Firebrand

“I would like to see Estral, see if she needs me,” Karigan said.

“You will rest. As soon as I finish with your back, I will stay with her myself. She will not be alone.”

Sometime after Enver left, she slipped into sleep. She dreamed she walked among the dew-laden grasses of the starry meadow. She did not see the day horse, but she found Siris Kiltyre walking with her.

“You did well, Rider,” he told her, “despite the challenges. The Aeon Iire should remain secure for many a century to come, so long as no other powerful necromancer tries to break it. By then, it will be someone else’s responsibility.”

“I am no longer the avatar?”

“Oh, I did not say that, but we are mortal and do not live forever. One day, your existence will slip into oblivion, and other generations will come and go, like the turnings of the pages of a book. Nothing stays the same.”

This was not a cheery thought.

They paused by a stream that gurgled and sang around the rocks that studded its surface. Fireflies blinked around them.

Siris laughed, and she realized he was laughing at her. “The look on your face,” he said. “Be not so morose, for you are not likely to pass to the heavens today, or even tomorrow. You have more pages yet to turn, but how many, even Westrion cannot say. Use what you’ve learned and it will hold you in good stead.”

He bounded across stepping stones to the opposite bank of the stream, and somehow she knew she was not allowed to follow.

“The protections we placed around you,” he said, “against the intrusions of the Nyssa spirit, will soon weaken. You must learn to shield yourself and oust her.” He began to fade, the forest beyond showing through his luminous form. “I do not know if we will meet again, Rider G’ladheon, but it has been an honor.” He bowed and vanished.

• • •

Karigan slept until a commotion outside woke her up. She dressed as quickly as her hurts allowed in time to see Lieutenant Rennard arrive with a squad of soldiers bearing a shrouded figure on a bier.

Rennard went to his knee before Estral, his head bowed. Estral swayed as though the slightest wind would knock her over. Karigan took a few steps toward her, and Rennard held out his hands, gold shimmering on his palms in the glint of the late afternoon sun.

“Lady Fiori,” Rennard said.

Karigan almost reeled to hear Estral addressed as such, but it was true that as Aaron Fiori’s heir, she was now the Lady Fiori, the Golden Guardian, her father’s title and responsibilities now passed on to her.

Estral accepted her father’s signet ring, and his harp brooch—Rennard still wore hers.

“The king has commanded that I lead these others as an honor guard for Lord Fiori’s final journey home to Selium. If we may help you prepare for departure, we will go as far as the Green Cloak today.”

A deep sob arose from Estral, and Karigan, her own eyes wet with tears, went to comfort her friend.

• • •

Karigan helped Estral pack as much as she could. Enver had ordered her not to lift anything, so she folded clothes and blankets. Connly, meanwhile, readied Coda.

“I would like to go with you,” Karigan said as she rolled up Estral’s bedding in their tent.

“I know you can’t.” Estral’s voice was fading, had become wispy, and not just from the crying.

“I will come as soon as I am able to. I promise.”

Estral turned to her. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Karigan was about to protest, but Estral grasped her wrist. “You still need to recuperate, and you’ve duties. I know this. You could write me a real letter now and then, though.”

Karigan grimaced. She was ever the abysmal correspondent, but she’d make an extra effort in Estral’s case.

“I will come when I can,” she said firmly.

“Enver explained to us what went on at the keep, what you did, what you faced. Who you are. Can you . . . can you see my father?”

“I already did. Back at the keep. He asked me to look after you. He heard music, and when he left, he walked into starshine. He looked . . . joyful.” And when she thought about it, she knew it to be true.

Estral broke into racking sobs and Karigan did what she could to comfort her.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,” Estral said, sniffing. “I can’t be the Golden Guardian.”

“Your father knew you could,” Karigan said, “and I know you can. You were practically running Selium anyway when he was off on his travels.”

“But Karigan, how can I be without my voice? It’s going away. The Golden Guardian must have a voice.”

“I don’t know, but it seems to me you are capable of quite a lot. And didn’t you tell me you’d found another voice with your writing?”

Estral hugged her journal. “That was before my father—” She swallowed hard. “That was before my father passed away. What is the Golden Guardian without a voice? So much to do. Without my voice I won’t be able to—”

“Estral, you just need to think about mourning right now, getting your father home. You need to take care of yourself. I’ll make sure that the king permits a message to go to your mother so she knows what you’re up against. And Alton. Alton needs to know.”

“You’ll take care of that for me?”

“Even if I am the worst letter writer ever, yes, I will see it done. Your friends are many and we love you.”