Third Debt
Page 36

But looking down and seeing the ground far below, feeling the unyielding metal stirrups beneath my borrowed boots, and the leather reins in my hands, I’d never been more alive. More joyous.
This was Christmas on crack.
This was birthdays all in one.
I own her.
I own this majestic animal.
I couldn’t sit still with excitement. Leaning forward, I patted Moth’s beautiful grey neck. From up here, I had full view between her ears at the rolling fields and sweeping dark forest.
Kes led his mount from the stables and swung his leg over an inky black horse. Its coat gleamed in the autumn gloom, its velveteen nostrils flaring with huge gusts of breath.
Before Kes could get his seat, the horse skittered sideways with a clatter of hooves.
“Whoa, you damn animal.” He jerked the reins, forcing the horse to submit.
“Who’s that?” I asked, clutching my own reins as Moth tossed her head at the fiery beast prancing beside her. Her flanks rippled with indignation.
Kes’s face pinched in concentration. He swatted the horse with his whip as it bucked and nickered. The horse’s ears flattened, eyes rolling in a mixture of hell-bound fury and eagerness.
“This is Black Plague. He’s technically my father’s horse, but he’s in-between purse races right now. He always gets like this if he isn’t trained every day.” He stroked the pitch-black pelt. “Don’t you, boy?”
“Rather you than me.”
“Plague definitely isn’t for beginners.” Raising his eyebrow, Kes pointed at my helmet. “Check that it’s on tight. I’m not a conventional teacher and need to make sure you’re protected.”
I laughed, forcing a finger beneath the strap below my chin, showing him that if it were any tighter, I’d choke. I also waved at the bracing corset he’d made me wear, along with the borrowed jodhpurs and boots. “Completely protected.”
I felt like royalty—an equestrian princess who knew exactly what she was doing.
I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.
For the past hour, Kes had taught me how to clean out Moth's hooves, curry her coat, saddle her, tighten a girth, and slip a bit into her mouth.
So much to do before going for a ride and so much more to do once we returned.
But every single thing I adored.
I didn’t think I’d ever been so happy than standing in the stall listening to Kes's deep voice as he joked and teased and congratulated me when I copied correctly.
He was patient and kind and we got along easily. Being with him made my heart weep for Vaughn. The ease in which we chatted reminded me of the relationship I’d had with my twin.
My heart also cried for another.
A rolling black cloud shaded me whenever I thought of Jethro.
He should’ve been the one teaching me.
He should’ve been the one laughing and joking and kissing me in the hay.
I hadn’t seen Jethro today, and the lovesickness I suffered whenever I thought of him became a constant sabre to my chest.
How could I love someone with so many demons?
How could I love someone who didn’t share those demons with me?
I don’t have a choice.
If I did—I would choose Kestrel. He was kind and sympathetic. He made me feel better about myself, rather than condemned me to fear.
“Who are you, Kestrel?” I asked before I had time to censor myself.
He stilled, his hands tightening around his reins. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you seem to have a gift at hiding whatever you’re thinking—just like your older brother. However, unlike him, you don’t seem afflicted. Jethro responds to you. He obeys you when there’s tension and looks to you for help.” I squinted beneath my helmet. “Why is that?”
Kes lost his smile, filling with seriousness. “Do you know what he is yet?”
His question slapped me.
I know about black diamonds and absorbing. I know about feelings and pain.
“I’m beginning to understand.” Moth shifted below me. “I don’t have a name for his condition, though. Do you?”
“I do, but it’s not my place to name it.” He laughed softly. “Come back to me when you’ve figured it out. When Jethro tells you what he is—I’ll tell you who I am. Fair?”
No, not fair. I doubt he’ll ever tell me.
Tipping his helmet in salute, he added coyly, “However, there really isn’t much to tell about me. I’m an open book.”
Kicking Black Plague, he moved forward. Moth automatically followed. The clip-clop of hooves echoed off the kennel as we left the stables behind.
The rocking of Moth and the sheer power of her muscles sent fear skittering down my spine. What if I had a vertigo attack and fell off? What if I didn’t steer properly and we ran into a tree?
“Uh, Kes…perhaps this isn’t such a good idea.” My legs trembled. “Maybe I should learn to ride on something smaller?”
Kes turned around, planting a hand on Black Plague’s rump. Ignoring my concerns, he said, “Remember how I said I’m not a conventional teacher?”
I nodded slowly, nervousness billowing in my chest. “Yes…”
“Well, here is your crash course in riding. Hold your reins tight but not too tight. Don’t jerk on her mouth. Pretend you have a twenty-pound note between your arse and the saddle and under no circumstances is it to fly free. Keep your heels down and back straight, and if you fall, roll away and don’t hold onto the reins.”
The more he spoke, the more my heart raced.
“Got it?”
Everything he just said went in one ear and out the other. “No. I don’t have it. Not at all.”
Kes threw me an evil grin. “Too bad.” Raising his whip, he kicked Black Plague and shot away as if this was the Championship Derby. “Hold on, Nila!”
I pulled on my reins as Moth bunched and collected beneath me. “No…you are not going to follow him, damn horse. I like my neck being attached to my body.”
Moth tossed her head, snatching the reins from my hands.
“No. Stop!”
A moment later, I went from standstill to full-blown gallop.
I became a blur of grey.
I became the girl from my past who believed in unicorns.
I became…free.
THE PAST FEW days, I’d done nothing but conspire on how to end this mess. I played my role, took my pills, and avoided the love of my fucking life.
Every time I thought up a plan, I researched each angle and plotted. But each time there were flaws, hurtling me deeper into despondency. The longer I couldn’t solve my problem, the longer I avoided Nila.
I was so fucking close to destroying everything.
I missed her. So much.
So far, I’d discounted eleven different ways of murdering my father.
Option four: Invite him to go for a hunt. Shoot him and make it look like an ‘unfortunate accident.’
Flaws: Too risky. Witnesses. He would have a weapon to retaliate with.
Option seven: Invite him to dinner. Poison the bastard’s food with cyanide—just like he’d threatened me all my life.
Flaws: Dosage might be wrong. Contamination to others.
Option Nine: Arrange a mercenary to attack mid-shipment, dispatch him and keep my hands free from murder.
Flaws: Kes might be with him and get hurt in the crossfire.
Each one seemed plausible enough until deeper inspection. But all of that was shot to shit the afternoon he called me into his office.
Once again, he somehow knew.
How the fuck does he always know?
Was it his uncanny sixth sense? Constant monitoring of my behaviour?
How?!
What gave me away? The look of disgust I could never quite hide? The sneer of hatred I could never wipe away?
Whatever it was, I was once again fucking screwed.
In his office, with rain pelting on the windows, he’d shown me his prized and protected Final Will and Testament.
It was a tome the size of the Royal Decree. Pages upon pages of notary amendments and appendixes. And buried in the fine print were two highlighted areas.
Primogeniture: the section on myself, my role as firstborn, and what I stood to inherit. That part went on for sheets and sheets.
His death: Most importantly his untimely death.
Cut was a businessman. He was also cunning, ruthless, and smart.
The clause stated that any unnatural death, be it from bee stings or drowning, horse riding fall or car accident—even as simple as dying in his sleep—would make his entire Will null and void.
And not just for myself but for all of us.
My siblings would be tossed out. Jasmine would be sent to a convalescent home against her wishes. The Black Diamonds disbanded. Kestrel cast away without a penny.
What did it mean?
Simple.
Cut had noted that if he died from anything other than cancer or a medically proven condition, Hawksridge was to be demolished. Any death that could potentially be maliciously faked, our mines would be detonated. Our wealth donated to causes that had no right to receive charity.
It would be the end of our lifestyle.
It was his ultimate sacrifice and safeguard to ensure we stayed loyal.