Free Centauriad 1 - Daughter of the Centaurs by Kate Klimo Page B

my dear,” she whispers to the mare’s lifeless head. “Your girls, Fancy and Stormy, are in the pen. They’re safe and sound.” And then, like the afternoon’s cloudburst, something inside of her breaks loose and comes pouring out in a torrent of tears, her loneliness and her grief. Just knowing that her mother was somewhere, going about her life, had made Malora eager and willing to go on with her own life. Now that willingness is drained from her, replaced by a great weariness.
    Malora doesn’t know how long she lies there with her head buried in Silky’s side. When she finally looks up, she is too spent to do anything but stare at the centaur who stands over her holding a lantern. She wipes her face on Silky’s mane, smooths back her hair, and stands up.
    She thinks she sees tears pooling in the centaur’s startlingly blue eyes, but perhaps this is just the moon’s reflection.
    “Theon is wrong,” Orion says to her softly. “He said you were vicious and wild. But if you are capable of feeling grief, then it stands to reason that you must possess other civilized traits.” He ventures a tentative smile.
    Malora returns his smile, realizing with a slight uneasiness that her tears have weakened her resolve not to speak. The sound of his voice is a balm to her sadness. He goes on talking as he stares out over the plain of dead horses. “I realized this afternoon, after I fished you out of those floodwaters, that I had dreamed once, years ago, that I met a human girl by a river. In the dream, we walked along the riverbank and we spoke and it was the most enjoyable conversation. I wonder if you dream.” He turns to scrutinize her. “But that’s just as absurd, I realize, as my having the feeling that you understand every word I say, when how could that possibly be?”
    “It’s true!” she says before her sense gets the better of her. “I do talk … and I do dream.”
    His jaw drops and he backs away from her, as if she has just burst into flames.
    “But I couldn’t speak, don’t you see? We’re ancient enemies,” she says, moving toward him slowly so as not to spook him. “Theon said so. I needed to learn as much about you as I could. If I had spoken up, you wouldn’t have carried on so openly in my presence. You wouldn’t have said certain things. I wouldn’t have learned nearly as much about you.”
    His eyes dart about, as he seeks to recall what was said.Hesitantly, he asks, “What was it exactly that you learned about us?”
    She hides a smile. “I learned that centaurs are a princely race who like to lounge around in the grass plucking wildflowers while the poor pussemboos do all the work.”
    He stares at her in puzzlement. “The poor
what
?” he asks.
    Malora says, “Pussemboos. You know … those little catlike men you travel with. The slaves who do your bidding.”
    He tosses his head back and howls with laughter.
    Malora feels her face heating up. She does not like being the butt of a joke she doesn’t understand.
    Recovering at last, he wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes and says, “Pussemboos! Is it
Puss in Boots
that you mean to say?”
    Malora bristles. “I do not. I said
pussemboos
and I mean
pussemboos
.”
    “The ancient tale of the clever cat who wears high boots and assists his human master is, I do believe, entitled
Puss in Boots
.” He wags his head.
    Is it possible, Malora wonders, that Aron’s grandmother was as simple as her grandson? She should have known this to be the case.
    Orion says, “Actually, now that you point it out, the Twani do bear a rather remarkable resemblance to Puss in Boots. I wonder why I never thought of that.”
    “The Twani?” Malora asks. “Is that what you call them?”
    “It’s what they call themselves. And they are no more our slaves than you are my enemy.” He flashes her a smile that is full of warmth.
    “Really?” she asks, very much wanting to believe both of these things.
    “It’s true. We rescued the Twani