She started to step forward, and Mick grabbed her arm. “Just wait. If he charges—”

“Why would he? I’m not his enemy.”

When she stepped into the meadow, Laoch swished his long tail, shifted on his great legs. And reared back, lifting his forelegs to paw the air.

Mick moved in a blur, snatching Fallon back, putting himself between her and those powerful, slashing hooves.

“Try to hurt her, just try it! And you deal with me.”

The ground shook when Laoch brought his hooves down. Fallon swore the trees trembled on their roots.

And he lifted his right foreleg, favored it by leaning left.

“He’s the one who’s hurt. It’s all right, Mick, it’s all right.” She shoved past him. “I can help you. Let me see what’s wrong. Let me help.”

“Damn it, Fallon, he’ll crush you like a bug.”

“No, he won’t. Because he sees me, and he hears me.” She looked into Laoch’s eyes as she laid a hand on his leg. “And he knows me. Let me look. Let me help. You showed yourself to me so I could.”

She lifted his foreleg, running her hands gently over it. “I don’t feel a sprain. Ah, here we go,” she murmured when she examined the hoof. “He’s picked up a stone. A big one. It has to be painful every time he takes a step.”

She looked up into those deep green eyes. “I can fix it. You see me,” she said as she slowly took out her knife. “You know I’d never harm you.”

“Fallon.”

“I’ve got this. I need you to trust me—you, too, Mick. I need you to be very still. I can get the stone out. I want to get it out without hurting you, so you have to be still. It’s bruised, so it may hurt a little. Just a little.”

She took a breath, then another, then with great care worked the tip of the knife around the stone. “You’ve worked it in deep. I’m sorry it hurts. I’ve nearly got it. Stay still, stay still, just another minute.”

She had to dig more than she liked, but she loosened the stone, carefully drew it out. And tossed it to Mick. “Another minute,” she all but crooned as she stroked the leg, slid her knife back into its sheath to free her other hand.

She held it over the bruised hoof, that tender area, soothed it. “If you come with me, I have balm that will make it feel even better. You don’t have to stay. Or I can ask Mick to run back and—”

“Fallon.”

“I’ll be fine. You can get there and back in no time. Mallick will know what to give you.”

“Fallon,” he said again, and with some impatience she looked around.

Saw Taibhse cast his shadow over the ground before he chose his branch. Watched Faol Ban step out of the shadows.

“They’re together. We’re together.” Filled with joy, she stroked a hand up Laoch’s leg. She felt the quiver, felt that strong bunching of muscle, and instinctively stepped back.

In wonder, she watched with Mick as the silver horn speared out of the great head. And when he once again reared, bugled, the silver wings that flowed out.

“Man. Jeez. Shit! He’s not a horse.”

“An alicorn.” Fallon let out a reverent breath. “His breed is called alicorn. And he’s mine. He’s mine, and I’m his. As he’s Taibhse’s and Faol Ban’s, and they are his. As we are ours.”

She pointed skyward, and color flashed, spread. Joy, she thought again. And laughed as she let hers fly into dozens of rainbows.

She gripped the white mane to launch herself into the golden saddle.

“He—he doesn’t have any reins,” Mick stuttered.

“We don’t need them. Want a ride back?”

“I think I’ll walk. I’m fine down here. Nobody’s going to believe me.”

“Tell them to look up.”

Laughing, she threw her arms up. In one smooth leap, Laoch rose, and with the owl gliding after, the wolf racing below, she rode the alicorn into her own joy.

Mallick watched her streak across the blooming sky on the white horse. A shooting star, he thought, bright and glorious.

The man responsible for the girl felt his heart drop as she dipped and rose, circled and spun. The sorcerer responsible for The One felt his soul lift.

“At least she could hold on,” the man grumbled.

Instead, she flung out an arm for the owl, dived down, and landed a foot away from the charging wolf.

So they came to him. She came to him glowing like the sun.

And the beauty of it, the power of it, all but closed Mallick’s throat.

“I found him! You didn’t say alicorn.”

“It wasn’t for me. Laoch chooses whether to reveal his full nature.”

“Well, he sure did. Mick might’ve wet his pants.” Laughing still, she rubbed a hand over Laoch’s neck. “He’s so beautiful. But he needs some balm. He had a stone in his right front hoof. I got it out, and eased most of the bruising, but it was deep, and he needs more care.”

“We’ll see to him.”

“I know what they are to me, what we are to each other.”

“He would never have allowed you to find him otherwise.”

“We need to add on to the stable, for when he wants to stay.”

She tossed a leg over the horse, dropped down to the ground—a considerable drop—with a kind of careless fluidity.

“Yes.”

“But not a stall. Just a shelter. He wouldn’t like to be shut in. Just a lean-to and bedding and water. He needs to come and go as he pleases.”

As Taibhse flew off to a nearby tree, Fallon gave the wolf a rub before she walked to Laoch’s head. “I understand now. Grace is mine, but she’s not built for war. But he is, and he’s mine, too. I wish he could just fly or run or just be.” She laid her cheek on the horse’s. “That all of us could. But we can’t, can we?”

“There are battles ahead. But not this day.”

“Not today.” She stepped back. “I’ll go get the balm.”

“You’ve said nothing about your great wish.”

“I just said I wished we could just be.”

“The bathroom.”

She stared a moment, then laughed. “I nearly forgot all about it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want it. A deal’s a deal. We’re going to need supplies. But Laoch needs the balm. And an apple.”

Mallick stood with the horse, the owl, the wolf under a sky still rioting with color. He watched the girl he would send to war run into the house.

And felt a wild pride and a sick dread.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

On a sunny day in June, Fallon knocked Mallick on his ass.

Though her skill with a sword had improved steadily through the spring, the moment stunned them both. Mallick sat on the ground, his breath gone, his sword beside him where it slipped from his hand at the force of her blow. Fallon stood, feet planted, both hands gripping the hilt, as she’d swung back for another strike.

Her own breathing ragged, her face dewed with sweat, she slowly lowered the sword. Then lifted it again, along with her other hand, pumping them toward the pure blue of the sky while she let out hoots. And danced.

“Yes, yes, yes! Finally!” She jiggled her shoulders, shook her butt and, sword in hand, executed a kind of boot-stomping pirouette.

“And with your back turned toward me, your foolish dancing, I could kill you half a dozen times.”

“Oh, let me have it, will you? Let me have my victory!” Then she stopped, swiped at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. “You didn’t let me take you down? You didn’t, did you?”

It shamed him to realize he wanted to claim he had. The girl, who’d come at him both fierce and wily, had wounded his pride and his arse in equal measure. But that was more foolish than her dance. True enough a girl of thirteen had bested him (this once), but he reminded himself he’d trained her.

So the victory was his as well.

“No. What would be the point of that?”

She hooted again, danced a little more, then rolled her shoulders. Set. Smirked. “Let’s go again.”

“When one acts cocky in battle, one loses.”