“That was wise. A child so young wouldn’t calm on her own.”

“I did what I knew, and what my mother taught me. How you look for injuries with your mind, your light. It was just the arm, or mostly. And it was like a snap—not jagged, but clean. I did a merge. With small injuries, you don’t have to. It’s just …”

“Surface,” he said and kept working.

“Yeah, surface. But to heal a bone, it takes more. But I think it went quick because I was right there, because it was fresh, and she was so little. I think. I had to hurt her a little.”

“You shared her pain?”

“It was just for a second.” A second she’d never forget. “The bone knit so fast, just that second of fire and pain, and then, she was okay.”

“And you?”

“I felt strange. Strong, but strange, and everything was a little blurry. And I was really thirsty. Thomas gave me water, and they took Twila home.”

“You did well. You learned.”

“Learned what?”

“Sometimes you think and plan and weigh. And sometimes you feel and act. And always, always, you trust what’s in you. Trust what you are. You did well.”

The next morning Fallon found a bounty on the doorstep. A small bag of salt, another of sugar—both precious—and a little jar of peppercorns, more precious still.

All had been arranged in a pretty woven basket and scattered with flower petals.

As she lifted it, she saw Twila and her mother. The woman gave the girl a little pat on the butt, sending her forward.

“I came to thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I made you this.”

She held out a crown of flowers twined with white rosebuds and starry white daisies.

“It’s really pretty.” Accepting it, Fallon made the girl smile by putting it on her head.

“You look beautiful. Like a princess, but Mama says you’re a queen.”

“I’m not—”

“I was in your light.” Twila smiled up at her, a face filled with trust. “It was so bright and warm, and nothing hurt so I wasn’t scared.”

Fallon crouched down. “I was in your light. It was soft and pretty, like the flowers.”

Twila giggled, then wrapped her arms around Fallon in a hug before she raced back to her mother.

Because Mallick was pleased with her, he allowed her an extra hour to devote to her quest. She went alone, convinced having Mick or even Faol Ban and Taibhse with her kept the horse elusive.

Though, she had to admit, she’d gone alone before, with the same results.

She’d made progress on so much—her spell casting, her class work, her archery, and her swordplay. She mastered balancing with one hand on the pool as well as the ground.

But she’d made no progress, at all, in her hunt for Laoch.

She’d told herself, during the winter, it was just a matter of waiting until the snow melted. Then she’d find him.

In the early days of spring she told herself she’d find him as the leaves grew thick again.

But winter or spring, alone or with companions, she found no trace of him.

That day, like so many others, she set off, choosing a direction at random. She comforted herself that even if she didn’t find the horse, the days grew longer, the air warmer. And the woods birthed flowers. She cut some, dug up others—not just for their magickal and medicinal uses but because having them in the house reminded her of home.

Because she could, she danced her light over some lily of the valley, thickened its spread, then had the little bells tolling. The light, pretty music lured blue and yellow butterflies.

Magick, her mother had taught her, should bring joy where it could.

And the tinkle of the flower bells, the fluttering, colorful wings brought her joy.

She heard a rustling as she smiled down. And a kind of clomp, then the blowing breath a horse would make.

For a moment, she was fooled, and her heart did a fast jump.

Then her senses tuned in, spread out. And she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be such an ass, Mick. Like I don’t know the difference between a horse and some goof-off elf trying to trick me.”

“Come on, that was a good one!” He somersaulted from a thicket, bounded to his feet, and grinned at her. “We were out on a hunting party—and we’ll be eating like kings tonight—then I saw your tracks.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide them.”

“Wouldn’t matter. I can track anything, anyone.”

“Really? You’ve been out with me for weeks but you haven’t tracked the horse.”

“That’s different. Laoch doesn’t leave tracks, and he’s invisible most of the time.”

“You’re just making stuff up now.”

“He’s probably not even around here.” Mick jumped on an outcropping of rock, sank into it to his waist. “I’ve heard he lives in a mountaintop meadow where it’s summer all the time.”

“You’re not even good at making things up.”

He popped out of the rock and straight up to swing on a tree branch. “It makes as much sense as a horse living in the woods like a deer or a bear.”

“Mallick says he’s here. Mallick doesn’t lie.”

“So he’s here one day a year. That could be it,” Mick said as he dropped back down, and they began to walk again. “Maybe only on the summer solstice. That’s not too far off. Why don’t you just do a spell or something?”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Sarcasm dripped. “Which I did, but it’s not the way. I didn’t find Taibhse or Faol Ban with spells.”

“You’re the one who wants a bathroom so bad.”

She started to snap back when realization struck. “It’s not about that anymore. I guess it was never about that for Mallick. He just used it to give me the quests. And now it’s not about that for me, either.”

“What then? You’ve already got a horse. She’s a nice horse.”

“Grace is a great horse. This is different, this is …”

A slant of sunlight struck her. She stopped, turned.

“There are three spirits. And they are pure and powerful. They are one, and they are separate. They choose to give their loyalty and allegiance or withhold it. Is there faith, is there courage, is there compassion? These, too, are one and separate.

“When the three spirits join together, when the three spirits join with The One, they are a hot, flaming sword to strike the dark, a bright, shining mirror to bring the light.”

Mick said nothing for a moment. “Okay. You get really weird when you talk like that.”

The vision faded off but left her skin tingling. “I feel really weird when I talk like that, but it’s true. And there’s more. They’re three, and it’s like Mallick and his symbols. The owl’s wisdom, the wolf’s cunning, and the horse is heroism.”

“What’s that make you?”

“Someone who needs them.” As she spoke, she felt. And put a hand on Mick’s arm. “Slow,” she warned.

She wound through the trees, and knew when Mick caught the scent as she had. The scent of horse, the scent of flowers and horse and leather.

He stood, not in a meadow on a mountaintop in perpetual summer, but in a small clearing. Flowers grew wild to cover the ground.

She’d walked over that ground countless times, and there had been no carpet of flowers. There had been no magnificent white stallion with deep green eyes, with its mane fluttering in the spring breeze.

The saddle was gold, as Mallick had told her, but not the hard, heavy metal she’d imagined. She could see—and smell—the soft, supple leather as well as the glint of the bright stirrups.

“Holy shit.” Mick breathed it out. “He’s really real. And he’s really, really big. I never really believed he’d be that big. Like twenty hands.”

The farm girl took her own measure. “Twenty-two.” And likely, she thought, over three thousand pounds. “Laoch.” She tried a bow. “I’m Fallon Swift. Mallick the Sorcerer gave me three quests. The first to find Taibhse, the white owl, and his golden apple. The second to find Faol Ban, the white wolf with his golden collar. And the last to find you, the magnificent Laoch and his golden saddle.”