Chapter Eight

Bay

The festival noise dies behind us as Sean and I walk away from Skarmouth. The Festival will continue until nearly dawn, but it's past midnight and there's nothing to hold us there anymore. The riders' ceremony is over and most of the crowds have started to disperse. It's just the drunks and the gamblers who will stay in town after this. Sean walks with me down the road to my house. At the beginning of my driveway, we stop for a moment. Both of us are quiet and neither of us move. Sean's face is even more terrifying by moonlight than by firelight. I can see now why it's rumored that he has one foot on land and one foot in the sea. A stiff sea breeze whips across Thisby from the cliffs beyond my house, blowing my hair around my face. I pull it back with one hand and tuck it into the collar of my jacket. Sean stares into the distance where dark clouds build on the horizon. Lightning flashes in the clouds on the edge of my vision. The collar of Sean's jacket blows up against his neck and his dark hair whips across his forehead. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. There's a thin smile on his lips, like he knows a secret no one else on Thisby will ever know.

"A storm is coming," he whispers.

I shiver. Something in his words sounds prophetic, like he's talking about more than just the wind and rain. But I don't want to think about all the storms that could burst on my life, or even Sean's. I want it to stay like tonight. I feel fierce and determined and unstoppable and I don't want it to change. All of Thisby is balanced on the edge of trouble now, holding her breath and waiting on the races. The trick is to learn to ride out the storms on top of the clouds, slinging the lightning instead of running from it. Sean looks back down at me with that same strange smile on his face and, with a slight wave, he turns and walks down the road toward the Malvern Yard. I watch him go, a lone figure in the dark night. One foot on land, one foot in the sea, and his heart in the storm.

I walk into the yard to find that the kitchen light is on and Dad's truck is parked in front of the house. The engine is still ticking as it cools, so he obviously hasn't been home for very long. I'm surprised that he's home at all. On Festival nights I usually don't see him for at least a day afterwards. I'm about to walk up to the front door when I notice the horse. It's a dark animal, tied just off the front porch. I've been around the Malvern Yards often enough to recognize this as one of Malvern's personal mounts. It can only mean one thing—Malvern has come for Tempest.

I feel suddenly short of breath. In all the excitement of the night, I completely forgot about Malvern. I realize now that there are two figures silhouetted against the bright rectangle of the kitchen window. One is my dad, slumped over the kitchen table, a bottle in one hand. The other figure - Malvern - paces around the kitchen and occasionally waves his hands as if proving a point. I see him lean against the counter in front of the window, facing my dad, and I feel the sudden urge to know what they're saying. Crouching low, I slide close to the house and crawl along the wall until I am underneath the kitchen window. Reaching up, I feel along the sill until my fingers find the rag stuffed into one corner of the window, where the frame and the sill don't quite meet. For once I'm glad that the house is full of little idiosyncrasies that we never repaired. I pull the rag out and slowly lift the window a few inches. At one point, it creaks alarmingly, sounding like a gunshot to my ears, but Malvern and my dad don't seem to notice. I let out a breath as their words filter through the window and wash over me.

I catch the tail end of a statement by my dad and then, "It'll keep your daughter out of the races and get you a little money besides. Benefits all of us," Malvern says. I notice that he doesn't say in what way it benefits him.

Dad answers in a low mumble that I can't understand. I can't tell if it's because he's drunk or because he's guilty. He's not too drunk to drive home, but he's drunk or desperate enough to talk to Malvern. Under usual circumstances, he would never be seen in the same room with Benjamin Malvern, much less conversing with him. Much to my surprise, Dad must have made some statement in my favor, because Malvern launches into a vivid description of the dangers of racing.

"The Scorpio Races are a deadly, bloody competition. A man's competition. The Races are no place for a bright young woman."

I frown at Malvern's false flattery. This wasn't the way he talked to me earlier this week when he demanded Tempest from me. Malvern continues.

"I know you don't want Bay in the races, Callum. And I don't blame you. If I had a daughter I would keep her from the horror of the Scorpio Races."

I bristle at Malvern's familiar use of my dad's first name and his lies. If Malvern had a daughter she would rule Thisby as queen and ride in the races whenever she wanted. I tune into the conversation again just as Malvern pulls his most manipulative card.

"Surely you don't want to repeat Belle?"

I hold my breath, waiting to see how Dad responds to this mention of Mom's death.

"No," Dad answers slowly, immense sadness evident in his voice. I let out my breath. Dad must be in one of his melancholy moods tonight. That's good because that means Malvern won't see the violent side of my dad, but I'm also disappointed because it means that Dad will be more willing to listen to Malvern. "How much are you offering for the horse again?" he asks.

Malvern names a sum that would make anyone on Thisby kill for it. Why so much? I wonder. I know capail uisce go for much more than a common pony, but this is ridiculous. There is obviously something more important in Tempest than just a good set of racing legs and an even temperament. For Malvern to pay that much, there's more to it than just the fact that Tempest belongs to me. There must be significant long-term gain in it for him somewhere. I realize that there has been silence in the kitchen for a while. Finally my dad says, "I'll think about it."

"You've got a week, Fisher," Malvern responds quickly. Too quickly. His tone is friendly enough, but there's a warning implied beneath it. Pity, because it's probably lost on my dad. Not on me though. My mind races. I've got one week to convince Dad that I need to keep Tempest, need to ride, before Malvern ruins me. For a rider to back out of the races is humiliating enough, but to do it after swearing at the Festival is a curse.

I hear footsteps cross the kitchen and the sound of the front door opening. Malvern walks out onto the porch, framed for a minute in the bright light spilling from the doorway. Then he closes the door and is thrown into shadow—where he belongs. I don't have time to move, so I shrink back against the house and hope Malvern doesn't see me. If he knew I eavesdropped, he would find a way to punish me for it. I have a sneaking suspicion that the reason he talked to my dad tonight was precisely because I wasn't there. Thankfully for me, Malvern is still semi-blinded from the contrast between the brightly lit kitchen and the inky black of the cloudy night. He's also confident that he's in control of the situation, so there's no need for him to look around. He mounts his horse and, with hardly a glance behind him, rides out of the yard.

As soon as he is gone I detach myself from the wall. Hastily shoving the rag back into the window, I stand for a moment, unsure of what to do next. I know that there will be no consolation from my dad. Not tonight. I can't let him know that I eavesdropped either. Even if he isn't angry about it, it might convince him to side with Malvern. Or he could mention it to Malvern later. If I walk into the house, Dad will more than likely not even notice that I'm there. Tears of frustration and helplessness spill over my cheeks despite my efforts to keep them at bay. But I know where I'm going. I turn and run, across the pasture and through the fields of Thisby.

Sean answers his door almost as soon as I pound on it, as if he were expecting me. I'm not surprised that he's still awake. There's something on his mind—I can see it in his eyes—and I don't think he'll sleep tonight. I'm glad to see that there is no trace of the blood Epona smeared on him earlier. He's less dangerous now and more himself. His eyes widen as he takes me in and I realize that my face must be a wreck, my tear streaks smearing the blood that he painted on my cheeks. He doesn't ask what's wrong, just pulls me in, like he's done so many times before. I brush past him and collapse on the loveseat. Sean walks into the bathroom and returns shortly with a damp washcloth, which he hands to me. I rub my face clean with it and hand it back to him. He tosses it into a pile of obviously dirty clothes and towels and turns back to me, sitting beside me. Something about the feel of his arm against mine is solid, comforting. He's no longer like lightning, but more like a warm fire. More like Sean. The quiet, serious Sean Kendrick that I know best.

"Malvern came for Tempest tonight," I tell him.

Sean isn't surprised by my declaration. "Did he take him?"

"No, not yet. Malvern's going through my dad and he's using my mom to do it."

Sean waits in silence for an explanation.

"Dad doesn't want me in the races," I begin. "I don't know how Malvern found that out, but he knows. He must've met Dad at the Scorpio Festival tonight, when Dad was drunk, and when I came home, they were talking in the kitchen. I didn't hear all of the conversation, but Malvern was his usual manipulative self. He offered a huge sum of money and promised he'd keep me out of the race if Dad sells Tempest to him. So I wouldn't repeat my mom." And the worst part is, I know Malvern could keep me from racing if he wanted to.

"What did Malvern offer for your horse?" Sean asks. He knows how much effect that the mere mention of my mom has on my dad but he wants to know how Malvern sweetened the deal.

I tell him the price. He whistles in surprise. Sean is even more familiar with prices of capail uisce than I am, and even he's impressed. "What did your dad say to that?"

"He said he'll think about it. I think the only reason he didn't accept tonight was because he hates Malvern."

We're quiet for a minute then I ask Sean, "Why do you think Malvern offered so much for Tempest? What makes him so valuable?"

"I don't know," Sean admits after a moment. "I'd pay more for Tempest than an average uisce myself, but not that, not even if I had that kind of money. Even Corr wouldn't sell for that much."

I'm shocked at Sean's frankness. If he believes that Corr wouldn't sell for that price then it really is an exorbitant sum. "What's in it for Malvern then?" I ask the question that's on both our minds.

"I don't know. I'll find out," he promises me with a reassuring smile.

I smile back, half-heartedly. "Can I stay tonight? I don't want to face Dad."

In answer, Sean gestures to his bed, which by the half-tucked in sheets I can tell he hasn't even sat on tonight. I flash him grateful smile and slip out of my mom's jacket, folding it neatly and laying it on the back of the couch. I pull of my boots, then burrow under his blankets. Sean is used to my late-night escapes to his house. Ever since we were young, ever since Sean first moved into this little flat over Malvern's stable, I've used it as an escape from trouble. Somehow, life seems less complicated in the small, shabby space. Maybe it is because Sean has been more of an influence in my life than my dad. Even my earlier memories are full of Sean and me playing together and helping each other through difficult times. I guess it's because we both lost a lot when we were young that we latched onto each other with such familiarity and strength. Sean lost both his parents by age ten, and I had, in effect, lost the same by the time I was twelve. As soon as I could take care of myself, Dad spent long hours away from home which rapidly turned into whole days and nights. For somewhere to go when I was scared, I would often sneak away to Sean's apartment. It became my refuge from the outside world.

I suddenly realize that Sean turned out his light and sprawled on the loveseat with a blanket while I was lost in thought. I curl under the blankets and close my eyes, but it takes several hours before I am calm enough for sleep to find me. Sean is still, but I know he isn't asleep. He's lying on his back with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. I can only guess what's on his mind, but I have the feeling that's it's Epona and her wishes. He's still awake when I finally fall asleep.