Guardian of the Gate Read Free

actually hit it. Sonia’s gifts for communicating with the dead and traveling the Plane do not, as it turns out, translate to a talent for archery.
    She rolls her eyes, raising the bow to her slender shoulder. Even this small gesture causes me to smile, for not so long ago Sonia would have been too serious for such lighthearted humor.
    Threading the arrow, she pulls back on the string, her arms shaking with the effort of holding it taut. When launched, her arrow wobbles through the air, landing silently in the grass a few feet from the target.
    “Ugh! I think that’s enough humiliation for one day, don’t you?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Shall we take the horses to the pond before supper?”
    “Yes, let’s,” I answer without bothering to ponder the question. I am not eager to relinquish the freedom of Whitney Grove in favor of the tightly bound corset and formal dinner that await me later this evening.
    I sling the bow across my back, packing the arrows within my knapsack, and we cross the archery range to our horses. Mounting up, we start across the field to a glimmering streak of blue in the distance. I have spent so many hours astride myhorse, Sargent, that riding him is second nature. As I ride, I survey the lush openness spread out in every direction. There isn’t another soul in sight, and the utter isolation of the landscape makes me grateful all over again for the quiet haven of Whitney Grove.
    The fields here stretch in every direction. They give Sonia and me the privacy required for riding in men’s breeches and practicing with the bow, both pastimes that would hardly be considered appropriate for young women within the confines of London. And while Whitney Grove’s accompanying cottage is quaint, we have thus far used it for nothing more than changing into our breeches and the occasional cup of post-exertion tea.
    “I’ll race you!” Sonia calls over her shoulder. She is already pulling away from me, but I don’t mind. Giving Sonia an edge on horseback makes me feel that we are still on equal footing, even if it is with something as simple as a friendly horse race.
    I spur Sargent forward, leaning over his neck as his muscled legs break into a run. His mane licks like ebony fire toward my face and I cannot help but admire his glistening coat and superior speed. I catch up to Sonia rather quickly but pull back on the reins a little, maintaining my position just behind her gray horse.
    She holds her lead as we cross the invisible point that has been our finish line through many races. As the horses slow, she looks back over her shoulder.
    “Finally! I win!”
    I smile, trotting my horse up to her as she comes to a stop atthe bank of the pond. “Yes, well, it was only a matter of time. You’ve become an excellent rider.”
    She beams with pleasure as we dismount and lead the horses to the water. Standing in silence as they drink, I marvel that Sonia is not out of breath. It is hard to imagine a time when she was afraid to sit astride a horse, let alone gallop over the hills as we do now at least three times a week.
    Once the horses have slaked their thirst, we walk them over to the great chestnut tree that grows near the water. Tying them to the trunk, we sit on the wild grass, leaning back on our elbows. The wool breeches we wear while riding pull at my thighs, but I do not complain. Wearing them is a luxury. In a few hours, I will be laced tightly into a silk dress for dinner with the Society.
    “Lia?” Sonia’s voice drifts on the breeze.
    “Hmmm?”
    “When will we go to Altus?”
    I turn to look at her. “I don’t know. When Aunt Abigail believes I’m ready to make the journey and sends for me, I suppose. Why?”
    For a moment, her usually serene face seems to darken with turmoil, and I know she is thinking about the danger we face in seeking the missing pages.
    “I suppose I’d simply like to have it done with, that’s all. Sometimes…” She turns away, surveying