived that morning, and Olive had been running errands all day. Preemptive adrenaline thrummed in his veins and made it hard to focus. Tonight. We'll escape tonight.

Ember eyed him reproachfully.

"You can mind your own business," Aaron told the creature.

From the stable entrance, he heard a creaky laugh. Olive's father was feeling his way inside, hands gripping along the wood.

"Talking to the unicorn now, lad?" he asked.

"Don't worry, sir," Aaron said. "My da always said you're only in trouble when the animals start talking back."

The old hostler lowered himself onto the narrow bench set into the stable wall. "Get too friendly with a unicorn and they just might," he told Aaron, smiling over crooked teeth. "Gods all know they've got plenty to say."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I hear enough from Olive about how derelict I am in my duties. Don't much need Ember to tell me twice."

The hostler's father laughed and slapped the bench. "Clever lad. But she knows you're a good fellow just as clear as I do, for all she sneers. Unicorns see truth, lad. That's their gift, and their curse."

"Da, are you distracting him with faerietales again?" Olive demanded as she strode into the small stable.

"They're more than faerietales, Olive. I told you, when I was your age—"

"I know, da. You've told me." She turned to Aaron. "We've got a messenger from the manse. Milord wants you to serve table at the banquet for his guest tonight."

Aaron blinked. "Why?"

Olive shrugged. "Didn't ask."

"I've never served table before."