Firebrand

ARRIVALS

“I know you can do it.” Mara placed her hands on Karigan’s shoulders and squeezed.

“But—”

“You survived Blackveil and Mornhavon the Black. You’ve even been through time!”

“I don’t know . . .” Karigan glanced uncertainly toward the open doors of the throne room. The guards posted there watched her with interest.

“I know.” Mara turned her around and marched her toward the entrance.

This had to happen sooner or later, Karigan thought, but still she resisted. Mara just pushed harder until they stood on the threshold.

“Now be a good Green Rider and go on in there,” Mara said.

“Easy for you to say. Aren’t you coming?”

“Heavens no! You couldn’t drag me.”

“Coward.” Karigan knew her friend meant well, but a little more support would not have been asking too much.

Mara simply smiled and gave her a gentle push. Karigan took a shaky breath and stepped across the threshold into the throne room.

“KARIGAN HELGADORF G’LADHEON!”

It thundered like a pronouncement of doom from the gods, and she pivoted as if to run back the way she had come, but Mara, arms crossed and shaking her head, blocked her escape.

“Helgadorf?” asked an amused voice. King Zachary.

Karigan winced, and warmth crept into her cheeks. Mara grinned at her.

“Named after her great grand aunt, Your Majesty,” came a crusty reply. “A prickly old banshee no one particularly liked. Why Stevic would name her after—”

“Brini!” came a sharp warning.

Karigan slowly turned back around. There arrayed before the king’s throne, with a frazzled-looking Captain Mapstone in their midst, were her aunts, all four of them, and standing aloof just off to the side, her father. When Mara had informed her of their arrival, she’d been caught off guard, for they’d sent no forewarning, and it was winter, when travel was difficult. Karigan, still struggling to adjust to ordinary life after her all-too-recent adventures, coupled with the accompanying darkness and sorrow, now faced a huge dose of “ordinary” in the form of her family, and it threatened to overwhelm her.

Her aunts could exasperate even the stoutest of souls at the best of times, and she was so very tired . . .

“Helgadorf was more a leader than anyone else on Black Island during her day,” Aunt Stace said with a sniff. “She organized the island to repel pirates and raids from the Under Kingdoms.”

“She was still a banshee,” Aunt Brini muttered, and then whispered loud enough for all to hear, “and she still is.”

Great Grand Aunt Helgadorf had been dead for forty years.

Ignoring her sister, Aunt Stace, with her hands on her hips, said, “Don’t just stand there like a post without a fence, Kari girl, come here.”

Karigan glanced over her shoulder. Mara had not lingered to witness the reunion. She considered making a run for it, but doing so would only prolong the inevitable. Best to face them now. She took a deep breath and started walking slowly down the runner like a swimmer reluctant to dive into icy water. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her family—she loved them more than anything—but she didn’t want to face their questions about the expedition into Blackveil, about how she’d gone missing and was presumed dead. She didn’t want to speak of the future and her experiences there because to do so was to relive the dark. And her memories of Cade? Those were hers, and hers alone, and not a casual topic of conversation. Knowing her aunts, however, they would pick and pry until they stripped the carcass to the bone.

When she had written them after her return just over a month ago, she’d been characteristically terse, reassuring them she was alive and well, but avoiding the painful details. Captain Mapstone had also written her father, but she had no idea what had been said. Her aunts’ questions would come, she knew, from a place of love and concern, but she was not ready or willing to encourage them with additional fodder.

And then there was the subject of her eye, about which she had said nothing, and about which they were bound to make an issue. She touched the leather patch that covered it, her right eye, and took another determined breath and picked up her pace. When she reached her aunts, they swarmed her with crushing hugs and kisses and complaints.

“You are too skinny!”

“We were told you were dead!”

“Thank the gods you came back to us.”

Aunt Gretta stared at her critically, her head canted to the side. “What is wrong with your eye?”

“Got something in it, is all,” Karigan replied.

“Let me see.” Aunt Gretta reached for her eyepatch.

“No!” Karigan backed away.

“I just want to see what’s wrong with your eye,” Aunt Gretta said in a stung voice.

Karigan covered it with her hand. “No.”

“Removing the patch,” Captain Mapstone said, “causes her eye pain.”

That was very true, but it was so much more than that.

Because the captain had spoken up, all four aunts now turned on her demanding explanations. The captain must have known this would happen, and Karigan made a mental note to thank her at the next opportunity.

Her father, who had stood remote, used the distraction to finally reach for her, his arms wide open. She stepped into his embrace and hugged him hard. “We had to come and see you,” he murmured. “Nothing could stop us. We thought we had lost you.”