True Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

rake a second later.
    Heart’s breathing quickened.
    It
was
Lord Dunraven, walking beside the odd, high chair.
    There were five or six other men too.
    Heart narrowed her eyes. Four of them were carrying the chair. Long poles rested on their shoulders.
    Lord Dunraven walked to one side, talking with another man.
    Their tunics looked like silk.
    Heart could see the flash of silver buttons.
    The men carrying the chair wore rougher cloth.
    The hurried sounds of currycombing, raking, and leather polishing spread through the huge barn as the pages noticed the lords coming.
    Heart slipped back into her stall.
    She tried to think.
    It would look odd to have Moonsilver in his armor inside the stable—but she could hardly take it off now.
    She glanced over the stall planks.
    Young Lord Irmaedith looked weary and ill.
    Heart glanced at Kip. “Be quiet. Not a sound.”
    Then she looked at Avamir. The mare was standing tall, her head lifted to watch.
    â€œIt’s the new lord,” Heart whispered. “He’s just a sickly boy.”
    The strange chair moved steadily up the stable aisle.
    Heart could hear the carriers murmuring.
    As they got closer she understood; it was a rhyme, recited to time their steps.
    Lord Dunraven’s raspy voice cut through the noise. “How many horses does he want to see?”
    No one answered him.
    Avamir shook her mane. The tiny Gypsy bells jingled.
    Heart’s pulse hammered at her wrists and temples.
    â€œShhhh,” she whispered to Avamir.
    The mare shook her mane again.
    Heart saw the boy’s eyes open wider.
    He sat up straighter, turning his head. He was looking for the source of the jingling.
    The bracelet on Heart’s wrist tightened.
    Frantic, she leaned close to Avamir. “Be still.”
    Heart glanced back.
    The boy had slumped in the chair again.
    Heart let out a long breath. They would just walk past, she told herself.
    They’d turn the corner and head back up the next aisle. It was a big stable. There were a hundred horses or more. The boy wouldn’t notice the unicorns.
    Then Avamir walked closer to the gate.
    Heart pushed at her shoulder.
    â€œAvamir!” Heart pleaded in a whisper.
    Dunraven’s deep, rasping voice was getting louder. He was talking about the cold nights, complaining about the small hearth fires in the castle.
    Avamir pushed her head out over the stall door.
    She shook her mane again.
    The bells tinkled.
    â€œStop there,” the boy lord said in a high, quivery voice. “That white mare.”
    Heart gripped the rake, leaning on it, her pulse thundering in her ears.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    T he boy bent forward in his chair and reached out to touch Avamir’s forehead. Heart saw him trace her scar, his hand gentle, his eyes sad.
    On the other side of the carriers, Lord Dunraven continued talking. “There’s still far too many,” he was saying. “The fewer books the better.”
    Heart glanced at the boy lord. His skin was the color of eggshells. He was patting Avamir, staring at Moonsilver in delight.
    â€œI’ve ordered more burnings,” the man talking to Lord Dunraven said clearly.
    Heart looked up.
    The boy turned. “Burnings?”
    Lord Dunraven cleared his throat. “Books. It’s time to get rid of the old legends once and for all.”
    The boy looked troubled. “My father loved books,” he said politely. “So do I.”
    â€œYou’d like them less if you could ride and hunt,” the man next to Lord Dunraven said.
    â€œThat isn’t true,” the boy said.
    The man frowned. “Your father was a fool to coddle you.”
    Heart saw the boy’s eyes flood with tears. “Uncle Stevenar, please don’t insult him now.”
    The man laughed gently. “I know you’re sad that he died. I am too. But he was weak. I intend to be strong.”
    â€œI am the new lord,” the boy said quietly. “Not you, Uncle.”
    The man