Firebrand Page 2

  Aunt Tory tugged on Karigan’s sleeve. “Child, are those Elt? Real Elt?”

  “Very real,” she murmured on an exhalation. A sense of familiarity washed over her. Not as if she had experienced this scene before, but more as if there were a rightness to it, like a thread of time that had been realigned.

  Also, because the Eletian leading his two companions was well known to her.

  “Lhean.”

  He halted before her and nodded. “Galadheon.”

  Aunt Brini loudly whispered, “Why does he say our name like that?”

  Karigan did not answer. Unable to restrain herself, she hugged Lhean. She had never hugged an Eletian before, and he stiffened in surprise, then relaxed and hugged her back, if tentatively. He smelled of the winter wind and fresh snow. They had been through much together, the two of them, first the journey into Blackveil, then being thrust into the future. He was Karigan’s only living link to what had befallen her in the future, the only one, besides herself, who had known what it was really like there.

  He studied her for a timeless moment, and what went on behind his clear blue eyes, she could not say. Eletians, their behaviors and expressions, were not always easy to interpret. Then he nodded to himself as if satisfied by his observation of her. “It is good to see you again.”

  He swiftly turned from her, and he and his companions bowed to King Zachary. The others were familiar to Karigan, as well. She had briefly met Enver and Idris upon her return from the future to the present.

  Karigan’s aunts watched the scene in wide-eyed enchantment. Her father, however, glowered. Karigan knew he distrusted all things magical, and Eletians embodied magic as no other beings did. She was sure he also resented them for any questionable influence they’d had over his late wife and daughter.

  “We bring you greetings, Firebrand,” Lhean told the king, “from our prince, Ari-matiel Jametari.”

  King Zachary stepped up to the dais and sat once more upon his throne chair. “And to what honor do I owe his greetings, brought in the midst of winter?”

  Karigan knew she should be escorting her family out of the throne room so the king could conduct his business without an audience, but she couldn’t help herself. A visit by Eletians was momentous, and besides, it was Lhean! What, she wondered, would he tell King Zachary?

  His answer, however, was delayed, delayed by the arrival of yet another unexpected visitor.

  FROSTBITE

  A bedraggled figure stood uncertainly in the throne room entrance, wrapped in a bulky, hooded fur coat and trailing a scarf. Everyone watched as Neff spoke to and peered beneath the hood of the visitor, who tugged a flat object out of a satchel and showed it to him. He studied it for a moment, and then coming to some conclusion, turned and hastened down the runner.

  When Neff reached the dais, he announced, “Your Majesty, Lady Estral Andovian, daughter and heir of Lord Fiori, the Golden Guardian of Selium, begs an audience.”

  “Estral?” Karigan hadn’t realized she’d blurted her friend’s name aloud until she noticed everyone’s gaze on her.

  “Of course,” King Zachary told Neff. Then projecting his voice down the length of the room, he said, “Please approach, Lady Estral. You are ever welcome.”

  The Eletians, speaking softly to one another, intently watched Estral’s advance. Their musical voices, however, were drowned out by the chatter of Karigan’s aunts.

  Estral’s steps looked pained as she moved forward, and it was clear she was experiencing some difficulty. It was Karigan’s father who leaped to her aid. He strode to her and placed his arm around her for support. Karigan, as if roused from a dream, shook herself and followed after him. As she neared Estral, it was easier to see the windblown tendrils of sandy hair sticking out from beneath her hood. White patches had formed in the middle of her ruddy cheeks.

  Frostbite.

  She did not spare Karigan a glance, but kept determinedly pushing forward, her gaze fixed on the king.

  “Send for a mender,” Karigan’s father ordered. “I don’t think she can feel her feet.”

  Karigan did not hesitate, but ran to the corridor just outside the throne room entrance where a couple of Green Foot runners stood on duty.

  “We need a mender down here,” she told one of them. “Get Rider-Mender Simeon now!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” the boy said, and he set off down the corridor at top speed.

  Karigan’s step faltered as she turned back to the throne room. When in the name of the gods had she become a ma’am? It made her feel old. Maybe it had just been the tone of her voice that inspired the boy’s response, or maybe to those young Green Foot runners she was old. Ancient, even.

  She trotted back down the length of the throne room to find the king, the captain, her aunts and father, and the Eletians gathered around Estral, who was seated on the bottom step of the dais. Lhean knelt before her, helping her to sip from a flask.

  “It is a warming cordial,” Lhean explained.

  After just a few sips, Estral’s color looked better, but she did not speak, and then Karigan remembered that she could not. Mara, who had caught Karigan up on so much news upon her return, had told her Estral’s voice had been stolen by a magical spell.

  Aunt Stace held Estral’s hands in her own to warm them. Aunt Gretta was removing her boots.

  “She needs a lukewarm bath,” Aunt Brini said.

  Lhean continued to speak to Estral in a voice so quiet that Karigan could not hear his words. She wondered what he said. Captain Mapstone and the king, meanwhile, stood aside, shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the flat object Estral had carried with her—a slate—and spoke to one another in low voices.

  What was that about?

  Karigan’s gaze swept beyond those who hovered over Estral to where Lhean’s companions stood, and she caught Enver watching her. He quickly looked away. Since her arrival home, she’d caught people staring at her every now and then. Rumors had been circulating about her returning from the dead in spectacular fashion on Night of Aeryc. She really couldn’t blame them for looking at her askance, and she wouldn’t have given Enver a second thought, except that his averting his gaze struck her as not very Eletianlike. An Eletian, she believed, would not care if she caught him staring, but just as she thought when she had first met him, she suspected he was not a typical Eletian, or maybe not even a full Eletian, which was an interesting notion.

  Fortunately, Ben Simeon and a trio of apprentice menders soon arrived. Ben knelt beside Estral, and he and his assistants helped her into a litter, then buried her beneath blankets. All the while, Karigan’s aunts provided Ben with their unsolicited advice.

  “Please, Aunt Tory,” Karigan pleaded, tugging on her aunt’s sleeve, “he doesn’t need your recipe for hot toddies just now.”

  Ben cast her a grateful, harried glance.

  “Do not spare the whiskey, young man,” Aunt Tory exhorted. It was not a surprising suggestion, as she was rather fond of strong toddies herself.

  Despite the “help” of Karigan’s aunts, the menders worked efficiently.

  “It will be all right,” Karigan tried to reassure Estral, but if she heard, Karigan could not tell, and the menders lifted her away on her litter and whisked her from the throne room.

  Karigan stood at a loss, feeling torn about which direction to go. She glanced from the Eletians, who were now conferring with the king, to her family, and then to the throne room entrance, through which Estral and her bearers disappeared.

  Captain Mapstone joined Karigan and her father, the slate tucked beneath her arm. Aunt Gretta marched up to them and said, “Those menders best heed my advice. I have plenty of experience with frostbite.”

  “I am sure they’ve got all the expertise they need,” Karigan’s father replied.

  Aunt Gretta made an indignant hurrumphing noise, standing square with her hands on her hi
ps. “You have no appreciation for all I’ve ever done for you, Stevic, including caring for your bouts of frostbite.”

  “Gretta—”

  Uh oh, Karigan thought.

  “You remember the time Stevic went into the snow in only his smallclothes?” Aunt Gretta asked her sisters.

  Aunt Brini snickered, and the others nodded.

  “Gretta, no,” he said in a strangled voice. “It is unseemly to—”

  She jabbed her finger at his chest. “Who kept you from freezing, eh? All your little fingers and toes, your ears and cheeks, and your wee little—”

  “Enough! That’s—I was only four years old!”

  A wicked gleam shone in Aunt Gretta’s eyes. “Wouldn’t be any Kari if I hadn’t been there to thaw out your important bits.”

  Karigan’s father looked mortified. Captain Mapstone had turned away with her hand over her mouth, either choking or laughing, or both. Karigan glanced toward the king and was relieved to find he was absorbed in conversation with his visitors and seemingly unaware of the familial squabbling occurring in his throne room.

  Stevic G’ladheon restrained further outburst and straightened his shoulders as if to exude dignity, but he only looked pained. He took a deep breath, then a second, before speaking. “It is time to leave.” He stared his sister down. “The menders have their hands full, and so does Karigan.” He passed Aunt Stace a significant look.

  Ordinarily, the sisters would heed Aunt Stace when they would not heed their brother, but before she could even open her mouth, Aunt Tory complained in a querulous voice, “He is always telling us what to do.”

  The others nodded in agreement and made no move to leave. Karigan was sure it was going to turn into a scene, one she’d rather avoid in the king’s throne room. She gazed at the walls, where in sheltered alcoves, the king’s Weapons stood watch. They were so silent, so still, their black uniforms blending in with the shadows, that it was easy to forget they were there, and that was how they liked it. She espied her friend Donal, if a Weapon could be deemed a friend, and gestured frantically for his help.

  At first Donal remained statue-still as if he had not seen Karigan, or chose to ignore her. As the voices of her aunts grew in pitch at their brother’s attempt to shepherd them out of the throne room, Karigan despaired, but then Donal did move, and a second Weapon, Travis, fell in step with him, though Donal had given no discernible signal.

  “Clever of you,” a forgotten Captain Mapstone murmured beside her, humor alight in her hazel eyes.

  The two Weapons halted in front of Karigan’s aunts, who fell into a wary, and welcome, silence. Weapons were deadly warriors and forbidding in countenance. Most found it unnerving to fall under their stern gazes. Donal bowed, leaving all four aunts, it appeared, flabbergasted.

  “As you are family of our esteemed Sir Karigan,” Donal told them, “it would be our honor to escort you out.”

  It could have just as easily been a courteous offer to throw them out.

  It sounded like Captain Mapstone was trying not to laugh again. Karigan’s aunts remained speechless, clearly flummoxed by being confronted by two of the king’s own Weapons up close with their warrior bearing and stony, solemn faces. Her aunts craned their necks to look up at Donal. He towered over them, all shoulders and black leather. Karigan had never seen her aunts so silent. Even in sleep they were not this quiet.

  Then Donal did the inconceivable—he offered Aunt Stace his arm in a courtly manner. She tentatively took it, gazing up at him uncertainly. With little prompting, he and she started to walk down the runner toward the entryway of the throne room. Aunt Tory, Aunt Brini, and Aunt Gretta hastened after them. Travis brought up the rear.

  “Breyan’s gold,” Karigan’s father said in awe and relief. “I have never seen the like. I’d take one of these Weapons home with me, but I do not think it would be long before my sisters had him cowed like the rest of us.”

  “You are clearly of one family,” Captain Mapstone remarked.

  Karigan and her father glanced at the captain, who offered them an innocent smile and shrug.

  “Hmm,” Stevic G’ladheon said after a considered moment, his eyebrows drawn together as he regarded the captain with an enigmatic look. Abruptly he turned to Karigan. “I had better catch up before those Weapons return and decide to haul me out, too, but I wanted a hug and to tell you that I will see you again tomorrow. When your duties permit.” As they embraced, he added, “I bet Estral could use a friend right now.”

  He then nodded to the captain and strode away. Karigan watched after him, one part relieved and one part sorry he was leaving already. But as he said, she would see him tomorrow. He was only going into the city. It was not as if he were departing for Corsa.

  “I think your father is right,” Captain Mapstone told her. “Lady Estral could use a friend right now, and probably these, too.” She handed Karigan the slate and a piece of chalk.

  Karigan stared blankly at the items, until she realized this was how Estral communicated. Scrawled across the slate in smudged chalk were the words: Father still missing. Please help. Her father, Mara had told Karigan, had been missing since the summer. The words were deceptively simple, for she could well guess the depth of sorrow and fear behind them.

  “Don’t worry about our visitors,” Captain Mapstone said. “I will call on you if we need anything. On your way out, could you please send a runner after the king’s other counselors?”

  That was a dismissal if Karigan had ever heard one. She looked regretfully at Lhean, his back to her as he spoke with the king. Not only did she want to know what had brought the Eletians to Sacor City, but she wished to speak with Lhean. She wanted to ask him what he remembered of the future, to validate all that had happened to her there. Surely he would not leave without seeing her first, but one never knew with Eletians.

  Her father and the captain were also right—Estral could use a friend right now, and that overrode Karigan’s own needs. Reluctantly she left the throne room behind and, as requested, sent a Green Foot runner after the king’s counselors, and received another “Yes, ma’am!” in return.

  She headed to the mending wing, and once there, Ben greeted her with a smile. “Lady Estral is fine. I’ve thawed out her flesh, and there will be no permanent harm resulting from the frostbite. She is, however, very tired, so don’t keep her awake if she wishes to sleep.”

  When Ben said he’d “thawed her flesh,” he meant it literally. He had trained as a mender before hearing the Rider call, and the call had brought out his innate gift for true healing. His magic had healed Estral of her frostbite.

  Karigan stared at the door, unsure of her welcome. She and Estral had not parted well on the morning of the spring equinox, the day Karigan had crossed over the D’Yer Wall and entered Blackveil Forest.

  She had arrived at the wall, a sense of doom weighing on her at the prospect of entering beneath the shadowy eaves of the forest. She might not return. She might not see those whom she loved ever again. Despite being among friends, she felt alone and hoped that Alton would help assuage her fears, comfort her on the eve of her departure into who-knew-what dangers. Alton, with whom she had once been close. They might have had more, but for their erratic schedules and a certain reluctance on her part.

  Despite the fact she had never told Alton one way or the other how she felt about him, even as he indicated he desired more, she had expected him to be there for her, to welcome her into his arms. She had expected him to wait for her. It never crossed her mind that he might fall for someone else.

  And she certainly never expected him to fall for her best friend.

  Estral had found her way to the wall well before Karigan arrived with the expedition, and she and Alton had fallen in love. Karigan clenched her hands recalling her feelings of betrayal with fresh intensity. She’d been a fool, reacted badly. Childishly. On the morning of the e
quinox, she had entered Blackveil, spurning her would-be lover and her best friend.

  She might never have returned, might have gone to her grave without reconciling with either of them. But now time had passed and she had been through so very much, and her anger had faded long ago. The world, she thought, was too perilous and uncertain to throw away the bond of friendship over something she was not clear she had ever really wanted in the first place.

  The question was, would Estral forgive her for her execrable behavior back at the wall?

  There was only one way to find out, and she knocked on the door.

  ASH GIRL

  Karigan tentatively opened the door and peered into Estral’s room. A lamp was set at low glow, but she made out her friend propped up on pillows, covered in extra blankets, and sipping a steaming liquid out of a mug. Broth, she guessed, unless Ben had followed Aunt Tory’s instructions for a hot toddy.

  “Do you mind having a visitor?” she asked.

  Estral smiled and gestured that she should enter. Karigan crossed the room to the chair next to Estral’s bed. Her friend looked much better, her cheeks a warm pink, but dark circles beneath her eyes revealed her exhaustion.

  “I—I thought you might want these.” Karigan held out the slate and chalk.

  Estral set her mug aside on a small table and eagerly took the items, but before she could write a message, Karigan said, “I have something to say.” Estral glanced up at her curiously. Karigan took a deep breath as she gathered her courage to say what she had to say. “I—I need to tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for my behavior when I last saw you. It was uncalled for. I was childish.”

  Her heart thrummed in fear as she waited to see how Estral would respond. After a moment, Estral reached over and squeezed her wrist and shook her head. Then she hastily wiped away the previous message on her slate and wrote, I understand why you were upset. No apology needed. Afraid I’d lost you forever. It was in her eyes, the grief, the despair.