Shadow Touched (Editing)

20. NAIMA

I agreed to return to Varran City for three days. One day to get myself acclimated, the day of the Jubilee, and a day to recover.

In the day since Finch came and left, I've become restless. I've been losing my temper easily—which isn't hard in the first place. And even my normal hobbies, like booze and stealing, leave me wanting.

This morning, Habib contacted me about a simple bit of penny-weighting, which is always a good time. Still, I just don't have the patience for it. My mind is already in another place, with a Prince straight from a fairytale. It's pathetic.

So, despite the three days I agreed to with Finch, I've headed out early because fuck Finch.

I didn't tell Vipes and Keaton I was leaving. It's not unlike me to disappear for a few days or weeks. There was even that two-month period I took off with that Sheikh from Zeadal, just for a change of scenery. This trip is different. I can't tell my friends about it because they know nothing about my past. They don't know I'm from Varran and certainly don't know that I'm of royal blood.

I slip out in the early morning, the air still fresh and slightly wet. Perfect riding condition. Chaos grazes behind the manor. I never tie her up. She's far too wild to be contained like that.

I stop for a moment to appreciate her beauty. She truly is breathtaking. I remember when I first came upon her nearly nine years ago. My father and I were out riding. Despite my governess Germania's protests, I was wearing breeches and a sweater—all the better to ride astride. We were in the Siriteas—an untended forest that our home backed onto. It was said to have once been home to the fair folk—sprites, nymphs, pixies and most terrifying of all, Changelings. My father would joke that I was the last of the Changelings; it was the only way he could explain my unladylike behaviour and uncanny intelligence—or at least that's what he always said. Of course, he'd say it with a smile on his face as Germania worried her bottom lip, most likely questioning if there was, in fact, truth to my father's joke.

We'd been riding through the forest, me doing my best to push the old mare I was on to go faster when we came upon a clearing I'd never seen before. A perfect circle of flat, lush green grass, greener than the freshly sprouted leaves on the surrounding trees. A beam of sunlight pushed through the treetops, casting the clearing in an almost heavenly glow. In the middle was the most striking wild horse I'd ever seen. She was darker than the blackest black. Her colour was so deep that it soaked up all the light that hit her. Her coat was smooth and rich, and she was huge—nearly 17 hands and not yet an adult.

"A wild Frestal," my father whispered, surprise and delight in his voice. "Frestals are rare and considered untameable." He added. "Legend says they were the chosen horse of the Gods that is when the Gods walked the Six Realms. When they returned to their world, they were forced to leave the Frestals behind. Regardless, it's a well-known fact that despite many attempts over the last thousand years, they have never been domesticated. They're solitary creatures who only come together to mate. They prefer their own company and despise most humans."

My eyes remained on the creature before us as I listened to my father's story. I could feel him watching me, no doubt recognizing the glint of want and determination in my eyes.

"They all despise humans?" I asked, breathless at the beautiful creature before me.

"Naima," His voice was stern, "if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, I strongly advise against it. Frestals are not to be played with. Do you hear me?"

I heard him. I just didn't care. As he spoke, the horse had turned to look in our direction. Our eyes met, and I knew, without a doubt, I was hers, and she was mine.

After that day, I started making daily trips to the clearing. I would bring her bowls of Fallen Leaf—a honey, ginger and sweet wine mixture popular among the ladies at court but too sweet for my liking. Big, fat grapes, full to bursting, hibiscus, moringa and roselle petals. I would place them off-centre, where the sun didn't quite hit, keeping the offerings nice and cool, and then I'd wait. Sometimes, she would go to the food immediately. Sometimes, not all. When she did, I would make myself visible. On other days, I would ignore her like she did me. Over time, I started whispering to her, telling her about me, my life, and so on, in an attempt to win her trust. For the most part, she ignored me. Sometimes, she'd snort; often, she'd grunt and, at times, stomp if I got too close. As time went on, though, she let me get closer. She paid a bit more attention while pretending not to.