“And have you agreed to report to him?”
“Only to tell him when I believe you are capable of riding in a Hunt. I will tell you this, Your Excellency. With the young ones, we begin before they are two years old—what would that be in your terms? Ten or eleven years of age? While they are still children we begin working every other day, every week, every period, throughout the seasons, perhaps for a year. A Grassian year. More than six of yours.”
Rigo did not answer. For the first time he began to realize that he might not have long enough to ride to the hounds. Not if it took him as long as the children….
Well, then he could not let it take as long. Focusing all his attention, he listened to what the riding master had to say.
In the corner, hidden behind the screen of displaced chairs and sofas, Stella listened too, focused no less intently on what the riding master had to say.
She had danced with Sylvan bon Damfels.
Only for a little time:enough time to know that everything she wanted was there, in his skin, behind those eyes, dwelling in that voice, in the touch of those hands.
When she came here she had thought she would never forget Elaine, never forget the friend she had left behind. Now there was no room, not even in memory, for anyone but Sylvan. When he had smiled at her on the dance floor, she had realized that she had been thinking of him since she had seen him first, at the bon Damfels Hunt. She had seen Sylvan then, in his riding clothes, seen him mount, seen him ride. On the dance floor, as her body moved with his, she had remembered each time she had seen him, each time he had spoken to her, her passionate heart demanding, as it always did, more. More. More of Sylvan bon Damfels. She would ride with Sylvan bon Damfels as she was dancing with Sylvan bon Damfels, as she could imagine—oh, imagine doing other things with Sylvan bon Damfels.
He had looked into her eyes.
He had told her she was lovely.
Behind the furniture she exulted, glad for the first time that she was here, on Grass. Ears pricked for every word the riding master was telling her father, she sucked in the information and remembered it all. She was determined that she, too, would learn. Quickly. More quickly than anyone had ever learned.
The same aircar which had brought the riding master to Opal Hill had also brought James and Jandra Jellico, who waited in Marjorie’s study for Rowena’s arrival.
Rowena, when she came at last, brought Sylvan with her.
“Tell us everything you can,” Sylvan asked the Jellicos, his voice gentle. “I know neither of you did anything reprehensible, so just tell us everything you can.”
Marjorie and Tony sat to one side, listening. No one suggested they should not be present. If they had, Marjorie had already decided she would listen outside the door.
There was so little to tell, and yet they spun it into an hour’s telling, each little thing said ten times over.
“One thing you got to remember,” Jelly told Sylvan. “lust because Ducky Johns’ in the business she is, that’s no reason to think she isn’t honest. She’s as honest as anybody. And I believe she found this Janetta right where she said she did, on her own back porch under her clothesline.”
“But how?” cried Rowena, for perhaps the tenth time.
Jelly took a deep breath. He was tired of evasion, tired of euphemism, tired of bowing to the well-known eccentricity of the bons. He decided to tell the hard truth and see what this bon woman made of it. “Ma’am, last anybody saw of her, she was riding one of those beasts. Now anybody with any wits at all is going to suppose, wherever she ended up, that beast took her there or sent her there. And that’s what I think.”
So there it was. Oh, there it was, lying before them, the sound and look of it, a barbed and violent monster, a Hippae, drawn into it at last, told off by name, the aspect of the whole thing that none of the bons had mentioned, that none of the bons would speak of or allow others to talk of. The Hippae. The Hippae took the girl, or one of them did, everyone knew that. They, the Hippae, did something to her, did anyone doubt? They hid her. They kept her. Then she showed up again. Who knows why? Who knows how? Marjorie felt the questions bubbling and kept silent, kept her hand on Tony’s as she felt him, too, quivering with questions unanswered, unasked. The bons had blamed the Yrariers rather than the Hippae. Even now, Rowena did not respond. Why?