Chapter 6: The Trial

I checked the girth by the lantern light, the way my mother taught me, because a rider who skips that check does it once.

The strap had been cut.

Not through, which would have shown.

Cut three quarters of the way, on the underside, where a thumb wouldn't find it unless the thumb was looking.

It would have held for a walk to the track.

It would have failed at the first turn, with the horse flat out and me on top.

Jude came up beside me in his shirtsleeves, still half asleep, carrying two paper cups.

He saw my face and put the coffee down.

"What?"

I held up the strap.

He looked at the cut.

His face went from sleepy to something much harder.

"Who's been in this stall?"

"Whoever Nicolette sent."

"I'll go to her father, and then the sheriff."

"Jude.

"If you make a noise now, they say the Keller girl lost her nerve and made up a story.

"I want it quiet until it can't be quiet any more."

He stared at me.

Then he shook his head slowly.

"You've done this before."

"I've watched it done."

Behind us, Abel's cart creaked down the aisle.

He didn't ask what was wrong.

He just walked into the old feed room, and came out carrying my mother's saddle, and a new girth, still smelling of the shop.

"It's the right size for him," he said.

"I measured last night."

"You measured?"

"I figured somebody might need it."

I took the saddle from him.

My hands were not quite steady.

"It's lighter than any I've ridden in," I said.

"She cut the weight down every winter," Abel said.

"She said a Queen doesn't carry what she doesn't need."

I saddled Corsair myself, with the new girth, and the old saddle sat on his black back.

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