I nodded my head and sat still, letting the mare adjust to my weight. The stableman came out with my second mount and I took a good look at her before I turned a chiding expression at Tisala. The mare the stableman held was a dead ringer for my Pansy, except that she lacked his thick stallion’s neck.

Tisala laughed at my face. “We had your stallion for almost a month,” she said. “Do you really think I wouldn’t take advantage of it? My father was appalled that I did it without asking.”

“Be careful with the dark mare, my lord,” advised the stableman as he reluctantly handed over her reins. “She loses her temper if she doesn’t understand what you want of her.”

“Her sire’s the same way,” I told him, knowing from the way his hands lingered on her neck that she was a favorite. “I’ll take good care of her.”

We left Callis without incident, moving at a steady trot. The mare I rode was sensible, for all that she was young, and it didn’t take her long before she steadied under me and ignored the antics of her dark sister.

“I thought you said Pansy was a cow,” I said.

Tisala snickered. “That was before I saw him in battle. It hurt, though, to write that name on her pedigree.”

Tosten, riding beside us, grinned. “The name our father gave him is Stygian, if you’d prefer. That’s the one we use on the breeding papers.”

She shook her head. “My father’s stable master doesn’t speak Shavig, and I didn’t tell him a pansy was a flower.”

It was raining, which surprised no one. Winter in Oranstone was one long rainstorm. But as evening approached, the water poured out of the skies as if some giant were dumping out her mop bucket on our heads—or so Oreg claimed.

“At least we won’t freeze to death,” replied Garranon in exasperation at Oreg’s complaints.

Behind Garranon, Oreg grinned, having worked at getting a rise out of Garranon for the last ten miles. “But the snow you can dress for,” whined the dragon in human seeming. “The wet seeps into everything and you can’t get warm. And everything is covered in mud.”

“He’s trying to cheer Garranon up,” I told Tisala as the discussion descended into a series of childish comparisons of Oranstone to Shavig.

She laughed and pushed her gelding ahead until she rode shoulder to shoulder with Oreg. “How many Shavigmen does it take to saddle a horse?” she asked.

“At least in Shavig we ride horses instead of ponies,” claimed Tosten, riding up to join them.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Axiel to me under the cover of the resulting hilarity.