“Most of us spend our days down here,” she said. “Cooking. Riding. Training. We take meals in the commons. I’ll give you a tour of that tomorrow after you’ve had some sleep.” “How are the horses kept safe? Will my horse—” I stopped myself before finishing the question. Freya wasn’t my horse. Not really. I’d named her out of boredom, not ownership. But after these hard days together, I didn’t want her to die. “The horses are brought into the stables each night. Your horse is safe here, too.” “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” She dipped her chin, then stopped at a rope ladder. I looked up to find
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