June paused when she beheld Rosemary waiting for us. “We add to our party’s numbers,” she said. “Will she not be in need of a coat?” Of course. June did not know Rosemary’s given name. How could she have? I would hardly make an introduction.

Rosemary stood in a dress with no sleeves at all, the thin fabric clinging to her breasts, her hair loose except for the clever braids I had done above her ears two days before.

The pyre did not need a coat. The weather would treat her however she asked it to.

In the stables, I pulled three horses—two mares and my favorite stallion, Vagabond. He stomped his hooves and snorted, tossing his head. Always ready to go.

June paled, glancing back at the manor, no doubt remembering her half-finished tea with great longing. “Aurelie, my sweet dear, I am sure you have a grand expedition planned for us, but surely it cannot include only us three and surely it is not far enough to require we go on…horseback?”

Rosemary mounted her mare—bareback of course—and led its reins in a tight circle. If she had hooves that she could have stomped as Vagabond did, she would have done so. Instead, she tightened her full lips and glared at June. <<She need not worry>>. Vincent would come if he was needed.

“Well,” she said. “My life was spared once before. And so far my time at Kendrick Estate has been… memorable . Here’s to more memories, I suppose.” June struggled to mount her mare as if she was accustomed to some help getting up. She mumbled something about how she was meant to be teaching me the finer things.

I led the way at a gallop, my mind set on the most common pyre route between Southern Lykke and the Central Market. I worried slightly for June, as Vagabond’s pace could rival any Lykkean stallion’s, and my lack of inhibition usually made for breakneck speeds. Rosemary was not one to fall behind, but June was hesitant in nature. Losing her in the nighttime forest would not bode well for her.

But it was difficult to be burdened by the reluctance of others with the wind whipping my hair and my skin blistering cold in the chilling dusk. There is no better feeling than one’s own hands with matters firmly in them.

Episode 23: The Governess Faces Horrid Examples Of Human Beings

I often thought, when riding Vagabond, that he borrowed my soul, drawing it into him for a time. He knew, always, what I meant and where we should go. He flew down the haggard path, kicking up sod and leaping fallen boughs. His muscled coat shone in the moonlight. When we were together, I was convinced there was nothing I loved more than him.

He came to a stop, snorting a white cloud into the frozen air.