Firebrand

“That will cheer my people to hear,” the captain said. “But tell me, Rider, about Blackveil. I had heard a contingent had entered, and I see you survived, but did everyone make it back?”

“No.” And so began the painful process of telling the captain about Blackveil and those who perished. She kept it as short as possible, not going into any great depth about her experiences there, and certainly nothing about her travel into the future. Her brief explanation appeared to satisfy him.

“I know you are travel-weary,” he said, “so I appreciate your willingness to indulge my curiosity. I also understand how difficult it can be to describe a campaign to someone who wasn’t there, so no worries about that. But if I might ask one more question . . .” He pointed at her right shoulder. “Why do you wear the Black Shield insignia?”

“I am . . .” Karigan began. “I have been made an honorary Weapon. Officially.”

Did he look at her with some new respect? “You are not the usual Green Rider.”

What was the “usual” Green Rider? she wondered. They were all different and accomplished in their own ways.

“We like her anyway,” Estral said, bringing some levity to the conversation.

Much to Karigan’s relief, the captain turned his questions to Estral. They discussed her missing father, and though Treman reacted with concern, he seemed to have little useful to offer.

Karigan stood with her back to the fire. She saw Destarion sitting at a table with jars and herbs arrayed before him. Currently he was grinding dried leaves with mortar and pestle. It was awkward seeing him here. She’d always liked the master mender and had been under his care more than once, which was difficult to reconcile with the part he’d played in the scheme to ensure the king’s marriage to Estora. He’d gone so far as to dose Captain Mapstone so she would not interfere with the plans of the conspirators. Destarion was, in effect, a traitor, and his reassignment to the north was his sentence.

She was torn between asking him how he was holding up, and demanding what in the hells he had thought he was doing when he took part in the scheme.

He looked up and saw her gazing at him, and his expression became beseeching. She could not pretend she didn’t see him. Taking a breath to prepare herself, she excused herself and made her way to Destarion’s table.

“Please, please sit, Rider.”

“How have you been?” she asked, sliding onto the bench.

He smiled sadly. “I am not as young as I used to be, but I am all right here, though when hostilities start up again, it may be a different story. I miss my family terribly, but I understand why I am here and will serve my penance without complaint.”

Karigan was tempted to ask if he regretted his past decisions and actions, or would he do the same all over again if given the chance, but she decided she did not wish to know.

“It gladdens me to hear of the twins,” he continued. “All I have ever wanted was what was best for the king. It sounds as if Vanlynn is doing well by him.”

Karigan nodded.

“She was my mentor, you know. She trained me. There is no finer mender in all of Sacoridia. And Ben? How is Ben doing?”

“He is well,” Karigan replied.

“I am very glad you made it back from Blackveil. I was listening to what you told Captain Treman. I hope you don’t mind. I am sorry about Rider Cardell. He was a mischievous young man, but had a good heart.”

This was a different Destarion than Karigan had known. The old Destarion had been the top mender in all the land who commanded a large complement of menders just at the castle. He’d wielded his authority with calm assurance. This Destarion had folded in on himself. He moved his hands nervously and spoke in apologetic tones.

“Do you mind my asking,” he said, “what happened to your eye?”

She lightly touched the patch. “A shard . . . It was injured. After Blackveil.”

“No doubt Vanlynn has taken good care of it,” he said, “but if you might let me have a look at it, I—”

Karigan stiffened. “No.”

He gazed down at the tabletop. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have. I understand that you wouldn’t want me to—”

“It’s not that,” she said. “Even Ben couldn’t fix it.” She, of course, would not tell him the real reason why she wouldn’t let him see her eye.

“Ben couldn’t fix it? Then certainly I couldn’t, but if it bothers you, I might be able to provide you with something to ease it.”

“Thank you,” she said. She requested nothing for she’d been well-supplied by Ben for the journey, but Destarion looked so eager to help. “I do have an aching wrist, however.”

He brightened. “Let me have a look then.” He noted the fresh scar on the back of her wrist from Brienne’s blade. “You’ve made swordmaster.”

“Yes,” she said.

“I’ve seen the mark before, had one or two that festered.”

He probed her wrist, and she explained that it had been broken.

“I have a rub that might ease it,” he said, “and a good soak in warm water would provide some relief from the pain. I will brew a cup of willowbark tea for you, as well.” He busied himself organizing supplies, and appeared much more cheerful. At the idea of him making her tea, she thought unpleasantly of what he’d done to Captain Mapstone.

She returned to the fireplace just in time to hear Captain Treman tell Estral, “I would not recommend it.”