Obviously, her father had been using his charm already.
Ugh. Karigan continued on and stomped up the steps into the main castle entrance. The notion of her father and Captain Mapstone being together would take some getting used to.
• • •
She went in search of Estral. She needed someone to talk to about this latest wrinkle in her life. She found the mending wing full of wounded from the previous day’s incursion, and a mender told her Estral had been moved to the diplomatic wing to make space. Karigan looked for her there, but she was not to be found. So, Karigan gave up and headed down to the Rider wing and, to her surprise, found Estral sitting in the common room with Mara in front of a crackling fire. Estral was writing in a journal with pen and ink, and Mara was saying, “—and the change is noticeable.”
“What change?” Karigan asked.
They both looked up in surprise at her approach.
She sat on a bench beside Mara’s rocking chair. To Estral, she said, “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Estral smiled in reply.
“What are you two up to?” Karigan asked.
“Estral here is taking notes,” Mara replied.
“About what?”
Estral grabbed her slate and chalk and wrote out her response. All the Rider things YOU never tell me about.
“Oh.” Karigan did have that problem with details, and she’d never been a good letter writer. She wondered what “all the Rider things” encompassed.
“Estral says she might write a book about more recent Rider history and how the Riders fit into the scheme of the realm.”
Estral erased her slate with a rag and wrote, Can’t sing, but can write.
Karigan knew she could. She had written numerous songs even before she’d been an apprentice minstrel. When they were in school together at Selium, she used to show Karigan all the songs she was working on. A history was a different matter altogether, but Estral was a good writer in general.
“Can I see?” Karigan asked, pointing at the journal.
Estral shook her head and hugged the journal to her chest. Then she jotted on her slate, Not book yet. Just notes.
“You’ll let me read it when it’s done?”
Estral nodded and mouthed, Of course. For some reason, there was a mischievous glint in her eye.
Hmm, Karigan thought. However, she had something else on her mind and glanced over her shoulder to make sure the three of them were alone in the common room. There were some voices out in the corridor, but no one who would overhear.
“Do you know,” she asked Mara quietly, “if the captain is, er, seeing someone? Like . . . seriously?”
Mara stared blankly at her for a moment before recovering. “You mean, like a man?”
Karigan gave her an exasperated look. “What do you think I mean?”
“Well, you never know. I mean, the captain is pretty private about her personal life. Not that she has much of a life beyond the Green Riders. Why, do you know something?”
“N-no, not really,” Karigan lied.
As Chief Rider, Mara spent the most time in the captain’s company of any Rider. Karigan thought that if anyone had inside information, Mara would.
“Elgin,” Mara mused, “has hinted there was someone many years ago and that there was some tragedy. When I tried to draw him out, he shut right up, told me it wasn’t his place to talk about it if ‘Red’ wouldn’t do so herself.”
That was certainly interesting. Elgin, a retired Rider who’d served with the captain years ago, had returned to the castle to help with all the new Riders. Karigan was under the impression that he, too, was haunted by his own experiences. Both had fought against the notorious Darrow Raiders, in addition to surviving the usual perils of Rider life. She was certainly not the only one to suffer loss.
“In any case,” Mara said, “if Captain Mapstone is seeing someone, it is well overdue. It’s time she had something for herself.” She added in a low, confidential voice, “I will keep an eye out now.”
Estral had watched the exchange with some interest. She didn’t miss much. Karigan would tell her about her father and the captain later, when they were alone. She did not need to start the Riders gossiping about their captain’s love life, but then thought it might be too late now that she’d said something to Mara.
“Mara, don’t—” she began. She was about to tell her friend not to bother keeping an eye on the captain, but just then a trio of visitors entered the common room, escorted by Merla. Her face looked mildly swollen from the hives, but it was the visitors who claimed Karigan’s attention.
“Karigan,” Merla said, “the king asked that I bring these folk to you.”
Karigan was gratified he’d done this for her, that he’d remembered her request to see Lhean.
“In truth,” Lhean said, “I was remiss in not seeking you out earlier, Galadheon, and Lady Estral, too.”
Estral started in surprise, and Lhean gave his usual enigmatic smile. Both Merla and Mara excused themselves, Mara cryptically telling them she had to “go see what the captain was up to.”
Hells. Karigan hoped the captain and her father were not still in the stable. The Eletians joined her and Estral, Enver looking curiously at all the games stacked on a shelf.
“Little cousin,” Lhean said to Estral, “we are glad to see you looking well.”
Estral bowed her head in response.
There was Eletian blood in Estral’s ancestry, and Karigan was pleased they acknowledged it in so positive a manner. People could be ugly about those of mixed races.
“We are distressed by the theft of your voice,” Idris said. It was a surprise to hear her speak, for she rarely did so that Karigan had ever observed.
“And your music,” Lhean added. “Would you allow Idris to seek the root of this spell that is upon you?”
Estral nodded emphatically, but Karigan, knowing Eletians as she did, was suspicious. “Is there any danger to Estral?”
“You are wise to ask, Galadheon,” Lhean said. “No harm shall come from Idris, but if the person who placed this spell left a . . . I believe you call it a booby trap? If such a thing is tied to the spell, both Idris and Lady Estral would be in danger. A strong enough trap could ensnare or even kill them. Idris, however, is very learned on how to avoid such traps.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Karigan asked her friend.
Estral scribbled on her slate, and when she showed it to Karigan, YES was scrawled across it in large letters.
IDRIS’ GIFT
“It is decided then,” Lhean said. “Are you ready?”
Estral nodded, and Idris pulled her chair forward so that she was knee-to-knee with her.
“It will not cause pain,” Idris told her. “You must place your hands in mine.”
Estral reached forward and clasped Idris’ hands with her long fingers. As if already in rapport, they both closed their eyes and became very still. To either side of Karigan, Lhean and Enver also closed their eyes and hummed. It was low, hardly discernible, but she felt it vibrating along her nerves.
She watched her friend closely, looking for signs of change or pain or danger, but Estral’s expression remained relaxed. Time passed slowly. The fire looked like it could use another log thrown on it, but Karigan did not dare move lest she disrupt whatever connection the Eletians maintained with Estral.
Shadows shifted in the room as more time passed. Karigan yawned, almost missing the crease that furrowed Estral’s brow.
Idris said, “There is a snake, and it has swallowed her voice, the soul of her music, and given it to another. I will—”
She was cut off by Estral coughing and then intensifying into choking, her hands going to her throat.
Karigan jumped up to go to her friend, but Idris was already on her feet, clasping Estral’s shou
lders. She leaned down to touch her forehead to Estral’s, and Estral’s choking subsided. Idris released her and returned to her chair. Estral’s eyes fluttered open. She was breathing hard, but nothing worse.
“Are you all right?” Karigan asked.
Estral nodded.
“There was a trap,” Idris said.
“You cannot overcome it?” Lhean asked.
“No. It is well done. To restore her voice and the soul of her music, she must extract it from the thief. Then the snake will die.”
Estral’s face fell in disappointment. She looked on the verge of tears.
“Do not despair,” Idris said. “I can give you a key to retrieve it, though the finding of the thief may be difficult. I can only tell you that the thief is female, very strong, and young.”
“Magically strong?” Karigan asked.
“Yes, the thief has a natural affinity for working with the etherea, and she has had training.”
“What would you wager . . .” Karigan murmured. No one had heard anything about Grandmother, the leader of Second Empire, since Karigan and her companions had entered Blackveil. She could not help but think this had something to do with Grandmother, but she did not voice her thought because Idris was speaking to Estral.
“There is a gift I can give you in the meantime, for it pains us that you have not your voice.”
Estral cocked her head curiously.
Idris simply held her hands out for her again. Karigan started to protest, but Lhean said, “Hold, Galadheon. This will not hurt your friend, but bring her joy.”
Estral took Idris’ hands, and both closed their eyes once more. Lhean and Enver hummed again. A pale golden light coalesced between Estral and Idris, intensifying and then diminishing until it was gone, and Karigan wondered if she’d actually seen it. Whatever was happening did not take long this time. The humming abruptly ended, and Idris let go of Estral’s hands and watched her expectantly. Estral looked confused.
“Try speaking, little cousin,” Lhean said.
Estral glanced at him with a flash of anger and reached for her slate.
“No,” Lhean said, unperturbed. “Please try.”
Estral opened her mouth. Closed it. Cleared her throat, and said, “I—” She clapped her hands to her mouth, eyes wide. Then she tried again. “I can’t—I can’t believe it—I have a voice again!”
“What did you do?” Karigan asked Idris.
Idris was smiling, but it was Lhean who spoke. “Idris has transferred her voice to Lady Estral. It will sound mostly like Lady Estral’s voice, but with a little of Idris. But you must be aware the transfer will eventually fade. It could be a few months, or it could be many.”
“This is remarkable.” A tear streaked down Estral’s cheek. It did indeed sound like her, but with an overtone reminiscent of Idris. Karigan was so pleased for her friend she felt tears in her own eyes. It was about time something went right.
“Your musicality may return, too,” Lhean said, “but that is more difficult. You must nurture it.”
“I will. Thank you. I mean, this goes beyond thanking. Is Idris without her voice? It is a sacrifice . . .”
Idris said, in a soft whisper, “It is not entirely gone, and any sacrifice is worth seeing your joy.”
“Galadheon,” Lhean said, “might we go someplace where there will be no interruption?”
She led him back to her chamber. She hoped her family would not suddenly show up, but there really wasn’t any other place she could claim for privacy. She closed the door behind her and faced him. His gaze appeared to follow drafts upon the air. He reached out as if to touch them.
“This is a restless place,” he said.
“I don’t sleep well,” she replied.
“It is no surprise. They are attracted to you.”
“They? Do you mean the ghosts?”
His gaze became unfocused, his blue eyes like the turmoil of ocean waves. She’d seen a similar look in the gazes of other Eletians, and she wondered if he was on the verge of saying something prophetic, but his eyes focused on her once more, like a door closed. She shuddered despite herself.
“Yes,” he said, “kings and queens, courtiers and servants, soldiers and laborers, all with tales to tell. Remember, you have the command of them.”
“What do—”
Lhean raised his hand to silence her. “I know why you have been wishing to see me.”
Karigan wavered with the abrupt change of topic. Conversing with Eletians could be like riding a wild horse, highly unpredictable. “You do?”
“Your heart is not difficult to read, Galadheon. Would you reveal your eye to me?”
“Is that necessary?” She crossed her arms. What did it have to do with anything?
“No,” he replied.
“Then, why?”
“It may be useful.”
Karigan could not hold back her irritation. “I wanted to know what you remembered about the future time—about Cade.”
“Like you, alas, very little. The threads shifted when we returned. We cannot remember what has not yet happened.”
She had heard this Eletian circularity before. “I know.” It almost came out as a shout. “But it did happen, we were there.”
“Yes.”
“Please, don’t you remember anything?”
“I saw but little of your Cade in the end. I recall that there was fighting, and that he was unable to come with us. But yes, Galadheon, he was there in that thread of the future, and your grief is not without foundation.”
Lhean stepped forward, and she stood mesmerized as he, without asking, slipped the patch off her eye. She did not protest, did not stop him, and did not know why not. She could not see out of her mirror eye, for mirror it was, a final jest of the mirror man, a being of unknown origin and power. When in Blackveil, she had crossed into a place between the layers of the world where the mirror man had tested her, given her three masks from which to choose and wear, each representing some role. There’d been a queen’s mask, very tempting for what she might have and could not otherwise claim; a black mask of malevolent power; and a green mask the hue of her Rider uniform.
She rejected them all. She did not wear masks, and she refused to be stuck in a role, even that of the green one, but the mirror man would not release her until she chose, so being clever, she pointed at the looking mask that he wore. He released her then.
She’d not been so clever after all. As it turned out, the mask had been left for her in the nexus of Castle Argenthyne, and she’d shattered it to keep its power out of the hands of Mornhavon the Black. The shattering sent her and Lhean into Sacoridia’s dark future, where she met, and fell in love with, Cade. The shards of the looking mask, however, followed her through time, through the starry heavens and all the way back to her present where a piece had lodged in her eye, turning it into a mirror, a living looking mask.
Few had seen her eye, for it was disturbing, but those who had had seen things, she knew, but could not say what. The past? The future? Dreams and illusions? The original looking mask opened a window of the universe and the weaving of all the world’s possible outcomes, and now her eye was a microcosm of it, painful, and one over which she had no control. Had she not smashed the looking mask, had she worn it, she would have been its servant as much as its master, rethreading futures, pasts, and presents. She had rejected the power, but the small remnant in her eye forced her to serve anyway.
Lhean placed his hand on her cheek, and though his touch was warm, she shivered. He gazed into her mirror eye, and as usual, she had no vision in it, just the dark infinite nothing. A minute, two minutes, three, or perhaps an hour elapsed, and they both stood motionless. The fire popped in the hearth on the other side of the room, so she knew the world still went on.
A streak of light slashed across her vision, and she crie
d with the sudden pain of it. Then there was another, and another. Threads of light, tails of falling stars, perhaps, demarked the weaving of the world. These were accompanied by an assault of images, which had never happened before. They came like an avalanche pummeling her so fast she could make no sense of them. Then they slowed so suddenly that she staggered. Lhean caught her so that she did not fall.
Impressions of the future time came to her. They were cloudy, unfocused. Dirty skies roiled across her vision, along with dreary brick buildings, carriage wheels bumping over cobble streets, a tiny metal man in an open timepiece. She saw people she recognized from Yates’ drawings—Mirriam with her hands on her hips and a stern expression on her face, the professor sitting at a big table with a cup of kauv and a paper, Luke saddling Raven. Raven with his dark dappled bay coat.
And Cade. Cade trained with a practice sword, flowing through forms with grace and power, the ways in which he moved so familiar to her. The vision changed, and he smiled as he told her some story about buttons. Buttons? This, too, slipped away into yet another vision, but one that drew her in, made real as though she could feel his warmth as they lay entwined in the night. His heartbeat, his breaths, the taste of him. She quivered as his hand brushed across her skin. The elation of their joining.
She was thrust into another vision and saw Cade in the light of thousands of moonstones and the maelstrom of a world crumbling around him. She grasped his hand, trying to take him home with her, but he was anchored in the future, anchoring her, too. Lhean was also there pulling on her other arm, attempting to haul her back to their present. She was caught in between, being ripped in two. She would not go home without Cade, but he would not allow her to be trapped in the future, a dangerous future in which it was likely neither of them would survive. Karigan, he said, I love you, and he released her hand. Let her go so she could return home and live, and maybe change the course of history.
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