“—spy,” a queen seemed to say from above.

“This message is from F’ryan Coblebay, but this is—” said the king.

“—unimportant and irrelevant. It’s the magic I’m—”

“Too young to be—”

“Should be confined and interrogated—”

“—unimportant.”

Karigan drifted away again in search of the sunlit field, but she was not able to find it. The Weapons seized her roughly under her arms and hauled her to her feet. Someone took away the saber. She protested weakly, but no one heard.

“Lock her up until we decide.”

“Not in a prison cell,” said a gentler voice Karigan hadn’t heard before. The Weapons blocked her view with their broad shoulders and she could not see who spoke. “Choose a guest room and guard it.”

“But, Majesty,” said the harsh voice, “you may be endangering yourself. This one uses magic like we’ve never seen before.”

“And all the prison cells in the world would not hold her if she did anyway. A guest room. Does she look threatening to you in her present condition, Crowe?”

“Majesty, begging your pardon, but she may just want it to look that way.”

“Of all the idiotic ideas I’ve ever heard, that is the worst,” said a new voice from the direction of the entryway. It belonged to a woman accustomed to authority.The Weapons still blocked Karigan’s view, but she heard the purposeful click of boots on the flagstone floor as the woman approached. She passed by, and the clicking ceased. “Your Majesty.”

“Captain, your intrusion speaks of—”

“Disrespect, Castellan Crowe? Is that what you wish to say?”

“I will not have this bickering,” said the king. “Captain Mapstone, do you have anything you wish to say? Do you know this girl? She dresses as a Green Rider.”

“I’ve never laid eyes on her before, but I think I can tell you who she is.”

The woman stood on tiptoes and peered over the shoulders of the Weapons. Karigan received a fleeting impression of hazel eyes and reddish hair.

“I can also tell you that she is a Green Rider.”

“No,” Karigan whispered, but no one was listening.

“I can’t say I understand, Captain,” Crowe said.

“Your Majesty, have her taken to Rider barracks. She will do you no harm, and if I’m not mistaken, the message you hold in your hands is of great import.”

“We have our doubts about that,” the king said.

“Then what of this?”

The captain held aloft two black arrows. Karigan groaned and lurched to her side, and would have fallen if not for the support of the Weapons.

The two Weapons led her away from the throne, each stony-faced and silent.They passed through alternating shafts of dazzling sunlight and shadow as they walked to the far end of the throne room. Had Torne and Jendara once been this way? Stern and silent? Courtiers, servants, and soldiers who walked the corridors spared her a glance not at all.

They left the castle by a different entrance than she had come in, and passed through a courtyard, skirting the castle. The Weapons gripped her elbows, practically lifting her from the ground, as they escorted her past curious onlookers. They brought her to a whitewashed wooden building, the unmistakable odor of horse manure permeating from a not-too-distant source. The people here were all dressed in green and they were very curious. They stared at her.

“Where am I?” she asked.

“Rider barracks,” the Weapon to her left said, and that was all.

They entered the building, floorboards creaking beneath their feet, and a hint of leather in the air. It was far more appealing than the stone castle. Abruptly they stopped and the Weapon to her right threw open a door. They shuffled her into a room sparsely furnished with a bed, table, washstand, stove, and chair. Sunlight poured through a window, warming the place.

“You will empty your pockets,” said the Weapon who had been at her right. The other stepped out of the room and posted himself by the door.

“I will what?”

“Empty your pockets.” The man lacked any hint of emotion.

Karigan tossed the message satchel on the table—somehow she had managed to hold onto it—and dug into her pockets. She produced the moonstone, some coppers and one silver, the bunchberry flower with its missing petal, the sprig of bayberry, and Joy’s winged horse brooch. The Weapon gathered her things up into one large hand.

“The ring,” he said.

“The—No. You can’t have it.” She covered it protectively.

The Weapon stepped forward. “The ring. Until your identity and purpose is ascertained, we will hold these things.”

“No. Not the ring. All of these things, all except the brooch, were gifts. This ring was my mother’s. I won’t give it to you.”

The Weapon took another step toward her, his face implacable.

Karigan stooped into a defensive crouch. “The gods help you if you take a step closer. I’ve about had it. All I’ve done is deliver a message to the king, yet all I get in thanks is trouble. Well I’ll tell you, granite face, I’ve killed one of your kind, and if you take another step, I’ll do my utmost to damage you.”

That stopped him, though the threat didn’t seriously concern him. He didn’t even bother to draw his blade. “I doubt you could hurt any of us. If so, who was it?”