A black mare reared, her cry a sharp warning before she slashed her hooves at the handler. Lord Chaol’s horse. The handler shrieked and fell back, barely grasping the reins as the horse stomped, her ears flat to her head. Elide did not think. Did not reconsider. She limped for the horses and the stables. She said to the frantic handler, still backing away from the half-wild horse, “I’ll get her.” The man, white-faced, threw her the reins. “Good luck.” Then he, too, ran. The mare—Farasha—yanked so hard on the reins that Elide was nearly hurled across the stones. But she planted her feet, leg
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