Duainfey Read Free Page B

morning, had recently redecorated her receiving parlor. She was therefore questioning Dickon closely on its new style, until he threw up his hands, laughing.
    "Mercy, then, Mother! You know I was only there for ten minutes to do the pretty before Ferdy and I rode out! I hardly had time to memorize the number and color of the pillows on his mother's chaise!"
    "If I had asked you about a horse you had spent ten minutes with . . ." Mother returned, with a smile.
    "Nay, then! Though I risk my reputation as a keen observer of horse flesh by so doing, I must confess that I was this very afternoon in the company of what Ferdy assures me is a pretty filly, indeed, and I can scarcely recall anything of her!"
    "No!" Rebecca laughed, putting down her fork and reaching for her wine glass. "Were you ill, Dickon, or bespelled?"
    She expected a laugh in return, and perhaps a bogus swoon, but Dickon turned serious eyes to her.
    "Odd you should say it," he murmured, picking up his own glass. He looked at their mother over the rim.
    "I wonder, Mother, have you met the Quince's house guest?"
    Mother tipped her head. "House—ah! Mrs. Settle had said something—a foreigner, I apprehend?"
    "I believe his lands are at some distance, though I would hesitate to style him a foreigner." Dickon sipped wine, set the glass down, and addressed his plate once more.
    "You, sir, are unhandsome!" Mother cried after he had eaten two or three forkfuls and had said nothing further.
    Dickon looked up with an innocent face. "Oh, you are interested? Mind, I did not take note of the fabric of his coat, though I'll allow it to be well cut, if you will—and it suited him. The whole day suited him, it seemed. Very odd fellow. 'Course, I believe Fey often are, according to our lights, at least."
    Caroline stirred, and leaned a little forward, interest sharpening her face.
    "Fey?" she asked, voice breathy. "You spoke to a Fey?"
    Dickon sent her a glance. "Interested, are you? As it happens, I did. Altimere of the Elder Fey, as he styles himself. Quince met him at the Boundary nine seasons ago; bought the grandsire of that filly I can't recall off him at the time. No man alive could ride the beast, but he was magnificent, and Quince bred him to his finest mare. That produced Thunderbolt, the filly's sire, half-Fey and half-mad. The filly, Ferdy tells me, is spirited but not murderous, and Quince counts her his success."
    "But a Fey lord," Caroline persisted, her eyes wide and focused on Dickon's face. "Why is he here?"
    "Quince invited him to visit, the next time he was on the roam, and Altimere took him at his word. Now he's on the lookout for land, says Ferdy."
    "Land . . ." Rebecca murmured. "To farm?"
    Dickon shook his head. "Horses," he said succinctly. "Apparently the outcome of Quince's breeding program got this Altimere to thinking about what profit he might realize from half- and quarter-Fey horses. If he breeds here—and produces horses whose sole object is not to murder their riders—then he has a fair shot at the city market." He shrugged.
    "If he settles, I suppose he'll become quite commonplace. But as the first Fey in the county—"
    "Not quite the first," Mother said surprisingly. "We had a Fey lady and her suite with us the winter Rebecca was born. They put up at the Hound and Horn, as I recall it, and made sure to visit all the houses in the neighborhood. She came to us for tea, she and her—well, I suppose I can only call him her bodyguard. He stood the whole time behind her chair, straight and silent as a blade."
    "Really?" Dickon frowned slightly. "I don't remember that."
    "You were with your aunt and uncle, my dear. Ask your father—I'm certain he'll recall. He and the lady spoke together privately for some while. She was looking for news of kin, and wished to inspect the—"
    "But what does he look like?" Caroline interrupted impatiently. "Lord Altimere."
    "Well." Dickon pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. He fingered his