Eleven Books

Of untamable hearts

Ailsa had never been patient. It was one of the things her mother Elaine hated most about her. As a young girl, she had fidgeted so much at dinner tables and gatherings that Elaine had taken to punishments after the parties were over—for every time Ailsa was caught out of character as a refined, mature princess of the realm, she would be forced to work in the stables for an hour, doing whatever work the stablemaster required of her.

This, of course, backfired spectacularly.

Hours of manual labor did not serve to teach the girl patience, but they did endear her to the stable staff, and build in her such a proficiency in—and love of—all things equestrian that Ailsa very quickly became one of the best riders Anerah had ever known. The long-standing record at the Races—a renowned riding competition held once every three years in the capital city—for four furlongs on horseback was forty-one seconds, by a rider and mount who had been bonded to one another for thirty years.

Or it had been until Ailsa Danton went thirty-nine seconds at age fifteen. With Starlight, having been riding with him for a year.

Elaine Danton's efforts to teach her youngest daughter to tolerate slow things had, ironically, made her the fastest person alive.

But this was the kind of situation, Ailsa mused, where a little patience would make things far easier. Because on the thirteenth hour of the second day, trying to endure a lunch of cucumber sandwiches with some refined young ladies—who were all watching her eldest brother with hawkish, shrewd eyes—was entirely impossible.

It was even worse on the third day, during which time Ailsa spent the entire day scanning every surface for a scroll tied with a blue ribbon. They would put it somewhere only she would notice, right? What if they hadn't?

What if someone else had picked it up, and she would be arrested tonight?

Would they kill their own princess?

Rhiannon was again tight-lipped, but she did run a comforting hand over the Ailsa's back when she stopped by her bedroom to freshen up in the early afternoon.

And as Ailsa studied her nurse carefully, searching for any indication of where that note might be hidden, she just realized.

The one place where nobody but she was ever allowed to be, according to unspoken Anerian law.

Oh, she was an idiot.

The good news was that she'd already carved out part of the afternoon for training with Starlight, so there was no need to make excuses for her sudden appearance in her mount's stall. She began to scan surfaces, heart thumping steadily at her throat, hands a little shaky—

Between the slats in the interior side of the door, a tiny scrap of navy blue poked out.

Ailsa blocked out the instinctive surge of territorial indignation, noting that it would be easy enough to slip the note through from the outside of the stall, no intrusion necessary. She tugged the bit of cloth gently until she withdrew a small scroll, perhaps as long as her hand, only coiled around itself once. Hands trembling more now, she opened the note.

Tonight, the guards will be arranged so that you can make your way out of the palace. Take the path near the rose garden; leave your rooms at one hour past midnight. Do not be early or late. You will be taken to a secure location to discuss further details of your role with us.

There was no signature, and the note was in a markedly different print, perhaps a little neater than that on the first slip of paper she'd received. She had never known that there could be different ways of writing, much less different printing styles.

Contemplating where to shove the note so that she could pass close scrutiny until she had a chance to burn it, Ailsa absentmindedly rubbed Starlight's neck.

"What am I going to do about all of this, love?"

But truly, she knew—knew that her path had been written in the Skies as soon as Callias had told her he wanted her to change the world.

Ailsa shoved the note down the front of her shirt—let anyone try to find it there—and worked her mount through their daily exercises, already planning her escape route.

***

Rhiannon, for all her infuriating silence, was still capable of tailoring excellent clothes.

The practical pants, boots, shirt, and jacket laid out in her room that night fit her form perfectly, thick fabric molding to her and feeling almost like armor.

"You probably won't need this." Rhiannon held out one more article of clothing—a leather belt with three sheathed fighting knives attached.

Ailsa's voice shook right along with her hands as she put on the belt. "I thought my path would be clear tonight—"

"One of the things you'll learn quickly, my dear, is that it's best to be prepared."

Ailsa drew one of the knives, testing the grip. It was unadorned but well-made, the blade feeling balanced in her hand.

Rhiannon leaned in, hands that were beginning to wrinkle with age reaching for Ailsa's own. "You hold it like this, love."

Ailsa looked sharply up at her nursemaid and felt an inexplicable, overwhelming rush of affection. Without a word, she shoved the dagger back into her belt and embraced the older woman tight.

"Easy, Little Horse Girl, you'll crush these old bones."

"I'm not nearly that strong, Rhiannon."

The nurse cupped her face, dark eyes like solid iron. "Ailsa, you are strong enough for anything."

***

Rhiannon had assured her thrice over that her path tonight was as secure as could possibly be achieved for an illicit escape to an even more illicit meeting, but Ailsa's right hand still found comfort in the hilt of the knife at her hip.

Despite her apprehension, she avoided the guards in the palace itself without incident, and her trip through the rose gardens on the eastern side of the grounds was nerve-wracking but uneventful. The streak of success, however, did absolutely nothing to calm her raging heart as she approached the nearest gate in the wall.

She saw why they'd chosen this location—it was out of sight of the other entrances to the grounds, and usually guarded by the fewest personnel. If someone was going to rig a schedule so that every soldier posted to a gate would let Ailsa pass, this was the optimal place to do it.

A shiver went down her back at the thought that the rebels had infiltrated the royal guard, but it was far overshadowed by the creeping terror that this was somehow a trap, or the wrong guards would be posted, or any of a million other things that could go wrong with this.

There was nothing for it but to walk straight for the gate and hope.

Her heart pounded louder, louder as she approached the gate. It wasn't guarded from the inside, because it wasn't like some crazy princess was going to try to leave the palace in the dead of night to join a secret rebellion, so she would only know whether something had gone wrong when she stepped outside.

She stood at the gate, grateful that her dark clothes and the lack of a moon in the nighttime Sky would keep her from being seen for long enough to steel herself for this. She was fairly sure she'd need hours, given the way the gate in front of her seemed to consume her vision.

But Ailsa Danton took only one deep breath before she did what she knew would change her future forever.

With two calloused, sturdy rider's hands, she pushed open the gate and left the palace.