Don't have too many author notes on this one. Since the book shows this scene more from what happens to Corr, I thought I'd show you what happened to Prince. Remember how the last chapter ended...
For one perfect moment, I am safe.
Chapter Twelve
Bay
Something on the edge of consciousness wakes me early Tuesday morning. Something that, even in sleep, my subconscious knows is out of place. It takes me a while to figure out exactly what it is. Then I realize there's no rain pounding my roof and no wind beating my windows. The storm is still; it must've rained itself out sometime late last night. It's eerily quiet without the steady drum of the rain. There's just enough light in my room to make out the clock on my bedside table. The faintly lit face shows six o'clock. The world is silent, wrapped in the last shreds of night. It shrouds everything like a cloak, unwilling to be chased away by what faint daylight pierces the ragged clouds that run across the sky. Quietly, I untangle myself from my blankets and roll out of bed. The house is still, so Dad is either asleep or already gone. Slipping into my bathroom, I quickly comb out my hair and braid it, then wander back into my room. Pulling a pair of jeans and a relatively clean shirt from a pile of clothes at the foot of my bed, I dress and reach for my sweatshirt, the one with the torn pocket. But then mom's black leather jacket catches my eye where I slung it over the foot of my bed on the night of the Scorpio Festival. On an impulse, I toss the sweatshirt aside and grab the leather jacket instead.
Carefully, I raise my window and slide my leg over the sill as I pull on the jacket. Sliding down to the ground, I ease the window shut, shivering in the chill October morning. Dad's truck is still in the driveway, as is the motionless form of the dead stallion. I give both a wide berth and head for the barn.
Tempest is restless and Selkie is near panic when I open the barn door. Being cooped up together during the storm has done nothing to ease their relationship. Though to Tempest's credit, he appears to have remained calm. At least he didn't try to bust out of his stall or go for Selkie. I take Selkie out of the barn first, turning him out into the pasture to calm his nerves. I'll take him into town later this afternoon, when I can make my deliveries without him spooking at every dark shadow and every howl of the wind. Selkie give me an accusatory glare as I clip a lead onto his halter. He keeps his ears flattened until we walk past Tempest. Once I let him loose in the pasture he snorts haughtily and moves to the far end of the fence, where he immediately begins to crop the grass. Shaking my head, I head back inside and, grabbing a brush, let myself into Tempest's stall. Tempest greets me tensely and I start rubbing circles across his nose to calm him. As I move my hand across his face and down his neck I whisper to him. The words are nonsense, meaningless, but Tempest understands.
I comb out his coat, rubbing him systematically. It soothes us both. And then I find myself talking to Tempest, telling him of my and Dad's argument last night, of the dead capall that still sprawls in our driveway, of my thoughts and fears—everything. Though I know Tempest can't answer, it's still a comfort to tell someone. My voice settles Tempest even further and he's nearly dosing by the time I finish combing him. But as soon as I lift the brush from his back, he pricks his ears, alert and wide awake.
"Ready to go show those other riders who's boss?" I laugh.
Tempest snorts eagerly. He's still riled up from the storm and I know I'll have to keep a close rein on him today to make him listen. Slipping out of his stall, I return shortly with his saddle, blanket, and bridle. Tempest shivers as I throw the blanket over his back. Next goes the saddle and last, his bridle. Then I lead him outside, tracing counterclockwise circles on his shoulder the entire time. I lead him to the fence and mount. He dances a few steps as my weight settles on him, then paces forward. I tug his reins a little harder than usual just to remind him I'm there. The sun has risen in full, so I turn Tempest across the fields of Thisby. It's early yet to head to the beach and I want to work out some of his excitement first. Just as I'm leaving the yard, I feel eyes on me, and glancing back over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of Dad, standing at the kitchen window, watching me. The blood rushes to my face and I whip my head back around and kick Tempest into a trot.
Tempest flies over Thisby. Together, we are one being— racing, running, flying. The wind across my face makes me squint and my fingers are soon numb with the chill. The sun breaks through the clouds with fierce intensity and the sky is a clear, bright, autumn blue. As I ride, I see the results of the storm. Leaves, branches, shingles, and fence posts litter the ground. Thisby will need a lot of repair after this storm. Every so often I see evidence of the capaill uisce—a giant hoof print here, a dead sheep there, long gouges in the grass, and pieces of mane caught in fence posts or barns where the horses attempted to break through. Thisby is a real mess after the storm, everything soaked and muddy. But on Tempest none of that matters. Not Malvern, not Mutt, not Dad, not Puck Connolly…
A few hours later, I work my way towards the beach for race training. Despite the waterlogged state of the island, the shopkeeps have already lined the roads to the beach with their tents, selling racing gear and pictures of the riders and all the other pointless little trinkets they hawked at the Festival. I keep my knees firmly pressed to his sides as my fingers trace his veins, rubbing circles and patterns across his withers as we make our way past the tents. The shopkeeps ring November bells and wave red ribbons and iron in the air. It's enough to make any capall uisce ansty and Tempest is no exception. I keep him as far from the tents as I can, whispering to him the entire time. We make it to the beach without incident.
When we reach the sand below the cliffs, the beach is packed with riders, and tourists take the rest of the available space, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite champions. I don't hear any encouraging shouts in my direction, but I don't care. The tourists, and the islanders, can think what they will about me.
Tempest catches more than a few eyes and prompts some open-mouthed stares as I put him through his paces. I keep him close to the surf, closer than anyone other than Sean would dare take a uisce. My purpose is twofold - I'm testing the riders, taunting them to follow and I'm testing myself, seeing just how far I can take Tempest and still retain control. And, if I'm honest, I'm showing off, just a little, to everyone on the sand.
As I ride, I keep a sharp lookout for Sean or Corr, knowing that if I find one, the other will be close by. I see neither Sean's familiar dark hair and eyes, nor Corr's blood-red coat. It strikes me as odd that Sean isn't down here but maybe something held him up at the Yard today. That's when a commotion farther up the beach, towards the path from the cliff-tops, catches my eye. Slowing Tempest, I trot him closer to see what's happening. I catch a glimpse of Corr's sharp, red ears and distinct face—but it isn't the usual lithe figure I expect holding his reins. It's Mutt Malvern. Walking with him are Prince, Daly, and a couple other Malvern Yard hands. Already a crowd of tourists forms around Mutt. He's smiling and boasting like he's already won the Scorpio Races. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. There's no way Sean would ever let Mutt even touch Corr under normal circumstances. So where is Sean now and why didn't he stop Mutt?
My mind conjures an awful image of Sean's broken body lying in a Malvern Yard stall, blood covering the floor around him. My eyes roam the beach, desperately searching the crowds for his dark eyes and serious expression. I can't stop the sigh of relief that escapes me when I spot him pressed against the cliff wall as if he's the last thing keeping it from falling. He stands stiff and unnatural, one hand to his stomach and the other to his mouth. He looks like he's about to be sick. And I know why. Because I feel it too. Someone's about to pay for Mutt's foolishness and when the capaill uisce are involved, you always pay in blood.
I want to go up to Sean and comfort him. I want to demand why he's letting Mutt get away with this. I want to wrap him in a hug and yell at him and do something...anything other than stand there looking empty and hollow. But I know that even if I do go to Sean, he'll just ignore me right now. He's not in a mood for company.
So I turn my attention back to Mutt just as he throws a nail-studded coat across Corr's shoulders. He jokes with Prince as he does it, like the two of them are suddenly friends and they're in on a secret. Corr shudders and shifts restlessly, a warning thrum emanating from deep in his chest. Though I can't see them, I can hear the bells Mutt tied to Corr's feet. Red ribbons dangle from every available space of Corr's saddle. The bastard. I remember how good it felt to punch Mutt that night in Thisby, and I want nothing more than to do it again.
While it's smart to safeguard yourself against the uisce, overdoing it only aggravates them. And in Corr's case, Mutt doesn't need any of his useless frippery. Sean never uses any of this on Corr. Mutt keeps looking over at Sean - he obviously wants what he's doing to hurt. But why? I get the sinking feeling something has happened that I'm unaware of, and it's not a good thing. Mutt begins to stoke the crowds and I'm torn between going to Sean or stopping Mutt.
But when I look back at Sean, he's not alone anymore. In the few minutes I looked away, Puck Connolly slipped up to him like a wraith. Not speaking, just standing. Anger boils in my chest and I automatically resent Puck's show of concern—and Sean's acceptance of it. The fact that they're not speaking bothers me even more. Because it means Sean accepts her presence and she knows him well enough not to intrude on his thoughts. Because it means she knows Sean more like I do.
Just then Mutt yells at the crowds and I look back to see him hand Corr's reins off to Prince and mount the red capall. He looks straight at Sean as he does it. And then his eyes light on Puck and he smiles, like a child who just discovered a secret, but it's an evil smile. "She's a bit smaller than what you're used to, ain't she, Kendrick?" he leers, running his hand over Corr suggestively.
I'm absolutely shocked when Puck answers him, saucy and bold. "At least she's human, unlike you, Mutt Malvern!"
Puck looks equal parts shocked and proud that she just challenged the son of Benjamin Malvern. Mutt's mouth works like a fish out of water, but I guess he doesn't come up with a good enough comeback because he settles for just grunting and throwing Puck a rude gesture. I can't help but admire Puck, just a little, for rattling Mutt Malvern. I look back over and catch Sean's eye. He looks as if he's about to speak, his hand moving as if to point at something, but then Puck speaks to him and he looks at her. It's the first time Sean has ever looked away from me first. He answers Puck and she says something back.
Before I have time to properly react to that, everyone's attention is drawn back to Mutt as he shouts over the crowds.
"Who wants to see him run? Huh? Who wants to see the four time champion fly?" Mutt yells, waving his arms grandly in the air. The crowds cheer wildly, chanting Corr's name. But it isn't Mutt, or even Corr, that my eyes lock onto. It's Prince. He stands at Corr's head, watching the crowds, relaxed and casual, doing nothing to stop Mutt. Corr dips his head, brushing Prince's chest. Prince laughs softly and shoves Corr's head away, like I would do with any normal horse. But Corr is no normal horse. I know that look in his eye. It's the one Sean always warned me to stay away from.
I kick Tempest into a gallop, racing to get closer to Corr and Prince. At the cliff, Sean moves away from the wall, watching Corr warily. Corr nudges Prince again, and again, Prince pushes back. Mutt is oblivious, still catering to the crowds, but that's when Sean explodes. He shouts Prince's name and takes off running, kicking up sand as his feet strike the ground. At the same time, I draw Tempest into a thundering stop at the edge of the crowd, spraying sand over a couple of irate tourists. I ignore their yells and vault off Tempest's back, pushing people out of the way as I try to get closer. But neither Sean nor I are fast enough to stop what happens next.
Corr pushes against Prince again, but this time, something in the stallion snaps and his head shifts, his sharp teeth closing on Prince's neck. Blood stains everything. Mutt reacts violently, pulling Corr up into a rear. The tourists scream and scatter as Prince collapses like a ragdoll. I fight my way through frightened tourists to get to Corr. Incensed and panicked, Corr rears again, throwing Mutt, who just manages to roll clear of the deadly hooves. By the time I get close, Sean is pulling off his jacket and shirt. He wads his shirt and presses it firmly to Corr's nose, whispering into the stallion's ear. I know better than to interfere with Sean when he's trying to calm Corr. My presence will only hurt Sean's chances.
Feeling helpless, I turn my attention to Prince. I hardly noticed before, but Puck is here too, kneeling in the sand beside Prince and clutching his hand, horror written all over her features. I kneel on the other side of the dying man. I know I can't save him. Puck's eyes meet mine and there are tears shining in them. I look away as I fight the urge to vomit. Prince is dying in his own blood, just like the capall uisce Dad shot Sunday night. My mind can't reconcile the two events. My very being rejects the idea that Prince is dying. He just can't be. It's all Mutt Malvern's fault. My eyes roam the remaining people, mostly islanders, for the fool. I find him standing, feet apart, arms crossed, surveying the whole scene with the air of a spoiled child whose great joke has just been foiled. He doesn't even attempt to help Sean, who now has his shirt wrapped over Corr's head and is stroking the stallion's neck reassuringly. He doesn't seem to care that a man who was alive only seconds ago is dying for his blind pride. I almost wish it was Mutt lying in the sand instead of Prince. It should be Mutt lying in the sand…
"Bay."
Puck's quivering voice breaks my thoughts. She sounds so small, so alone, so alive. So unlike Prince. I look Puck in the eye. Her silent open plea hits me in the chest and I find myself suddenly short of breath. It's a plea for something, anything to change. For the dead still silence between us to mean something other than what we both know it heavy dread of fear and hate settles at the back of my throat and I can't answer Puck. Instead, I look down at Prince and gently close his eyes. It only seems right. The dead shouldn't have to watch the bloody living. Puck and I lapse into silence, sitting immobile on either side of the dead man.
"Someone hold him." It takes me a second to realize that Sean's voice is banging about my head. He wants someone to hold Corr. I feel like I should respond, but my body just won't. On the other hand, Sean's words galvanize Puck into action and, with a start, she drops Prince's hand. Standing up, she numbly reaches for Corr's reins. Sean hands them over with hardly a glance. He's too preoccupied with Corr.
It should be me, a quiet, yet forceful, voice in my head insists vehemently.
Just then, a shadow falls over me from behind and a brown jacket is thrown over Prince's face and chest, masking the worst of the blood. Then a man kneels beside me and I look up into the face of Daly, one of Malvern's youngest stable hands. He looks lost in all the commotion. The wind tugs at the open collar of his shirt and flattens his hair to his forehead, making him look young and afraid. He shivers as the cold wind cuts him, crossing his arms over his chest. I can see the helpless hysteria flickering just behind his gaze. Perhaps it's his panic that finally calms me. I need to be strong for Daly. I need to anchor him. Because if I don't, then I won't have anything to hold onto either.
"Help me move him," I say.
"What?" Daly looks at me, but his eyes are far away, distracted.
"Help me move Prince," I reiterate, gesturing vaguely to a more secluded spot, out of the way of the tourists and riders and horses. Out of the way of deadly hooves and proud fools. Daly nods and moves to Prince's other side. Carefully, we grip Prince's arms and stand. We pull him back, close to the cliff, his boots leaving trails in the sand as we walk. It's unfair that those trails will be obliterated in only seconds by thousands of feet and hoof prints, by rain and wind. Those two marks should stay, forever gouged in Thisby's sand, a testament to Prince. But already they begin to fade as the wind blows, shifting the sand. Daly and I gently lay Prince close to the cliff, sheltered by a few rocks, where he will stay until Doc Halsal arrives and officially proclaims him dead. A few of the island men form a loose circle around Prince, quiet sentinels until the time his body should be moved. Daly and I move back out onto the beach, towards Sean and Corr. By now, Sean has cut all the bells from Corr's feet and pulled off the heavy iron-studded coat. Corr still quivers with excess energy, but at least Sean has him under control again. Sean begins to walk Corr back up the beach. He stops in front of Mutt.
"Your horse, Mr. Malvern," he speaks so quietly that the words are barely audible, but the anger in his voice is evident. Sean holds the reins out for Mutt, but Mutt keeps his arms crossed, refusing to take them. Silently, Sean withdraws the reins and turns abruptly, leading Corr away from the chaos that now rampages across the beach. He walks past me and Daly without a word, as if we don't even exist. Unexpectedly tears spring to my eyes and I quickly turn my head to hide them. As I do, I catch sight of Tempest, still standing exactly where I left him, pacing restlessly in place, ears perked and nostrils quivering. Running back across the sand, I quickly gain control of him, before the smell of blood rouses him to full hunting mode and another casualty occurs. I gather his reins in silence, knowing that I have to talk to Sean. The last thing I see as I walk off the beach is Puck Connolly, standing on the sand, Daly at her shoulder. In her hands is Sean's jacket. She crumples the stiff material between her fingers as if she can wring Prince's life out of the blood-stained coat.
I'm halfway to the cliff-top when I hear hurried footsteps and someone catches up to me, shortening their strides to fall in step beside me. I cut my eyes to the side just enough to identify the figure. It's Daly. He's shivering and hugging himself, his jacket still on the sand with Prince. Half of me wants tell him to get lost, but the other half is glad that I've got some company after what happened on the beach.
"I shouldn't have let that happen," he says. "We shouldn't have let that happen." I know he's referring to all the Malvern hands who were on the beach with Mutt. Most of them disappeared as soon as Prince's blood stained the sand.
"Why did it happen then?" I counter irritably, feeling utterly helpless.
"You don't know?" Daly looks at me in surprise.
"What do you mean?" I ask, eyes narrowed.
"If he hasn't told you yet, I'm not going to."
"Who? Sean?" I demand. Sean tells me everything. Everything. Ever since we were kids. Why would he hide something from me now?
Daly doesn't answer, but his guilty expression and hunched shoulders are answer enough. I feel as if he's just stuck a knife in my gut and twisted it. A wound I didn't even know existed begins to bleed. And the worst part is, I don't know how to staunch it. Unexpectedly, my words from Sunday night float back to memory, If you've ever wondered why I spend so much time with that Kendrick boy, it's because he loves me more than you do! I feel like Sean just flung them back in my face, without even realizing he did so. That makes it hurt all the more. I gulp back my tears and put on a straight face, wishing with all my being that Daly would just disappear. Or that the ground would open up and swallow me. Now, before anything gets worse.
We walk back to the Malvern Yards in complete silence. Even Tempest is sensitive to the tension and is unnaturally subdued. Daly makes no comment when I follow him into the Yard. He quickly disappears; presumably back to his job before Malvern finds out what happened. I head to the barn. I know Sean will be there with Corr. I take just enough time to tie Tempest securely near the entrance of the barn, away from any other horses or capaill uisce.
Walking those few feet down the center of that barn is one of the hardest things I've ever done in my entire life. The painted uisce stallions that adorn the walls and pillars of the stable stare down at me accusatorily. Their faces suddenly look sharp and demon-like; their hooves reach out to find my frail figure and crush me; their teeth search for my throat; their nostrils flare at the scent of my blood. By the time I reach Corr's stall, my own screams echo in my head. Screams of madness. Then I see Sean.
His blood-stained shirt is draped across the stall door. I wonder if he walked the entire way back without it. He must have been cold. But here, in the warmth of the stables, with his stallion, it is obvious that it doesn't matter to him. He stands comfortably under Corr's neck, leaning against the stallion's chest. His left arm is wrapped under Corr's throat, gently rubbing circles across the blood-red cheek. In his right hand, he absently twirls an iron bar between his thin fingers. But he never once touches a red flank with it. Sean watches the ground as he sings softly to Corr, his words carrying an eerie cadence. He chants Corr's language, the language of the capaill uisce. His words almost carry a rhythm—almost, but not quite. They are the haunting song of the restless sea, calming Corr, calling Sean. He doesn't look up when I lean on the door. For one vicious moment, I want him to sing his song in my ear. I want to feel the sea tug my heart as it does his. I want the sea to wash our troubles away as it washes the sand on the shore.
The sea, the sand, and blood—everything at the beach rushes back to me. My mind isn't fast enough to stop my mouth.
"How could you let this happen?!" I demand. Sean seems awfully calm for a man who just had his most prized possession stolen. A man who just stared death in the eyes. I can't contain myself any longer. "Why didn't you stop Mutt?"
Sean falls silent and looks up slowly. He knew I was here this entire time. He waited for me to say the first word. Something about that realization sends shivers down my spine. When Sean opens his mouth, his words are blunt.
"Why didn't you stop him?" he asks.
"I tried to," I say, regardless of the fact that Sean did as well. "But Corr is your capall uisce," I say heatedly.
"No," Sean whispers, a pained expression crossing his features.
I don't want to hear it. I don't want excuses; I want answers. I barrel on, "How could you let Mutt take Corr like that? You never—" I stop mid-sentence because my mind just registered what he said. "What?" I whisper.
"Bay, I quit."
"I—I don't understand," I mumble.
"Malvern doesn't own my life, Bay."
I know that. But I also know that Corr is Sean's life. So, how could he quit? I know he hates Malvern. I know he wants nothing other than to have his own farm, his own land, his own home. But he'd never leave without Corr. He wouldn't leave without his dream..
"Some things are more important," he says, as if he is privy to my thoughts. I can barely hear him.
"More important than what?" I spit back. "More important than Prince's life? More important than your pride? More important than Corr?" I know my last statement cuts deep. I want it to. Right now I want to cut Sean as deeply as I feel like he cut me. Sean winces; his fingers still. Corr tenses, sensing his master's discomfort.
"Sometimes, you have to let go," Sean murmurs.
"Oh? And if it comes back to you it was meant to be?" I mock him. "Sean, if you leave now, Corr isn't coming back. Malvern isn't going to hand him to you with a blessing. If you want that red stallion, you'll have to fight for him every moment of your life. How could you just give up like this? I've never known you to turn your back on a challenge."
"There's more than one way to win," he says.
"Not in this competition."
Sean sighs imperceptibly, but Corr picks up on it and brushes his head against Sean's chest. Sean's mouth tightens in a sad attempt at a smile as he gently pushes Corr's head away. And suddenly, I see Sean in Prince's place. I see Sean's blood stain the sand. I see Sean's body lying among the rocks. I remember Sunday night and how close I came to painting Thisby with my own blood.
"Sean I don't want to lose you," I blurt out, all in one breath.
Sean's head comes up sharply and he stares me straight in the eye, one eyebrow cocked.
"I've lost too much already. And I'm in danger of losing so much more. And now you —you quit," I falter. Three-quarters of me still doesn't want to believe that Sean quit. The other quarter knows he's telling the truth and that means my world has just frayed a little more. "What will you do now?" I finally ask.
"I don't know," he admits.
Something inside me breaks. I've never in my entire life heard Sean Kendrick admit that he doesn't know what to do. Sean has always been the one with the plan. I've been the one who chased clouds and got upset when they fell through. But now it seems as if everything solid in Sean's life is crumbling. And the worst part is, he can't even hold onto Corr anymore.
"Where will you go?" I venture to ask.
Sean shrugs. "Far away," he murmurs, tilting his head back against Corr's warm body and closing his eyes.
"Not off the island?" I can't imagine Sean leaving Thisby.
"No. Just far away."
Sean is already far away and drifting further as we speak. I don't know how to handle him. I don't know what to do with this startling fact. Some part of me is saddened, the rest of me is lost and…angry. Angry that Sean didn't tell me he quit. Angry that he didn't think of the consequences it would have on me. Angry that he didn't stop Mutt. Angry that he came back here with Corr, especially now that he doesn't work here and Corr isn't his.
"You could have told me," I hiss, my words harsher than I intended.
"Told you what?" he asks, eyes still closed.
"Told me what you told her."
"Who?" he opens his eyes and holds my stare.
"Puck."
"Kate Connolly?"
"What else did you tell her, Sean? What else should I know about?"
"I didn't tell anyone I was quitting. Except Malvern."
"You didn't tell me," I say, fighting to keep the emotion out of my voice.
"That's what I said," Sean reiterates, annoyance creeping into his words. "Not you. Not anyone."
"I thought you trusted me, Sean Kendrick! I can see I was wrong!" I shout. And before Sean has a chance to respond to that, I spin on my heel and run. Away from Sean, out of the barn. I don't look back.
Sean doesn't come after me. But I can almost swear that before I leave the barn, I hear a sigh.