Again Ryhenna’s nervous laugh. “Not by chance, my lord, for thou greatly resemblest the god. The chon is little pleased.”

The dark unicorn wheeled. “Resemble—? What do you mean?”

Ryhenna tossed her head and snorted, surprised. “Hast thou not seen Dai’chon’s image, my lord—as black of body as thou, but with limbs and torso of a keeper and the head of a da? He carrieth the crescent moon upon his breast, as thou dost upon thy brow, and thy tail is unlike the full, silky tails of daya, more like a whip or flail.”

The dark unicorn felt his limbs go cold. He recalled the image before which the daïcha and her followers had bowed that first night upon the beach. He recalled similar figurines seized by the chon’s purple-plumes in the square as well as the unicorn-headed figurines that had so enraged the chon. The coppery mare spoke on.

“When the great streak of fire hurtled out of the sky on the first day of fall, the daïcha declared it a sign from Dai’chon and set out in search of the firegod’s gift.”

Memory welled up in the dark unicorn’s mind of standing soaked and exhausted upon a silvery, windswept beach and seeing a red plume of fire plunge out of heaven.

“Weeks later,” Ryhenna told him, “the daïcha returned with thee, calling thee Tai-shan. From the first, daya and keepers alike have whispered thou art the very image of Dai’chon: his steed, perhaps—or his messenger?”

The coppery mare watched him as she spoke, as though in hope of either confirmation or denial of her words.

“Many,” she continued, “even dare to say thou art the god himself, openly calling thee ‘Dai’chon’ in defiance of the chon’s edict and bowing down before images of thee instead of those of the real Dai’chon. Perhaps it is the daïcha’s fault in calling thee a name so close to the god’s—for now the people have confused the two, and the chon is furious.” A moment later, as in afterthought, she added, “Furious, too, that thou hast delayed so long in taking up thy duties as First Stallion.”

“What do you mean?” the dark unicorn asked again, baffled. He had lost her thread.

Ryhenna snorted, tossed her head.

“The First Stallion exists to get foals and fillies for the sacred stable,” she exclaimed. “Yet I and my sisters frolicked daily with thee for weeks, and thou madest not the slightest advance.”

Tai-shan shook himself, staring at the coppery mare. “You mean the chon intends you—you and your sisters—to be…my mates?”

Ryhenna stamped impatiently. “Of course. What else might I and my sisters be to thee? The chon is anxious for thee to sire more horned marvels such as thyself—not steal the people’s worship from their god.”

Tai-shan fell back a step, appalled.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded hotly. “Surely the chon knows—must guess—I have always meant to depart as soon as spring arrives, to seek my homeland and my people once more. I must leave this place!”

“No! The chon considereth thee no more than a strange sort of da,” the coppery mare replied. “He will never let thee go.”

“Ryhenna,” the young stallion told her, “I am no da but a free unicorn. How may the chon hold me if I mean to be gone?”

“By the same means he holdeth all my race,” the da mare answered softly. “With ropes and tethers, locked stalls and barred gates. With whips and bits and hobbles—and with tainted feed that taketh away even thy will to rebel.”

Her eyes flicked to his empty feeding trough. Following her gaze, Tai-shan felt a sudden chill.

“Tainted?” he said slowly, stupidly. “Tainted feed?”

The coppery mare avoided his eyes, her voice a whisper. “The sweetmeal the chon ordered for thee is laced with dreamroot. A healing herb, it speedeth the mending of wounds and numbeth pain—yet it can also induce trance, making the rebellious docile to the firekeepers’ will.”

The realization reverberated inside his skull like a thunderclap. The black unicorn stood trembling, stunned. The stable around him seemed to grow darker. Wind moaned beyond the warm enclosure’s draft-tight walls. He felt buffeted, cold.

“So many times,” the da mare whispered. “So many times I longed to tell thee—yet feared to rebel against my captors and my god.”

Violently, Tai-shan shook himself. “The daïcha,” he gasped. “The daïcha would never…”

“The daïcha hath no choice in the matter! The chon is her master as well as ours.” Ryhenna shook her head, speaking more forcefully now. “The dreamroot he ordered lest thou go abroad in the city again, inciting heretical adoration.“

Despite his belly’s insistent rumbling, the dark unicorn felt his gorge rise. He’d not touch another mouthful of that tainted meal! Tai-shan ramped and sidled, scarcely able to contain his agitation. His mind raced.

“I must find a way to flee this place!”

Ryhenna ignored his protests. “Nay. Escape is impossible. Put it from thy mind. Repent thy rebellion and accept the will of Dai’chon. If thou wilt not, my lord Moonbrow, then I fear for thee in sooth. Even now, it may be too late.”

“Too late?” the dark unicorn murmured.

Ryhenna looked at him hard. “I fear Dai’chon’s judgment upon thee, my lord! Surely to entice the people’s heterodox worship in defiance of the chon cannot have been the purpose for which Dai’chon sent thee among us.”

“I am no envoy of this Dai’chon,” the dark unicorn protested. “The two-foots’ confusion of me with their god is none of my doing!”

“Such mattereth nothing to Dai’chon,” the coppery mare snapped. “One may hide one’s inmost heart from one’s fellows, Moonbrow, but mighty Dai’chon recketh all. Twice yearly he cometh to judge the sacred daya. None can ever hope to escape his judgment—not even thou! I have seen his vengeance. It is swift and terrible. Dost thou not understand thy peril? The equinox is coming!”

Tai-shan shook his head, not following. “The equinox?”

Ryhenna came forward, pressing against the gate of her stall, her voice urgent. “On that day, every spring and fall,” she answered, “a great procession of townsfolk ascendeth at dawn from the sea to the palace gate. Passing within, they proceed to the white clifftops overlooking the sea. In the fall, the priests cut the young foals who are to become geldings and the First Stallion defendeth his harem against all comers. In spring, Dai’chon judgeth the herd and chooseth who must follow him. Those daya the priests then drive forth to the kingdom of Dai’chon….”

“Drive forth?” Tai-shan interrupted. “You mean they are exiled, sent into the wilds beyond the city?”

“Not banished,” Ryhenna hissed. “Sacrificed: herded over the cliffside into the sea!”

The coppery mare fidgeted, unable to stand still.

“A place in that select company is considered the greatest of honors, a glory outshining all. I think the chon would rejoice to see thee among that company—for without progeny to redeem thee in his eyes, thou art more trouble to him than thou art worth. Yet the people adore thee. Were Dai’chon to claim thee, however, the folk could raise no protest. It is an honor to die for Dai’chon.”

The dark unicorn could only stand staring, amazed at her sudden fire. His belly growled again. He ignored it angrily. Ryhenna eyed him with wise, sad eyes.

“My lord Moonbrow, thou hast but one real hope of returning from the white cliffs alive: fulfill thy role as First Stallion. What other choice dost thou have? Even a life imprisoned is better than no life at all! Sire progeny upon thy brood mares. If thou wilt not, I fear Dai’chon will claim thee at equinox.”

Tai-shan shook himself. His skin twitched. Fear beat against his heart. “You think this Dai’chon means to kill me?” he breathed.