Chapter 55: Taming The Stallion.

Chapter 55: Chapter 55: Taming The Stallion.

He’s there the next day.

And the next.

By the fourth day, Khobi’s looking for him.

By the sixth he’s sick of it.

It’s unnerving, the way he just sits up there and watches, sometimes for hours on end. Some of the more unkind soldiers had jeered that he found Khobi amusing entertainment, but it didn’t feel quite so innocent as that. There was something too intense about his gaze to mean anything good, so when Montrel had invited him along to the stables he’d leapt at the chance to disappear from Rogard’s sight for a while. He was being sized up, and he couldn’t say he liked it.

The stables, like the castle, were huge. Clean, too, servants scuttled about here and there with rakes and buckets and feed, anxiously ducking out of their path as they wound deeper. Montrel ignored them for the most part, perfectly at home picking his way through the stalls. Every so often a curious nose would appear over a gate to greet him and he’d stop, every time, and give it a generous rub before moving on.

"Most of the soldiers stable their horses down in the city," Montrel informed him as they walked, "But you can take em out a bit more when they’re here, yknow?"

"Right."

He draws to a halt in front of a stall and leans over the gate to greet the horse inside. A little further down the way, Gandy’s busy feeding what appears to be sugar cubes to his own horse, to the obvious dismay of a couple of the stable hands.

"Hey girl, how ya doin’?" Montrel asks, uncharacteristically gently. Khobi’s pretty sure he’s smiling . He must hear something that Khobi doesn’t hear, because he adds, "I know, I know, I’m sorry." Khobi raises an eyebrow as he draws closer, and peers over Montrel’s shoulder to find himself staring at the back end of a large piebald mare.

"She’s mad at me coz I haven’t been to see her enough," Montrel says, as though that makes any kind of sense. "Ain’t she pretty?"

Pretty isn’t really a word Khobi’s ever used to describe a horse.

"She’s a horse, Montrel," Gandy says for him, sounding very much like he’s rolling his eyes. Montrel flips a rude gesture his way, and continues to try and get his horse’s attention.

"Come on, girl," he clucks, pulling out an apple from his pocket, "There’s someone here to meet you."

The apple seems to work. The mare turns her head and, lured by the promise of treats, makes her way towards the pair of them. She doesn’t seem at all perturbed by a new face, and quite contentedly allows Khobi to stroke her nose. She’s soft, and even tempered, and considering that Montrel has another three apples stashed in his pockets, probably pretty spoilt.

"She’s a good girl, aren’t you?" he croons proudly, opening up his palm so she can take the apple from him. His mare makes quick work of his gift and then abandons her master in favour of nuzzling Khobi’s hand, searching for more. "She likes you." He sounds pleased.

"Yeah well, she’s never had very good taste in men," Gandy chips in, and gets a bucket tossed at his head.

"Shut it," Montrel grouses, and his horse whinnies, like she’s laughing. "You too," he sniffs, but rubs her cheek with undisguised affection.

Khobi feels like he’s intruding on something.

A commotion from somewhere up ahead draws his attention. There’s a loud bang and an ill-tempered neigh, and a servant comes flying into view, carrying a pail and sloshing water everywhere. Khobi takes a couple of steps closer to see what’s happening as the servant gathers himself up and dusts hay off his trousers.

"You watch it," he scolds the horse that’s obviously playing up, "You’re as bad as your master sometimes, you know that?"

The horse snorts at him and paws the ground in what the servant decides is a threat.

"No, you’re not getting a sugar cube," he berates, hands on hips, "That’s for good horses. Who don’t try to bite me --" He suddenly stops talking, realising he’s got an audience watching him argue with a horse, and then going back to it when he sees who it is. "Oh, hi Khobi. Fancy seeing you here."

"...Binny?"

"That’s me," Binny replies, retrieving his bucket as Khobi trudges across the sodden ground to reach him. "What are you doing here?"

"...Montrel wanted me to meet his horse." It sounds really lame, saying it out loud, but Binny just nods, like it makes sense to him.

"Oh, she’s a real sweetheart," he says conversationally, before sending a glare back into the stall he’d been servicing only a moment ago, "Unlike someone --"

The gate rattles and Khobi’s a little annoyed that he jumps as a massive black stallion decides to properly announce his presence by bodily barging the wood of his stall. Binny just scowls at him like a frustrated parent and tuts.

"Now, that’s enough of that," he scolds, and eyeballs the stallion as he lowers his massive head and huffs hot air down at his face. "This is exactly why the other servants don’t like coming near you." The horse, sleek, jet black, and raw muscle, towers over him, but unlike the rest of the servants that Khobi notices are giving the stall a wide berth, he doesn’t look afraid. Which really, credit to him, this horse has none of the softness of Montrel’s mare, and as well groomed and regal as he looks, there’s something just a little wild about him.

"...Careful, Khobi," Montrel calls out from further down the aisle, having looked over his shoulder and found his companion wandering. " --Wouldn’t get too close to that one," he warns darkly, "He’s trouble."

"That he is," Binny agrees, reluctantly fishing around in one of his pockets and making a great show of pretending there was nothing in there. The horse is unimpressed. "He’s the prince’s horse," he says, like that explains everything (and maybe it does), "Won’t let anyone else ride him. Not that anyone else wants to." He pulls out a sugar cube and holds it up so that the black stallion can clearly see it. The stall rattles again and the horse tosses his head stroppily. Binny looks at Khobi pointedly, adding, "...Would you ride that?" He presents the treat, and tosses it gently enough for the horse to catch, but deftly enough that he gets to keep all five of his fingers. It keeps him occupied for a couple of seconds before he swings his massive head to face Khobi. He’s an impressive creature, truly gigantic, and dances restlessly on the spot as he assesses the stranger watching him. He whickers, tosses his mane and then, with a high whinney, rears dramatically, and even Binny, who seems to be fairly comfortable with the volatile horse, lurches back a pace.

Khobi doesn’t budge, and the horse crashes back to all fours, huffing and snorting and pawing in an impressive display of aggression. And then, to everyone’s surprise, quietens, and cranes his neck over the gate towards Khobi, head dipped low.

"I dunno," Khobi remarks, reaching out a hand to touch the horse’s silky nose. He lets him, pressing into his hand and whickering softly. "He doesn’t seem so bad."

"...I’ll never understand that horse," Montrel mutters flatly, and Binny looks similarly baffled.

"Oh, so you’re good for the random guy, but not the guy who spends years sneaking you treats," he sniffs, shaking his head and resignedly handing Khobi a couple of stray sugar cubes, "Watch your fingers. He bites."

He didn’t try to bite him, not once.

Binny was noticeably sour about it.

" -- Years I’ve been trying to get that horse to like me," he complains to Khobi as he trails out of the stables after them. "And he still sometimes tries to kick me."

"...Never seen that horse take to anyone like that," Montrel shakes his head disbelievingly, "Cept the prince." He shrugs, obviously unable to comprehend how anything could have a soft spot for his prince. "The guy’s an asshole, but at least he treats his horse well. Better than his own cousin sometimes."

"...What are you doing down here anyways?" Khobi asks Binny, because he’d rather not let Montrel get started on another one of his rants. "...Are you stalking me, or something?"

It seems like a fair accusation, because really, he does seem to run into this particular servant an awful lot.

"...We servants do like to know what goes on in our castle," Binny shrugs, an answer which is neither here nor there, "But no, not this time. They’re a little short handed at the stables so I got sent down to help them out." He looks down at his dirty clothes and tries to brush them off a little better. "...Can’t say it’s the most glamorous job in the castle."

It takes Khobi a couple of paces before he realises that Binny’s no longer following them. Instead, he’s stopped a couple of paces back, and is shaking straw and stray sugar crystals out of his pockets. Montrel carries on up ahead, calling out over his shoulder for Khobi to hurry up before he ends up paired with Jaga again. And as much as Khobi would really rather not spend the afternoon trying to uproot a veritable mountain, he’s sure he can spare a second to wait for Binny to catch up.

Oddly, Binny makes no attempt to follow him.

After a few more steps where the servant doesn’t drop into step with him, Khobi looks back and finds that he hasn’t moved an inch. He frowns, and backtracks a pace until he’s back in earshot.

"You coming?" he hollers, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the sparring rings.

The smile Binny gives him isn’t fake. It’s just sad.

"Can’t," he says, shaking his head and digging his hands deep into his pockets.

"Why not?"

"Khobi," Binnysays, and Khobi hates it when he says his name like that,like he’s a child that doesn’t understand something. "I’m a servant."

He says it like that should explain everything.

"So?"

Binny laughs, and it’s fond.

" So ," he repeats, shaking his head and sweeping a hand out towards the training ground, "This isn’t for me. It’s for the men I serve." The sad smile is still there, but fading, and a little bitter. "...C’mon, you know how this works Khobi."

Khobi knows what Binny’s getting at. Luminus had the belief that servants were there to serve. Having them trained in warfare was just asking for uprising, he reckoned. Best to let them stick with what they knew.

Subservience .

His uncle had never seen things that way. Servant boys trained with the sons of soldiers just the same. Daughters, too, if they felt so inclined. Taught them to respect one another, his aunt had always said. She believed that that overcoming adversity together fostered loyalty, and unity --the foundations upon which a kingdom was built. Out on the battlefield, she always said, whenever little nobles would get too mouthy, in an ambush, or in a siege, it didn’t matter whose father was what. It mattered whether or the men around you were willing to put their lives on the line for you.

That always made them think. Then, she’d make them run drills together until they were too exhausted to think anymore. She was known for her tough love, and unyielding belief that nothing forced men to bond better than hard labour.

In Scargga, if there was fire in your heart, they put a sword in your hand and fanned that flame.

Binny can fight. Well, too. Better than a lot of what Khobi’s seen in recent days, even.

He says as much, but Binny waves away his protests.

"I’m not much for fighting anymore," he says dismissively, shrugging, "It’s not my place."

"...Fine," Khobi huffs, and decks him.

Or rather, tries to deck him.

Binny has him by the wrist before he even lays a finger on him, nimbly side-stepping his fist and letting Khobi’s own momentum carry him off balance. Meeting no resistance, Khobi staggers, and when he whips around, he’s only just in time to see Binny innocently tucking his hands behind his back, like nothing had even happened. And maybe it hadn’t. He’d thrown the punch, but he’d had barely seen Binny move, and his hand on him so light it might as well have never touched him. But as fast as he was, and as crafty, now that Khobi knew to look for it, there was no hiding that gleam, that sharp, cunning gleam in his eye.

Scorching red eyes bore into Binny’s face as Khobi straightens up, vindicated. Binny meets his gaze evenly, defiantly even, as he stalks towards him.

"Bullshit it’s not your place," he growls, and storms past him, after Montrel. Binny rolls his eyes, and the sly glimmer in them dims somewhat.

The smile, however, is real this time.