Firebrand

“I am sure we do,” he murmured.

The captain turned on her heel and struck off down the corridor.

Karigan’s father gazed after the captain with a perplexed expression on his face. “I do not know whether to be pleased or afraid when that woman wants to see me. She always strikes me as being taller than she is.”

Karigan could agree on the last, but didn’t dare speculate on the former.

After a few moments, he turned to her. “You look very tired, and I shouldn’t wonder why after all you’ve done today.”

“I am.”

“Why don’t you rest, and I’ll come back around at supper. Meanwhile, I’d best make sure your aunts do not take over the entire castle.”

Karigan hugged him good-bye, and before she dropped into bed, she was drawn by curiosity to the traveling chest they’d deposited on her floor. Inside she found the items of hers that had been sent home after her “death,” including a certain blue gown with silver threading that had been cleaned and repaired of the abuse it had once received. She laughed, wondering what her aunts had made of its condition, and hung the gown in her wardrobe. She also discovered a tin of Cook’s ginger snaps in the trunk and ate two right away.

She kicked off her boots, took off her shortcoat, and lay in bed. She pulled her comforter to her chin, and with Ghost Kitty purring beside her, fell soundly asleep. She did not awaken hours later when her family tiptoed into her chamber to retrieve their cloaks. Her father did not rouse her for supper, but let her sleep in peace.

The ghosts came to tell her their stories, but even the most insistent among them failed to disturb her.

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

As the city bells rang nine hour, Laren Mapstone tended her horse, Bluebird, in the Rider stables. Despite the frigid weather, the warmth of all the horses made the old building bearable, even snug. The contented sounds of horses munching on hay, their snorts and whickers, comforted her and were so very normal after the previous day’s magical incursion. When, she wondered, would the next attack come, and the one after that? Would they be able to fend off whatever came next? Even worse, she’d had word that a prisoner had escaped during the chaos, had walked right off castle grounds during the fighting. Immerez. A guard had gone missing with him, which meant, despite all the precautions, Second Empire’s operatives were still infiltrating their ranks.

She worked a curry comb over Bluebird’s fluffy winter coat. She never spent enough time with him for her schedule was fraught with meetings, and attending the king, and attacking all the administrative needs of the messenger service.

“Good morning.”

Laren looked up from where she was currying Bluebird’s belly, and had to look even higher for Stevic G’ladheon was tall. He stood on the other side of the stall door, his hands deep in the pockets of his long beaver fur coat. He wore no hat, and his cheeks were ruddy from being outside.

“Good morning,” Laren replied, setting the curry comb aside and dusting her hands off.

Bluebird stuck his nose out to snuffle Stevic’s shoulder. Stevic patted his forehead. “Hello, old fellow.”

Unfortunately, “old fellow” was apt. Bluebird was up there in years with more gray than ever speckling his blue roan hide.

“I’d have brought some kauv—” Stevic began. When she frowned, he tried again. “Tea?” At her nod, he continued, “Yes, well, I would have brought tea, but I fear it would have frozen solid before I got here.”

“It was a nice thought,” she replied.

An awkward silence fell between them. The stables were quiet, aside from the usual horsey sounds. Hep, who had recently been promoted to stable master, and his assistants were off securing a load of hay, and her Riders were engaged in training, or lessons, or other duties.

“You mentioned yesterday that we had unfinished business,” Stevic said. “How might Clan G’ladheon be of service to the Green Riders?” He bowed, hand to heart.

Laren regretted his formality when once their relationship had been more genial, warm. He blamed her, she knew, for all the dangers his daughter had faced since becoming a Green Rider. It had been difficult enough to tell him Karigan had been sent into Blackveil, and then, months later, on a crisp autumn day, the sky a clear blue and the trees laden with apples, she appeared on his doorstep unbidden, and he seemed to know why. When she informed him Karigan had been declared dead, he had crumpled to his knees, his grief so profound she still trembled to think of it.

“Captain?” Stevic said. “You wished to see me, did you not? Is this regarding further supplies for your messengers?”

She willed the memories to vanish and forced herself to the present. “Yes, there is that.” She removed the envelope sealed with the mark of the Green Riders from an inner pocket of her greatcoat and handed it to Stevic. “Mara and Elgin came up with a list.”

“I trust the supplies have been satisfactory thus far?” The envelope disappeared into one of the voluminous pockets of his fur coat.

“Yes. Yes, of course. Excellent.”

He bowed again. “It is my pleasure to serve. If that is all, I wish you a good day, Captain.” He turned to leave.

“Hold, merchant.”

He halted and turned back to her. Was that a gleam of amusement in his eye? Infuriating man.

“Is there something else?” he asked. “Anything else I can do to serve the captain of His Majesty’s Messenger Service?”