Firebrand

  Estora happily showed her the baby gown she was sewing. “I have to make two of everything. I do not know how I’d manage without my ladies.”

  The whole idea of babies was foreign to Karigan. She’d had no siblings and grew up an only child doted upon by her aunts. Even her extended family lived far off so she rarely experienced contact with younger cousins. Her aunts had often told her birthing children was the bravest act a woman could perform, for it was so very perilous. Numerous complications could, and did, occur, and as many mothers and infants did not survive the process as did. That Estora was bearing twins was of particular concern, but she did have the attention of the best menders in all Sacoridia, including Ben with his true healing gift.

  Estora spoke of the improving weather and how she awaited word from her mother and sisters. Ty Newland had been sent off to Coutre Province before the winter had turned truly execrable to take word of her pregnancy to Clan Coutre. No doubt her mother would once again make the long, difficult journey to Sacor City.

  Estora’s thoughts were apparently not solely upon her forthcoming children. “Zachary tells me you have become a swordmaster at last. I whole-heartedly approve. I congratulate you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Estora went on to speak of various tidbits of news about her ladies and servants. Karigan found her attention drawn to the Intrigue game set up on the table between them. She’d noticed it when she first arrived, and recognized it as the set she and the king had used during one very uncomfortable game some five years ago. She gazed in interest at the odd formations of the blue and red pieces on the board.

  “You are curious about the Intrigue board?” Estora asked.

  Karigan felt her cheeks flush at having been caught not paying attention. “Yes. I have never seen the pieces arranged that way.” Not that she liked Intrigue enough to know every formation that was possible.

  “Ah. Zachary brought it over to amuse himself in the evenings, but one afternoon it turned into a discussion about Second Empire and where it is believed their forces are situated.”

  “Can you show me?” Karigan asked her.

  “Of course. The positions may have changed since our latest intelligence in the fall, though it is not likely Second Empire has moved much over the winter.” She pointed to bands of blue pieces that were arranged across the top of the board. “Zachary believes their forces have occupied small settlements and farmsteads just north of the border to endure the winter. He knows which ones, and showed me a map once.” She named a few of the settlements.

  “What are the red pieces to the . . . the north of them?” Karigan asked.

  “Yes, that’s even farther north, the Lone Forest. Zachary believes more of Second Empire, perhaps its civilians and leaders, have entrenched themselves there.”

  “The Lone Forest,” Karigan murmured. Before the Long War a thousand years ago, the Sacor Clans may have ranged that far north, but with the clans diminished during the war, the border receded to present-day Sacoridia. Might Grandmother herself reside in the Lone Forest?

  “Zachary is certain they have not moved from the Lone Forest,” Estora said, “though the winter has been much too harsh to get anyone up there to take a look and make sure.”

  Karigan gazed at the board for some time until Jaid reappeared with tea and cakes, and poured. Jasper eyed the cakes with interest from where he lay at Estora’s feet.

  “You are excused, Jaid,” Estora said, “for your own tea.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Jaid curtsied and left them.

  At first they sat in silence sipping their tea; then Estora seemed to come to some decision. “I was wondering . . . I was wondering how it is with you? How your eye is doing?”

  Karigan’s hand went reflexively to the patch. “It—it is unchanged.” That wasn’t exactly true, she supposed, after her confrontation with Lhean.

  “Do you . . .” Estora was hesitant, couldn’t seem to look directly at Karigan. “Do you ever look into it? Its mirror nature?”

  “No. It is not something I wish to see. It is disorienting.”

  “It is difficult to imagine,” Estora said. “I have always enjoyed the antics of tumblers with looking masks at parties and festivals. I had never imagined them as having real power, except maybe the one at the masquerade ball we held before you went to Blackveil.” She gazed into the distance, as if remembering.

  Karigan remembered, too. She’d beheld visions of Grandmother, and of descending arrows, in the tumbler’s mask. Was it the very same mask she had shattered in Castle Argenthyne? The shard of which had claimed her right eye?

  “Karigan,” Estora said carefully, “I would like to see your eye.”

  Karigan restrained the impulse to scream, No! Why would Estora ask such a thing of her?

  “I wonder about the children,” Estora said, “their future, if there is a way I can prepare for any possible complications . . .”

  Her expression was imploring, and Karigan could well understand her anxiety, but to ask this of her? No, not ask. She requested, and as queen, she could not be refused. Karigan gazed into her teacup, which shook in her hands. After what she had experienced with Lhean, she was not sure she could endure it again.

  “Are you sure you really want this, my lady? Others have found it disquieting.”

  “Yes.” Estora’s expression was eager, hopeful.

  Karigan hesitated.

  “Please,” Estora said quietly, “please do not make me demand it of you. It would be . . . it would be in service to your realm.”

  Karigan loosed a shaky breath. Estora was using her royal prerogative. As much as Estora might go on about the two of them being friends, Karigan was her servant first, and that would always stand between them. She nodded in acquiescence and set her teacup aside. She rose and knelt beside Estora’s sofa, and removed her eyepatch. Estora’s sharp intake of breath revealed that even though she knew what it was that had happened to Karigan’s eye, it was still a shock.

  At first Karigan saw nothing through that eye, but there was the needling pain of exposing it to light and air, and then she glimpsed stars and threads of light streaking through her vision. Images blurred by so rapidly she could not grasp them.

  A dagger pain stabbed through her eye, and she turned away with a cry, half-falling over. She caught herself on the table, which shifted beneath her weight. Books and game pieces spilled to the floor, and teacups rattled in their saucers. Jasper barked. Hastily she replaced the patch over her eye and the pain diminished to a dull throb. She sat on the floor panting.

  When she returned her gaze to Estora, Estora remained sitting forward on the sofa, her gaze distant as if she were ensnared by visions.

  “What is it?” Karigan asked. “What did you see?”

  Estora sat up, once more in the present. Her expression was difficult to read, and when she smiled, it seemed a little sad. “My children will be happy. I am very sorry, dear Karigan, that I put you through that. Please forgive me.”

  Karigan climbed to her feet. “I’m . . . I’ll be all right.” The dull throb of her eye migrated to the whole of her head and she felt unbalanced. She saw the afterlight of stars in her mind. “If I may have your leave, I had better attend to my duties.”

  “Yes,” Estora said absently.

  What had she really seen? Karigan wondered.

  THE FUTURE, GOOD OR BAD

  Karigan staggered out of Estora’s apartments in something of a daze, her head pounding. She swerved around a corner in the corridor, and did not see the king until she nearly plowed into him.

  “Your Majesty,” she murmured. She stepped back, and tried to bow, but vertigo made her lose her balance. He steadied her.

  “Are you ill?” he asked, peering at her.

  She thought, with embarrassment, she probably looked more inebriated than anything. “Fine. I’m fine.”


  “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  In fact, the world was shifting into better focus now, the throb in her head easing. She straightened her shoulders. “Truly, I am fine. Please, do not trouble yourself.”

  “No trouble,” he said. “Not ever.”

  She could not meet his gaze, and it was some moments before he released her. It made her feel unsteady in other ways.

  “Fastion,” he said, “see that Sir Karigan reaches her quarters without incident and that she takes some time to rest.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  The king nodded to her in leave-taking, and continued down the corridor. She watched after him for a moment before turning back to Fastion. As a Weapon, he should have ensured the corridor was clear of any impediment to the king. Certainly he would have known she was coming, wouldn’t he?

  “Why did you let me bump into the king?” she asked him.

  “It is only you, Sir Karigan.”

  It was only her? Did he mean he knew she was of no danger to the king? But still . . . She stepped around him and said, “I don’t need an escort.”

  “The king has commanded it,” he replied, and he fell in step beside her.

  She walked fast, deciding to pay Fastion no heed, but of course he kept pace. When they reached the main hall, she turned to head toward the records room, but Fastion placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her in the opposite direction.

  “What are you—”

  “You are to return to your quarters,” he said, “as the king wishes.”

  “But—”

  “The Rider wing, Sir Karigan. All else is disobedience.”

  “Granite Face,” she muttered. If he heard, he did not respond.

  Grudgingly, she started toward the Rider wing when someone called out to her. She paused, and Estral strode up, gazing first at Fastion before asking her, “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Sir Karigan is always in trouble,” Fastion said, his voice betraying no humor.

  “I guess I know that,” Estral said.

  Karigan made an aggravated sigh and glared at Fastion. “I am not in trouble.”

  “Then you and Weapon Fastion are just out for a walk?”

  “He is escorting me to my chamber.”

  Estral raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking!”

  “What do you think I’m thinking?”

  Karigan scowled and Estral looked like she wanted to laugh.

  “For the sake of the gods,” Karigan said in exasperation. “It’s by the king’s order.”

  “Are you sure you’re not in trouble, then?”

  Karigan strode off. The sooner she reached her chamber, the sooner she’d be rid of her “escort.”

  “Do you have a few minutes to talk?” Estral asked, hurrying beside her.

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.” She jabbed her thumb in Fastion’s direction.

  “I’ll permit it,” he said.

  “Weapons,” Karigan muttered, as if it were an oath.

  When finally they reached her chamber, she let Estral in, but closed the door in Fastion’s face.

  “Will you tell me what that was all about?” Estral asked.

  Karigan explained her encounter with the king.

  “But why did he think you were unwell?”

  She explained that part, as well.

  “You know he ordered you to your room because he cares about you, don’t you?”

  She knew. She looked down at her hands, at the healing slash across the back of her wrist. “It would almost be easier if he didn’t.”

  Estral gazed at her sympathetically. “I don’t think you mean that.”

  Karigan wasn’t sure. She wanted it both ways. Sometimes she wished she had never come to Sacor City and met him.

  “Did you tell him you revealed your eye to the queen?”

  Karigan shook her head. “It didn’t come up.”

  “The king hasn’t asked for a look?”

  “No.” It pleased her that he had not, though he must find it a great temptation with such a tool at his disposal, a mirror that could reveal visions that could help him against Second Empire. Of course, no one knew how reliable those visions were. But if anything showed her he cared, it was this one thing. She headed over to the hearth to stoke the fire and decided to change the subject from such dangerous ground. “You said you wanted to talk.”

  Estral nodded and slid into the chair at Karigan’s desk. “I have a request, but first I thought you’d want to hear about Alton’s gryphon.”

  Karigan, poker in hand, looked back at her. “Alton’s what?”

  “Actually, it’s more Merdigen’s gryphon.” She told Karigan how in her most recent communication with Alton, through Connly and Trace, she learned about Merdigen revealing his cat to be a gryphon.

  Karigan laid a log on the coals. “Are you sure Alton has not taken to drinking in your absence?” She glanced at her untouched jug of whiskey that had been distilled by his aunt. “Gryphons aren’t real.”

  “They are, apparently, as real as p’ehdrose,” Estral replied, “although Mister Whiskers may be the last of his kind.”

  Karigan sat hard on her bed. “Mister Whiskers?”

  Estral nodded solemnly, then told her about the plan to send him out in search of a mate. “Merdigen thinks it possible there could be more out there, and if there are, Mister Whiskers will find them. He’s hoping for kittens.” She explained the idea about having the gryphons guard the towers.

  Karigan tried to work her way through her disbelief. “I don’t know. If they’re like cats, they’re apt to ignore any Sleepers that pass through the towers. Or, maybe just play with them.”

  Estral waved her hand through the air as though it were inconsequential. “Can you imagine? Gryphons roaming the wild again?”

  Karigan was not sure she wanted to. The world had grown strange enough to her mind. Did it really need gryphons, as well? She was envisioning the sky filled with flocks of flying cats when Estral interrupted her thoughts.

  “What I wanted to talk about was your mission to the north.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I’ve been speaking with Captain Mapstone about my own plans to resume my search for my father, and of course look for the person who stole my voice. As you know, I was going to look north. I thought it would make sense for us to travel together, at least for a little while.”

  Karigan would not mind in the least having her friend along, however . . . “I don’t know if the king is going to actually approve the mission.”

  “The captain seemed pretty confident he would, and she had no objection to my going along so long as you and whoever the Eletians send don’t.”

  “Well, then,” Karigan said, “this will be a first.”

  Estral smiled. “I promised the captain I wouldn’t get in the way. In fact, I’m doing some weapons training with Arms Master Gresia. As you may recall, I was not one of Rendle’s most adept students in Selium, so I thought it would be a good idea to brush up on my skills. I’ve also been studying maps and researching the north.”

  It could almost be, Karigan thought, a pleasant excursion with her best friend, but the north, she knew, contained plenty of danger.

  “What do you mean you looked into her eye?” Zachary demanded.

  Estora, from her place on the sofa, looked startled by his vehemence. “She consented.”

  Zachary stood at the hearth, staring into the fire as flames leaped and wavered. “You are her queen. Of course she consented.” It was a position of power. It was the lot of those who served her, and who were ruled by her, to obey. It was in her rights to demand anything of her subjects and their compliance was required. The difference between a just monarch and an unjust monar
ch was where they drew the line. The unjust monarch abused his subjects. In Zachary’s own rule, he was at pains to maintain the trust of those who served him. He preferred they served out of loyalty rather than fear, though fear had its place and had worked admirably for a few of his predecessors.

  “You are displeased because it was Karigan,” Estora said.

  “I would be displeased if it were any of my subjects,” he said, perhaps too quickly, his voice cold. “I told you that her eye caused her pain. She could hardly stand when I came upon her in the corridor.”

  Estora gazed down at her hands folded on her lap. “I am sorry,” she said, her voice remorseful. “In my excitement over the children, I forgot myself, that Karigan and I are no longer simply friends, that I am also her queen. Even as just a friend, I should not have asked her. I am sorry.”

  “I am not the one to whom you should apologize.”

  “I know it. But . . .” She looked up at him with hungry eyes. “Do you not wish to know what I saw?”

  “No.” He left the hearth and headed toward the passage that led to his own rooms. Jasper jumped off the sofa and trotted behind him.

  “Zachary!” Her voice came after him sounding desperate now. “I saw our children.”

  He paused in the passageway despite himself, but only for a moment. Before she could say more, he entered his apartments and closed the door behind him. He did not slam it, but closed it gently. He then sought his favorite chair and dropped into it. Jasper leaped onto his lap and he scratched the terrier beneath his collar.

  Usually, Estora used good judgment, but he remembered how excited she’d been by the tumbler with the looking mask during the masquerade ball they’d thrown about a year ago. The tumbler had been, seemingly, more than a tumbler, for Zachary had seen visions of his own. Visions of arrows arcing across the sky. Estora had seen their child. She’d been tremendously excited. And now, of course, with her pregnant, she’d want to see what Karigan’s mirror eye might reveal. In a way, he could not blame her, but as queen, she must exercise restraint.

  Besides, how accurate were these visions? At the masquerade ball, she’d seen only one child, but now she carried twins. Why the discrepancy? Had the mask not revealed the whole story? Or had something more fundamental shifted in the weaving of the future?