They have never been so game in their lives. Even so, they and their riders must all rest for the night in Highgate, and upon reaching the outskirts of Indrid Down, Arsinoe uses Billy’s father’s money to wheedle them new mounts, as well as a cart-lead back to Wolf Spring for the horses loaned to them. Jules pats each of their old mounts and kisses their cheeks. They were good, and they will be sore from the speed of the journey. “All right,” Arsinoe says. “Let’s go.” “Wait a minute, at least,” Billy says, stretching his back. He is a pampered city son, unused to haste and dozing in the saddle. “I haven’t even adjusted my stirrups.” “You can ride without them.” “Not as well as if I use them.” He reaches for the leathers and the girls give in, taking a moment to adjust their own stirrups. They check and double-check their girths, and Jules feeds Camden a strip of dried, smoked fish. Arsinoe would like to be on the road. Whenever they stop, Jules looks miserable.
