Dumbstruck, Karigan hardly heard the captain. “I can’t believe the message said nothing important.”

Captain Mapstone sighed deeply and slapped Condor on the neck. “Some Riders never see, in the duration of their careers, as much as you did in one ride. Your courage to carry F’ryan’s message, essential in content or not, is more than admirable. Karigan, I’ve believed every word you told me of your incredible story because my talent is detecting honesty.” She touched her winged horse brooch. “I want you to talk with the king. I want you to tell him your story—he will be interested in hearing about Immerez. And I think he trusts me enough that he will grant you an audience without his advisors present.”

Me? Karigan cried from inside.

“Oh, Fastion,” the captain called out sweetly. “You can come out from whatever shadow you’ve been lurking in. We’re done now.”

Karigan perceived a great weariness in the captain as they bade Condor good night. The captain moved stiffly, and her features seemed pulled back in some sort of pain.

The brooch? Karigan wondered.

INTRIGUE AND INVITATION

Karigan did not hear from the captain again the next day, or the day after that. Mel, however, provided her with companionship, a friend amidst stony-faced Weapons who guarded her door. Eventually she was allowed to accompany Mel to the stable to help with chores and visit Condor, but always with a Weapon in tow. The normalcy of the activity, the drone of flies, stomp of hooves, familiar smells of leather and manure, and Mel’s earthy personality, helped ease her nerves despite those who shadowed her.

Mel pitched muck out of a stall into an overflowing barrow, and Karigan propped her elbows on the stall door. “I must say,” Mel said, “the castle folk are abuzz about that visitor. I’m certain they’ve forgotten all about you.”

“What visitor? Captain Mapstone mentioned something the other night.”

Mel leaned on her pitchfork and raised her brows. “You haven’t heard? But then again I don’t expect you would have. The day after you arrived, one of those Eletians rode right up to the castle.”

“An Eletian?” Karigan asked incredulously.

“Yeah, like the old stories. Have you heard those?”

“I have. What’s an Eletian doing here?”

Mel paused to wave away a phalanx of flies buzzing around her face. “Well, that’s what I would like to know. Captain says no one’s seen one for so long, no one knew if they were still real. And all of a sudden one comes looking for King Zachary.”

“I met an Eletian,” Karigan said.

“Oh, go on.”

“It’s true. But I was sick at the time and didn’t notice much. If you don’t believe me, ask the captain.”

Mel let out a low whistle. “She’d know if you were lying or not. Say, I wonder if this is the same one.”

“Did he give a name?”

Mel scratched her head and thought for a moment. “Shaw . . . Shawsomething, Shawdale. No, wait a moment. Shawdell. That’s it.”

Karigan shook her head in disappointment. “No, not the same one.”

“Captain said she’s never seen hair like his before. Like spun gold, she said. And she can’t read him, you know, for honesty. She says he knows how to shield his thoughts.”

“Eletians are different,” Karigan said, and she could almost catch the rhythm of the soundless song she heard long ago in a clearing she would never find again. “Childlike, ancient, magical, and beautiful all at once. Of course, I only really saw the one and who knows what the rest are like. Just like there are good Sacoridians and bad Sacoridians.” Immerez, for one, came to mind. She shrugged. “How strange one would come here, though, after all this time.”

“He wants to reestablish ties with Sacordia.” The Rider Alton D’Yer stood silhouetted between the great sliding doors of the stable entrance. Then he strode toward them, his features defining as he walked into the shadows of the stable. His shoulders were thrown back in a confident way. Gauntlets hung neatly folded over his belt, and not a speck of dust deigned to settle on his boots. Nor did he exhibit any outward signs of past injury as so many Riders seemed to.

He was the only Rider who dared approach Karigan and speak to her directly, unintimidated by the Weapons, or rumors of her strange arrival. At least, she hoped it was the Weapons who caused the others to keep their distance and not something about herself.

He touched his forehead and bowed gracefully. “Alton D’Yer at your service.”

Karigan raised her eyebrow.A formal greeting. She put her hand to her heart and bowed in return. “Karigan G’ladheon of Clan G’ladheon at yours.”

“Ah,” he said, “a merchant clan.”

Karigan nodded, expecting the usual sarcasm, but none was forthcoming. He was a D’Yer, a very old family, a bloodline directly descended from the original Sacor Clans. If the Hillander Clan died out, the other old lines would vie for the throne, marking Alton as a possible heir. It was surprising his family allowed him to be a Green Rider, especially with the danger the occupation entailed.

“I see you keep stern company,” he said.

“My shadow.” Karigan glanced over her shoulder at the Weapon who stood planted in a dark cobwebby corner, her back ramrod straight, and her arms crossed. She did not so much as blink an eye or shift her weight, her mouth a tight, grim line.

“The Eletian,” Karigan prompted him.