Onyx and Ivory

There is no greater weapon than knowledge.

The world is black and white and all the shades of grey in between.

It's always a choice, to do right or wrong, no matter the power.

It’s the cruelest part of this life, I think, that we don’t get to choose the families and situations we’re born into.

But no amount of wishing could change their hearts, and desire could not be mined, only ignited.

I stole it from the grave of the king of Skaar, and when his kinsmen found out, they sent twelve warriors to bring me back, but I killed them one by one, the first with a hunting knife and the last with a kiss.

Better to have two people whose love is true than a whole city of fair-weather friends.

Soon they reached the opened city gates. Two massive horse statues stood, one on either side of the entrance. They weren’t identical but asymmetrical complements of each other. The left one, carved in sleek ivory, was leaned back on its haunches, just coming up to a rear, muzzle pointed skyward. The right, carved from glistening onyx, black as pitch, was in full rear, its head curved downward, forelegs striking.

As Kate fell into the rhythm of Darby’s stride—horse and rider becoming one—she felt her spirits soar. For a little while, with the scenery blurring by, she was no longer Traitor Kate. No longer the girl despised by a kingdom. No longer the girl cast aside by the friend and prince she had once loved. In moments like these, atop a horse and flying over the ground, she glimpsed her old life. She became Kate Brighton again. Daughter of Hale Brighton, master of horse to the high king. She was free. A girl with a future. Someone who mattered.

Titles served their purpose in creating necessary boundaries, reminding people of their place in life. Once she hadn’t realized how vast the chasm was between the highborn and lowborn, but she’d spent the last few years learning better. It was a vast chasm indeed, uncrossable.