Kyra Blackrein's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Kyra rode home through the forest with Calliope’s words still turning in her. A wrong done. A grief with an edge. Sable carried her at an easy walk. The tower fell behind, then the trees, then the pale stone of Blackrein Manor rose ahead. Kyra stabled Sable herself, brushed her down, and went inside. Calliope’s refusal sat in her like a stone she could not swallow. Breakfast the next morning was long and formal. Lord Aldren sat at the head of the table in his dark coat. He led House Blackrein the way he had once led cavalry, through discipline and duty. Between bites, he went over the day’s hunt: which trails would be used, where the dogs would be released, which stretches of woodland had grown too dense since the previous season. “The western party can take the lower trail,” he said. “That keeps them clear of the riders coming through the north wood.” At the other end of the table, Lady Helena was occupied with preparations of her own. She sat straight-backed and composed while the household steward stood beside her with an open ledger. The seating chart spread between them was crowded with names: neighboring families, military acquaintances, landed guests, and among them, the Voltagios. “Duke Tristan here,” the steward said, moving one finger across the parchment. “Lord Dorian beside Lady Kyra. That keeps the eastern side balanced. The lanterns can be moved farther down the garden path before dinner.” Kyra stopped with her cup halfway to her mouth. “Beside me?” Helena raised her eyes. Her expression gave nothing away. “Yes.” “Why?” “You know why.” Aldren glanced toward them. “It would do you no harm to speak to him.” Kyra set down her cup. The steward continued through the arrangements. A baron’s wife needed moving away from a colonel with whom she had quarreled the previous winter. Two elderly guests required seats nearer the manor. Helena corrected one placement without explanation, shifted another name herself, and listened until the steward reached the end. “That will do,” Helena said. “Leave us.” The steward gathered her ledger and withdrew. Kyra looked at her mother. “You did that deliberately.” “Obviously.” “Mother.” Helena folded her hands on the table. “Your father and Duke Tristan have discussed the possibility of a match. You have formed an opinion of Dorian without spending enough time with him to know whether the opinion is deserved. Today remedies that.” “A very sensible remedy,” Aldren said. Helena’s eyes shifted toward him. “Do not make me regret agreeing with you.” Aldren almost smiled. Kyra looked between them. “So you’ve both decided this.” “We have decided you should speak to the man,” Helena said. “Do not turn it into more than it is.” “A very suitable man,” Aldren added. Helena gave him another look. “It is true,” he said. “Dorian is a younger son. Tristan intends to settle adjoining land on him when he establishes his own household. Joined to ours, that land would give us room to expand the breeding grounds. Blackrein horses and Voltagio’s military connections make a natural alliance.” “And I suppose Dorian gets something out of this wonderfully sensible arrangement.” “A great deal,” Aldren said. “As would you.” “As would the house.” “Yes, Kyra. As would the house.” Aldren leaned back. “That does not make it a bad match.” “And if I still don’t like him?” “Then you will have reached that conclusion after actually speaking to him,” Helena said. “And?” Helena’s expression remained stern. “And I will expect your father to respect it.” Aldren exhaled through his nose. “You have barely spoken to the man.” “Which,” Helena said, “is why she is sitting beside him tonight. We are not arranging the wedding before luncheon.” Kyra stared at the seating chart. Her name sat beside Dorian’s as neatly as though someone had already decided the matter. Aldren tapped one finger against the table. “Tristan has been my friend for most of my life. His son comes from a good house, understands horses, understands the military, and would bring land that directly borders ours. I am asking you not to dismiss him before you’ve given him an honest chance.” “And after that?” Aldren hesitated. Helena saw it. She rose from the table and crossed to the wall. Two worn horseshoes hung there, arranged into a loose heart and bound with faded blue ribbon and dark cord. Her posture softened before her expression did. Helena touched the faded ribbon. “Do you remember how reasonable my family thought the match they chose for me was?” Aldren went still. Kyra looked between them. “Good family. Good land. Good connections,” Helena continued. “They had every sensible reason in the world.” Her thumb passed gently over the worn edge of one horseshoe. She looked back at Aldren, and for the first time that morning there was nothing stern in her face. “None of them mattered to you.” Aldren’s eyes settled on the horseshoes. “No,” he said. “You fought for the right to choose me.” Helena’s hand remained on the heart. “She gets the same.” For a moment, only the fire broke the silence. Then Aldren nodded. “She does.” He looked at Kyra. “Spend the day with him. Sit beside him tonight. Decide what you think of the man rather than the arrangement.” His voice softened, though only slightly. “After that, your answer is your own.” Kyra looked again at Dorian’s name beside hers. “Fine.” Helena’s hand left the horseshoes. By the time she returned to the table, the softness had disappeared with it. “Good,” she said. She pulled the seating chart back toward herself. “Then that’s settled.” Kyra finished little of her breakfast. When she rose, she left her parents with the seating chart and the day’s preparations and headed toward the stables. Sable lifted her head as soon as Kyra entered. Kyra slipped into the stall and rested her forehead against the mare’s cheek. Sable’s warm breath moved against her shoulder. Calliope’s words returned. A wrong done. A grief with an edge. Kyra still had neither. For now, she had Sable.