The chair creaked as Stevic sat back and folded his arms. It wasn’t a very satisfactory answer to his thinking—he wanted details. What might she be holding back?
She did have a knack for finding trouble. He’d heard all about that swordfight she got into with some brigand at the Sacor City War Museum. The story was all over the merchants guild, and of course he’d received a detailed letter of the event from his Rhovan colleague, Bernardo Coyle, who, as a result, did not consider Karigan a proper match for his son. Stevic had crushed the letter and cast it into the fire, thinking Karigan deserved far better than some ignorant Rhovan for a husband anyway.
In contrast to what he heard from his fellow merchants about the museum incident, he found Karigan’s own accounting rather lacking. All she ever said about it was that the outing with Bernardo’s son hadn’t gone well. Nothing about any brigand, nothing about a swordfight.
“You are scowling,” Brini told him. “Careful, or your face will freeze that way.”
“I am
not
scowling.”
“Hah.”
By now Karigan had undone the flap of the message satchel and drawn out a letter sealed with the familiar gold imprint of the winged horse. She passed it across the table to him. He assumed it was the usual request from Captain Mapstone for supplies. Almost three years ago, Stevic pledged to outfit the Riders if Captain Mapstone helped find Karigan, who, at the time, had gone missing from school. She had managed to get mixed up in Rider affairs and had played a part in preventing a coup attempt against King Zachary. When Karigan had turned up alive after all her adventures, the captain had made sure Stevic followed through on his pledge.
He cracked open the seal and found Captain Mapstone’s neat, precise writing within.
Dear Clan Chief G’ladheon,
she began. He wished she’d be more informal with him by now, but he supposed familiarity was inappropriate in official correspondence.
The letter was, as he thought, a request for additional supplies, but the quantities she asked for took him aback.
Over the last year,
she wrote,
our complement of Riders has grown significantly, to which Karigan can attest. We’ve been grateful for your generous donations of supplies in the past, but the king and I understand this sudden increase in demand may pose a difficulty for you. Therefore the king proposes to compensate you at tax collection time with relief on your annual burden, or to provide a direct payment.
Then, to his delight, she chose to address him personally and in his mind’s eye, he imagined her leaning closer and lowering her voice as if to take him into her confidence, but his pleasure proved short-lived as he read on:
Stevic, the king is preparing for future conflict. Opposing forces are on the move—old enemies of the realm. I cannot say more about it here, but I wish to impress upon you the deep need for these supplies. We look forward to the earliest delivery as weather and your schedule permit.
Stevic rubbed his chin and read the last line of the letter to the sound of Cook chopping parsnips at the sideboard:
Whatever may come, you can be sure my Riders will be in the thick of it. Their readiness to face all enemies depends on you furnishing the supplies they need.
He glanced up at Karigan, who was laughing at something Gretta said.
Captain Mapstone’s Riders—
his daughter
—would be in the middle of this conflict, this threat, facing these enemies the king was preparing for.
Despite the warmth of the kitchen, his insides turned as cold as the storm that raged outside.
MESSAGES
K
arigan watched as her father folded the letter from Captain Mapstone, running his fingers over the crease again and again, his expression grave. It seemed more lines were scribed into his forehead and around the edges of his mouth than she remembered; that more gray swept from his temples.
She didn’t know what the captain wrote in that letter, besides the request for more supplies. Obviously something that disturbed him, and she wondered what it could possibly be, but protocol required she not ask—not even her father. It was up to the recipient to decide whether or not to speak of a message’s contents.
It had been quite a while since Karigan last visited home. Except for her father looking a little older, the rest seemed unchanged, including her aunts. Well, maybe Aunt Tory had grayed a little more, too, but everything in the kitchen was in its place, pots and pans hanging where they’d always hung, the same old farm table of amber wood beneath her hands, Cook at the sideboard. Nothing in her bedchamber had been touched either, her old clothes were still hanging in the wardrobe, a couple years removed from the latest fashions. If anything, the house seemed just a little smaller, as if it had shrunk the tiniest bit. Or she had grown.
Maybe I’m just used to the castle,
she thought. Her father’s house was large; the castle was rather larger.
It was comforting to be in the familiar confines of the home she grew up in, to be among people she knew and loved; a completely different world from the fast pace of Sacor City and the castle, where she was surrounded by so many strangers.
At the same time, she felt uneasy being home, even on official business, for there were other matters she needed to address with her father. Matters of a personal nature. He’d kept secrets from her, and not good ones.
She twisted her teacup in her hands, gazing at specks of tea leaves swirling in its depths. Her aunts chattered on beside her, and she only half-listened. She managed to put off coming home for months, thanks to winter storms that kept everyone cooped up in the castle, but suddenly Captain Mapstone needed the one message conveyed, and it was time, she said, that Karigan’s father receive the others, as well, and who better to bear them than his own daughter?
Her father cleared his throat and Karigan looked up. “You mentioned there were
messages,
” he said. “More than one?”
“Oh!” she replied, and grimaced. She withdrew from her satchel the lesser of the two that remained, and passed it to him. “From Lord Coutre.”
“Lord Coutre?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Her aunts ceased their chattering. He took the letter and broke the seal. He read rapidly, and exclaimed, “Order of the Cormorant? You’ve been granted lands in Coutre Province?” He read on, then gazed at her, his eyes wide and full of questions.
Aunt Stace snatched the letter right out of his hands and read it for herself. When she finished, she was the mirror image of her brother. Aunt Brini grabbed the letter next, and the others, including Cook, clustered around her to read over her shoulder.
“You rescued Lady Estora from abductors?” Stevic asked faintly.
“I, er,
helped,
” Karigan replied, her cheeks flooding with warmth. The other reason she didn’t want to come home was having to explain her deeds without causing them all to faint. Just remembering the dangers she faced was enough to make
her
shudder.
When her father and aunts recovered, they demanded details. Karigan kept her responses vague: “I was on a message errand to Mirwellton—right place at the right time.” And, “No, Lady Estora was not harmed.” She emphasized the role others played in the rescue and left herself out of much of the story.
She told them how the traitorous group, Second Empire, used the abduction as a ruse to distract the king and his Weapons so its members could infiltrate the castle for “information.” She did not bring up the book of Theanduris Silverwood, and in fact managed to avoid referring to any supernatural or magical elements of the story altogether, knowing her father’s dim view of such things.
Nor did she speak of her adventures in the royal tombs beneath the castle. The realm of the tombs, while not precisely a secret, was not something casually discussed.
Her explanations appeared to satisfy them: evil plot, abduction, infiltration—all thwarted, and Karigan helped! She was afraid, however, her third message would only provoke more questions, and with a sigh she withdrew it from her satchel. It bore the royal seal of the firebrand and crescent moon. Her father stared in disbelief.
“More? The king’s seal?”
Karigan nodded, waiting in a sort of dread while he read it.
When he finished, he looked at her with a stunned expression, and passed the letter to Aunt Stace without a word. Her aunts and Cook gasped as they read, and gazed at Karigan as if seeing her anew.
Her father then laughed. It was a mirthful laugh that filled the kitchen with warmth. It wasn’t exactly the reaction Karigan was expecting.
“I don’t think it’s funny,” Aunt Tory said, with a sniff. “It’s a great honor to Karigan and our clan.”
Stevic G’ladheon continued to laugh, wiping tears from his eyes, and Karigan could only shake her head in disbelief.
“Great honor, yes,” he said. “I’ve always been so proud of my daughter, no matter what odd course in life she chose. But never in all my existence would I ever imagine a G’ladheon being knighted. Not only that, but it’s an honor not conferred upon
anyone
for hundreds of years.” Karigan’s father was not overly fond of the aristocracy, and she had recognized the irony of the honor the moment she received it. Not that knighthood exactly raised her to the aristocracy, but still ...
“My daughter, Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon!” He grinned. Then sobering, he said, “Karigan, I understand the Coutre award, but this is above and beyond. What aren’t you telling us? Did you save the entire kingdom again?”
Karigan squirmed in her chair. “Well, Lady Estora
is
the king’s betrothed ...” When she saw this wasn’t going to mollify him, she added, “I helped stop the Second Empire thugs in the castle. The king was very pleased.”
Her father sat back in his chair. Wind gusted down the chimney, scattering ashes on the hearth and causing the fire to flare. The juices of the roasting goose hissed.
“That’s it? You’re not going to tell us how? Is it a secret?”
She almost said,
Well, after I helped rescue Lady Estora, the death god’s steed came to me and led me through the “white world,” where we bypassed time and distance to reach the castle. I was then made an honorary Weapon and got to wear black, so I’d be permitted to enter the tombs without being forced to become a caretaker and live out my life dusting the dead. I chased the thugs through the royal tombs while pretending to be a ghost. I fought them and rescued a magical book that may or may not help us repair the breach in the D’Yer Wall. If it does, then we’re all saved!
I then took a nap in the future sarcophagus of our future queen because I was very tired and bleeding all over the place—oh, did I mention almost having my hand chopped off earlier? But that’s a whole different story! Anyway, I dreamed about the dead rising. That’s what I remember, and is it surprising considering where I was? When I woke up, the magic book gave us quite an eyeful.
And
that,
she reflected, was not the half of it. However, rather than reveal her true thoughts, she asked, almost pleading, “Can’t you just be happy for me?”
“I am, I am!” he replied. “I just worry, and you never say much about your work.”
“She’s got another land grant with the knighting,” Aunt Brini broke in, as she scoured the king’s letter. “Anywhere in the realm.”
Karigan saw the light flicker in her father’s eyes, the slight smile, as if he calculated to what advantage he could use her land grants for the clan business. It was a wonder he wasn’t rubbing his hands together. The diversion, however, proved short-lived.
“Will you not tell us how you inspired such notice from the king?” he asked.
If only her father knew how loaded a question that was, and how much she wanted to pound her head on the table. “There’s not much to say about it.” The lie rang hollow even to herself.
“I don’t believe it for a minute,” her father said. “You are keeping things from us.”
Karigan squirmed in her chair. Why couldn’t he leave off? He certainly kept his own share of secrets, so how dare he demand that she reveal her own?
“Like how you never bothered to tell me you crewed a pirate ship?” she blurted.