“What are you doing here?Fragras!I’m speaking to you!”
His fists were clenched as though he intended to strike her. Her own frustration and fury rose to meet his, all in a moment. She drew herself up, one hand forward, the index finger pointing him out.
“You,” she screamed. “You unholy monster!” Her voice hung on the air like a smell.
He shuddered and drew back, more surprised by her attack than he would have been by any other tactic. He was not accustomed to either defiance or reproach, and he had been so far from sensible thought that it took him time to puzzle out that he had intended to attack her.
“You despoiler of children!” she cried. “You barbarian! Where was it you saw my daughter last?” She moved up toward him, waving the finger as though it had a cutting edge, like a sword.
“I never saw her,” he snarled. “I didn’t look.”
“How can a Master not observe his Hunt?” she cried. “Are you so enslaved to your mounts that you’re insensible?”
His face became even darker, his neck swelled, his eyes bulged as he howled inarticulately and came toward her like a juggernaut. Sylvan caught her from behind and dragged her away.
“Move!” he hissed at her, a long, frightened exhalation. “He’ll kill you if he gets the chance!”
He pulled her down the steps, away down the Hounds’ Way and through the Kennel Gate, then shut the heavy gate behind her. Through it she could still hear Stavenger’s wordless bellows of fury.
Sylvan leaned against the gate, his face pale. “I knew you’d want to know. I found out for you. I asked Shevlok and some of the others. They don’t notice much during a Hunt, quite frankly, but it was Darenfeld’s Coppice, the same as Dimity, the same as Janetta. That’s the last place anyone saw her.”
“Show me!” she demanded, leaping up into Don Quixote’s saddle. “Now!”
“Marjorie—“
“Now! You can ride Irish Lass. She’s smaller than those monstrosities you’re used to riding.” Then, seeing him looking vacantly at the big horse, “Put your left foot in the stirrup, that metal thing there. Grasp the saddle and pull yourself up; she’s not going to put her leg out for you. Now, take the reins, as I have mine. Don’t bother doing anything with them. She’ll follow us. Now, show me where!”
He gestured off to the left and they all rode in that direction, gaining only a little distance before they heard the gate bang open and looked back to see Stavenger howling after them. The riders looked resolutely forward as they entered the taller grasses which soon hid them from view.
Sylvan sat very quietly on the horse, occasionally reaching forward with his feet as though to find the toe spaces he was accustomed to on his Hippae mounts.
“Sit up,” Marjorie instructed him tersely. “She has no barbs to skewer you with. Lean forward. Pet her. She likes it.” He did so, slowly, almost fearfully, relaxing gradually.
“A different kind of beast, eh?” queried Brother Mainoa. “Though I am very sore from this unaccustomed position, I am not afraid.”
“No,” Sylvan agreed abstractedly. “No. But then, one really isn’t afraid while on the Hunt, either.” He stared around himself, as though seeking landmarks. “There.” He pointed ahead of them, a little to the right. “That’s the Ocean Garden. Normally we’d ride on the other side, but we can get where we’re going around this way.” He gestured, showing Marjorie the way, and she rode ahead, letting him call directions to her as they went.
“Why was your father in a rage?” Tony asked. “Because of your father. When they returned last night, from the Hunt, Roderigo demanded that they help him search for your sister. It isn’t done. When someone vanishes, everyone pretends not to notice. No one searches. No one demands help from others. Father —my father—couldn’t keep his temper. He’s been wild, ever since yesterday. Seeing you set him off, and then when your mother accused him …” Sylvan’s eyes opened widely, and he stroked his throat. “How can I …?”
“No Hippae around,” murmured Brother Mainoa. “Not just now. I think our… well, our guides have frightened them off. Or perhaps they have gone for reinforcements.”