Of Thorns and Beauty by Elle Madison

Chapter Thirty-One

The guards outside don’t wear masks, so whatever the reasoning on that, it only seems to apply to those within the castle walls. It’s a stark contrast to the isolation of being within the castle, but their expressions are just as impassive as the covered faces indoors.

They walk the grounds, keeping an eye on me from a distance as I find my way to the stables, despite never visiting before. When I left the castle doors, I didn’t stop for directions. I simply left, and no one cared to stop me.

The sun is high above, casting a soft warm glow, but it does nothing to heat my frozen skin. I was too angry to grab my cloak, and too prideful to return for it.

Instead, I take a deep breath of the icy air, allowing it to burn my lungs, bringing pain to some other part of me than the constant agonizing throbbing in my heart. Khijhana presses against me, lending me some of her warmth until we get to the stables.

Then she stands in the doorway, watching over me but declining to come closer to the hestrinn.

Examining the stables proves to be interesting all on its own. Every other type I’ve seen in the past isn’t nearly as accommodating as this one is. Maybe it’s the colder climate, maybe it’s the adoration for animals that the Jokithan people seem to possess, but either way, the stables are more of a luxurious home for the steeds and their caretakers than anything.

Not a bad alternative to the castle for Sarah,I think, grateful that she hasn’t been uncomfortable out here.

The inside is heated and sealed off from the harsh elements of the constant winter. There are special quarters for the handlers and groomers and even breeders. Apparently, the castle prides itself on having one of the finest and purest lines of hestrinn in the northern region.

At least, it did until my latest purchase. I smirk.

My anger dissipates, and my curiosity grows as I stroll through the stalls and watch the groomers carefully at work. So far, everyone in here is also maskless. I have to wonder if they have lived their lives in the same stasis as the rest of the castle, or if they have been able to move about more freely.

One of the hestrinn huffs behind me, her muzzle appearing over my shoulder. I laugh a little as she lips at my hair and ear.

When I pull away, she reaches toward me again with her giant head, and I stretch out an arm to rub her neck. She happily leans into my touch, whinnying in delight.

As I continue my stroll through the aisles, I can’t help but marvel at how exquisite they all are. To call these magnificent beasts horses feels dishonest. They are more like a distant relative of the species. A cousin that you can see some family resemblance in but only if you look closely.

They stand at least twenty hands, maybe more, dwarfing their smaller relatives. The handlers are all far taller than me and still have to stand on small ladders to brush the tops of their coats.

Their coats are a glimmering silver or shining onyx with alternating long manes, many of which are artfully braided. For as much as I had begun to hate the lack of color here, I am beginning to find the beauty in it as well. Because it isn’t a lack, so much as a perfection of these two shades in particular.

I run a hand over another one of the hestrinn’s muzzles when he dips it down to greet me. His long hair is silky and smooth. He’s a gentle giant, and it’s easy to see the love that has gone into them from their caretakers.

It’s truly awe-inspiring to see such docile animals being so tenderly cared for. That is — until I make my way toward the back of the stables where sounds of frustration are coming from.

Young Sarah’s fair skin is flushed with red, and her silver tresses are slick with sweat as she tries and fails to climb the ladder to brush the hestrinn’s mane. Each time she gets close, he lifts a leg and kicks the ladder over, causing her to fall to the ground.

“Andskotinn kúkalabbi!” she curses as she wipes the sweat from her brow.

I can’t help but laugh and immediately regret it when she hears me.

“Beg pardon, Lady. I have sorry. I do not mean to speak so freely.” She bows and nearly loses her balance again.

I hold up a hand to stop her, moving closer to her and the beast, who is obviously amused with himself.

“No, forgive me for laughing. He seems like quite the andskotinn, indeed,” I say, grinning.

She blanches at my understanding of her language before nodding in agreement with a smile of her own.

“He is, Lady. He is mad with me now, because I will not give more frosted sugar. I keep have to go out the side door when he gets too angry.”

I notice for the first time how my hestrinn’s stall is conveniently placed by a back entrance, making it far easier for her to make a quick getaway if he decides to kick.

“Frosted sugar?” I echo back. “What is that?”

Sarah Agnes smiles and opens a bag to reveal small wheat flakes coated in sugar.

“He likes these?” I ask, taking one out to examine it.

The hestrinn breathes out hard and looks at my hand eagerly. I hold up the treat for him, and his lips are covering my fingers immediately, threatening to take my whole hand into his mouth with the snack.

He makes an awful sort of chomping sound, his lips smacking loudly as he devours it.

We both laugh, and, while the noise is disgusting, somehow it also just endears me to the creature more. Once he is compliant again, we are able to brush and groom him with ease.

“I have want to ask,” Sarah speaks up after a moment. “Why do you choose him? There are so many better hestrinn here for you.” She tilts her head to the side, genuine curiosity in her features.

I reach to place a hand on his mane, and he leans into my touch as if he understands what I did for him.

Or more likely because he knows I will cave and give him more sugar.

“Because no one else would,” I answer simply, and she nods.

We finish grooming him in silence, and he seems happy with the two of us paying him so much attention. When we’re finished, we offer him some more frosted treats, and he once again devours them.

We can’t help but laugh at the sucking sounds he makes as he savors each piece. Drool comes pooling from his mouth, and he snorts in delight when he’s done, shaking his head and sending the droplets everywhere.

“Well, that was disgusting,” I say, thoroughly amused as I wipe the spit from my cheek.

“Aye.” Sarah laughs as well. “You chose crazy one, Lady. But it appears he is good sort of crazy.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I finally ask. “Apart from the obvious mannerisms and temper he displays, everyone else seemed to know he was crazy from one glance.”

Sarah nods and wipes the sugar remnants on her pants before pointing to the white rim around his eye.

“There. That is sign he has crazy. When you see this, you stay away.” She studies me for a moment before continuing. “But not you. You invite him home. You are good to him. That says something about you in here.” She points to my chest.

“That I invite drama?” I ask playfully.

Sarah shakes her head.

“No. That you love deep, and you save helpless.” Her smile fades. “You save me, too. Thank you.”

My eyes begin to sting as I take in her words. I can’t be vulnerable here. Not here, not anywhere.

“No, you saved me,” I finally say. “I needed someone to help with this guy, and it was a favor you were doing me. That’s all.”

The corner of her mouth tilts up in understanding and she dips her head.

“Even this, I am never going back to him. I cannot.”

She doesn’t need to say anything else.

“You will always have a home here,” I add quickly, making a promise I shouldn’t. “I could use some help reining in his crazy, if you don’t mind staying on.”

She nods and begins braiding his hair to match the other hestrinn in the stables.

“I suppose we should give him a name.”

“Yes, he is needing something to match his personality.”

I chuckle and agree, running through a list in my mind before landing on a name I heard ages ago.

“What about Gideon?”

Sarah puzzles it over, repeating the word to get a feel for the pronunciation. “I like it. What does it mean?”

“Bruiser. Or destroyer.”

The girl throws her head back in a fit of laughter before adamantly agreeing, pointing to the few marks he has already left on her body.

“Bruiser. I like this. It suits him.”