Blackveil

“Which of course,” Aunt Gretta said, “did not stop Stevic one jot. One evening our father spotted Stevic carrying some burden for Kariny from the village mercantile. The whipping he received—it was ferocious. That’s when he left the island.”

“He promised to come back for Kariny,” Aunt Tory said, “as soon as he found work, made his way in the world. We had no hope of ever seeing him again, but his love for Kariny made him true. He came back and sailed away with her. We soon followed.”

“Kariny never doubted him,” Aunt Gretta mused, and the others murmured in agreement.

And that brings us back to you,” Aunt Stace said. “Taking into consideration your own touch of magic, it is our belief that the lore about Kariny’s bloodline wasn’t just stories as she claimed. That uncanny touch has come down to you.”

Karigan had already arrived at the same conclusion. It only made sense. How else could she explain the Rider call and her minor ability with magic? Where else would it have come from?

She wondered how powerful her ancestors were, but she was sure her aunts would have told her if they knew; if there was anything of note from the island lore. Perhaps, just like Karigan, their abilities were minor, remained buried just below the surface, dormant until awakened. Karigan’s own surfaced because of the Rider call. The Green Rider brooch she wore, a winged horse, augmented her ability to fade from sight, seemingly to vanish.

She brushed her fingers over her brooch, the gold smooth and cool. Her aunts probably saw some other piece of jewelry, or maybe nothing at all, for a spell of concealment had been placed on the brooches long ago allowing only Riders to perceive them properly.

“Your father,” Aunt Stace said, “loves you. Loves you deeply. He was not thinking when he spoke out earlier.”

Despite her aunt’s reassurance, her father’s words still hurt. Karigan’s hand went to the moonstone in her pocket. She believed her father was very much in denial about her mother. Perfect, he had called her. Pure from the taint of magic.

Karigan shook her head, thinking she should just pack up her scant belongings and begin the journey back to Sacor City. Coming home had been a mistake, though she wasn’t sure how she could have gotten out of an errand assigned her directly by the captain. All she had done was stir up turmoil. The brothel and her father’s pirate past no longer seemed to matter.

Then she remembered she couldn’t leave without her father’s reply to the captain’s message. That meant having to face him, but at least it would be as a king’s messenger, not as his daughter.

Just as Karigan resolved to leave as soon as she could, the kitchen door opened and her father entered, cold air drafting around him. “I have hitched up the sleigh,” he told her. “Grab a coat. We are going into town.”

ARROWDALE

Karigan outfitted herself in an old wool coat, wrapped the scarf that Aunt Brini insisted she wear around her neck, and pulled on heavy mittens. In the sleigh was a thick, coarse blanket she and her father could throw over their laps, and sea-rounded cobbles that had been heated at the hearth to keep their feet warm.

Her father took up reins and coach whip, clucked to the pair of drays, Roy and Birdy, and the sleigh lurched forward. The sun had broken clear of clouds and clumps of snow dropped from fir boughs along the drive as they glided along.

The air felt lighter, not so bitter, and the chatter of birds reminded Karigan the worst of winter was done and spring was on the way.

“Why are we going to town?” Karigan asked.

“You shall see.”

Karigan settled beneath the blanket, slightly annoyed. She said no more, however, figuring her father would reveal his purpose in his own time, and no sooner, even if she pestered him. So she kept her peace as the horses paced steady on through drifts, their brasses and harnesses jingling in a cheerful rhythm.

The G’ladheon estate sat in the country just outside of Corsa, and once they joined the main road, they picked up speed, for the road wardens had already knocked down drifts and compacted the snow. Such maintenance was spotty throughout the realm, but Corsa was prosperous, and the city masters paid attention not only to the harbor, but to the roads as well, knowing that while a great deal of trade happened along the waterfront, goods must also be transported to and from the harbor overland. Proper road upkeep, they asserted, could only promote the city’s continued prosperity and its reputation as the foremost merchant port in the lands.

Soon the woods thinned, opening up to field and pasture, the snow smooth across the landscape like thickened cream and undisturbed save for the meandering tracks of hare and fox. Houses appeared with more frequency as they approached Corsa. Karigan could sense the ocean, too, feel the moist draft of it upon the air. And still her father did not speak. He just sat there, subtly guiding the horses, his gaze fixed on the road.

In Corsa proper, the streets were lined with homes and shops, folk sweeping and shoveling snow off front doorsteps. Children played in the street throwing snowballs at one another, and a few shoppers struggled along on uncertain footing.

Her father halted the sleigh before a poulterer’s shop with plucked chickens, geese, and turkeys displayed in the window.

“I’ll be back momentarily,” he said. He hopped out of the sleigh and entered the shop, returning minutes later with a large, dressed turkey, and deposited it in the back of the sleigh.

He left her again for other shops, returning with a huge wheel of cheese, a sack of flour, a jug of molasses, a tub of butter, and other foodstuffs to amply fill any larder. Karigan could only watch in astonishment as the back of the sleigh was filled up. She did not think Cook’s pantry had been so barren.