...who was to say that worple horses didn’t eat pink silk eiderdowns? Whatever a worple horse was. [loc. 729]
Fenn Todd scrapes a living doing odd jobs for whoever'll employ him. He has no home, and very little hope. He still dreams of the horses he cared for on the estate where he grew up. When a loutish chap in a fancy embroidered jerkin offers him a horse of his own in exchange for digging a cesspit, of course Fenn jumps at the chance. But it's a cruel trick, because the 'horse' is a sad-looking affair of sacking and stuffing.
And there's a glowing rune on its chest, and it keeps following him.
Fenn finds himself a guest of the Court Sorcerer, Morgrim, who rumour claims is responsible for the drought that grips the country. Certainly it rains ceaselessly at Unket Tower, where Morgrim dwells. Evidence suggests that Morgrim is a black-dyed villain: but Fenn, much to his own surprise, finds the man charming, companionable and extremely attractive. Can he trust his feelings, though, in a place so beset with spells and hexes?
This is a warm-hearted romance with an ambience that reminded me of Diana Wynne Jones' works, especially Howl's Moving Castle. The world-building, though never the focus, is splendid: the rise of crystal-powered 'horseless carriages' and velocipedes; Morgrim's desire to abolish the monarchy, wholeheartedly supported by young Queen Aramella. I found Fenn's love and appreciation for horses truly moving, and I liked his distinctive narrative voice, which felt credibly rural and uneducated without making him seem unintelligent. Though at least some of Fenn and Morgrim's issues could have been resolved by better communication, neither has had much in the way of close relationships for many years: some reserve, some over-hasty assumption, is excusable. And I did like the fact that they were both in their forties, far past the first flush of youth.
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