“You’ll need a name, if you’re to be a dangerous outlaw.”
“Sonara the Shadowrider,” she mused, catching the brush as Soahm tossed it back to her. Duran huffed and shifted his weight as if he were tired of their game.
“Too obvious,” Soahm said. “Something more sinister. Sonara the Stabber? You’d carry a warrior’s sword, of course.”
She snorted back a laugh as she brushed Duran. “That’s ridiculous. I’m no weaponsmaiden.”
They paused as a commotion rose outside the carved stable windows. Murmured voices of distant onlookers mixed with the soft sigh of seashells dancing among braided wind chimes. Cheers rose up as hoofbeats pounded against the sand, and a conch blew in three long blasts. Sonara paused to glance outside Duran’s stall window as the royal procession snaked past.
Warriors rode on the backs of glamorous steeds as they escorted the Queen of Soreia towards her towering fortress at the ocean’s edge.
Sonara glared from the shadows as Queen Iridis rode past. Her long hair was loose, a brilliant natural blue that hung in long coils down her back. “She makes the steeds’ sides bleed from whipping them,” Sonara said.
Sonara groomed and fed all the young steeds. She helped train them when allowed, and though Duran was especially stubborn, and though he didn’t like to listen, he’d stolen her heart all the same, far more than any of the other steeds ever had.
“Do you know how many of them she’s turned sour?” Sonara sighed and felt Duran’s hot breath on her neck as he drew her attention away from the window.
It was as if he could sense her mood dropping, sense the light within her fading the more she stood in her mother’s presence.
Sonara dug her hands into Duran’s mane. “If the devil of a woman ever touches you, Duran…”
“That’s it!” Soahm cried out. He clapped his hands together just outside the stall door, so loudly that Duran skittered sideways at the sudden sound.
“Some War Steed you’ll make,” Sonara murmured with a smile. Duran’s ears flattened as if he very much disagreed.
“The Devil,” Soahm said, crossing his arms atop Duran’s stall door. “Someday, Sonara, you’re going to become the She-Devil, riding on Duran’s back, spreading hell across Dohrsar. And don’t forget the sword.”
He reached to his hip, where his blade was held.
Lazaris; the blade of their ancestors. A sword Soahm had trained with since he was only a boy, beautiful in its simplicity. The blade was solid black, with a strip of Soreian blue steel running down the middle, cool as a river.
The sword was once their mother’s, wielded as she slew her way to the crown. But Soahm had been gifted Lazaris upon birth, a sword he’d finally grown into with age. Sometimes, Sonara watched from the stables as Soahm trained with the royal weaponsmaidens, who forged blue Soreian steel into weapons capable of withstanding a lifetime of warriors’ hits.
When Soahm held Lazaris in the bright light of day, practicing on the elevated castle grounds in full view of the citizens, Sonara hid in the shadows of the stable, and mirrored his motions with a mucking fork.
At night, he trained with her on the Devil’s Dunes, the twin moons their only watching eyes. She was not skilled, by any means.
But holding Lazaris gave her a reason to believe in herself.
For what was a sword, without a warrior to wield it? Perhaps someday, she’d be strong enough, skilled enough, to earn her own weapon.
“Lost in your thoughts, She-Devil?” Soahm asked, drawing Sonara’s attention away from Lazaris. The Queen’s procession faded away and the sound of chewing steeds took its place. A red bloodfly buzzed past Sonara’s ear.
“Not quite,” she said, and swatted the bloodfly away. “No, I don’t think that’s the right name. The She-Devil? It doesn’t have much of a ring to it. But it was a worthy try.”
Soahm sighed. “I’ll figure it out eventually.” He turned over a water bucket and sat down on it to keep her company while she worked, his chin propped upon his ringed hands.
“Tired already?” Sonara asked, tossing the brush at him again. “You’re becoming lazy, princeling.”
“She-Devil,” Soahm said with a wink as he stood to help her. “Definitely a She-Devil.”
Sonara leaned against the rough edge of a round pen, watching the royal trainers with longing in her eyes.
Duran had already thrown three riders from his back, his tail fountaining behind him in silkiest black as he pranced, feathered legs dancing with each pound of