Green Rider

The moon sat in the sky like a fat silver coin with a halo radiating around it. In one corner of the balcony, a brass telescope sat propped on a tripod, pointed toward the moon. She placed her hands on the balustrade and ran them along the smooth granite craft of Clan D’Yer.

“You dance well.” Alton stood behind her.

“I didn’t hear you come out,” she said.

“The music is starting again. Do you want to dance?”

“I’ve had enough for one night.”

“Karigan, the Eletian . . .”

“I—I don’t want to talk about him.” She shivered remembering those cool hands and whatever secret his blue eyes held.

“All right.” Alton’s expression clearly said that he did not understand, but he would not press her. The two stood at length, not speaking. After a time, Alton cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I pulled you into the dance like that.”

“The dancing was fine,” she replied. “It’s the aristocrats I don’t—” She stopped, remembering who she was talking to. “I’ve got to leave.”

Alton caught her arm. “I uh . . . was . . . I would . . .What I want to say is . . .”

Karigan raised a brow as blood flooded Alton’s cheeks. Suave Lord Alton had turned into a fumbling schoolboy, and it served him right, too, for dragging her into the dance. “What is it you want to say?”

“I . . .” Now Alton pulled at his collar. “Would you consider . . .Would you . . . I mean—”

“Lord Alton, how good to see you.”

They both turned as King Zachary strolled onto the balcony, his hands clasped behind his back.

Alton released Karigan’s arm and bowed hastily. “Sire, how may I be of service?”

“By allowing me to have a private conversation with Rider G’ladheon.”

With a crestfallen look, Alton bowed again and returned to the ballroom. Karigan had a time holding her tongue. Imagine the king presuming to call her Rider G’ladheon!

“My apologies for interrupting your conversation with Alton,” the king said, misinterpreting her expression. When no response was forthcoming, he added, “I am pleased you made it to my ball.”

“It has been very nice, and I’ll thank you now, but I must be off.”

“Hold one moment if you please. Could we talk for a bit?”

Karigan couldn’t exactly turn down the King of Sacoridia no matter how much she wished to flee, could she?

He stepped up to the balustrade beside her, and gazed at the moon. “It is a night an Eletian would appreciate, don’t you think? A silver moon out of legend, yet our fine guest lingers within the stone walls of the castle.”

In the ballroom, where the gold light glared, the orchestra was on break, the courtiers surrounding the Eletian. He spoke and nodded to his admirers, his smile most charming. Karigan had imagined all Eletians, especially after meeting Somial, to be above such earthly concerns. It was a night to walk beneath the moon, a night to chase silver moonbeams.

Zachary clenched and unclenched his hands. “He offers us ties with Eletia, something that faded shortly after the Long War. And he offers me . . . great things. Powers that have not been seen since the First Age or the beginning of the Second. Powers, he says, that I can use to keep order in unruly towns like North, or to prevent folk in Adolind from starving the next time winter lasts longer than their food stores. Can you imagine? He offers me powers that would make your Green Rider brooches look like no more than trinkets.”

“Do such great powers still exist?” Karigan asked.

“He says that strong powers emanate from Blackveil Forest, and if Sacoridia keeps the breach in the D’Yer Wall open, Eletia will filter and purify them using its own powers.” Zachary removed the silver fillet from his brow and began to comb his fingers through his hair. For a moment, years fell away from him, and he appeared a youth not yet hardened by rule: young, afraid, and alone. Vulnerable.

“He offers me much,” Zachary said. “Too much, I think, though it has not been my experience to know what Eletians are like.”

“So you have to figure it out for yourself.”

Zachary smiled grimly. “One is used to listening to advisors. All of my court counselors are entirely charmed by Shawdell the Eletian. I suppose I should be, too.” He drummed his fingers on the granite surface of the balustrade. “Here I am assured no one listens, and I’ve posted Weapons by the doorway so that no one drifts out here. I fear that in my own throne room others can somehow hear what I say, though it appears the room is secure. Thus, the game of Intrigue yesterday. You must have found it quite strange.”

Karigan nodded, relaxing a little. “You thought that if I had something important to say, it would be overheard by the wrong people.”

“Yes. I am particularly concerned about the Mirwellian aspect of your journey. Do you have a few moments to share that with me?”

Karigan told him everything she could remember, including Torne’s and Jendara’s references to the king’s brother. This time she found an absorbed, avid listener, rather than the unpredictable and nonchalant Intrigue player.

“Why were they after Coblebay?” he mused. “His message was worthless.”

Karigan shrugged, her opinion of the king now bending toward pity. She had no brothers of her own and so couldn’t fathom the betrayal he must feel.

“I trust you will be in the city for a few more days,” he said.