Damn his formality. As if there hadn’t been more between them. “I realize we have not been on the best of terms ever since Karigan went into Blackveil, which I admit I find . . .” What? Sorrowful? Aggravating? Distressing? She settled on, “Unfortunate.”
He said nothing, just stood there waiting for her to go on. Of course, he would, just to see her flounder. She was sure of it. She took a deep breath and continued, “Those of us who serve the king have a range of duties to perform, and certainly some of those duties can be dangerous.”
“It seems to me,” Stevic replied, “that certain of those who serve the king go into danger more often than others.”
“Certain of those who do go, do so because they are extremely capable. Others just seem to attract trouble. Karigan is both. She is one of my best Riders as her performance during yesterday’s attack should make abundantly clear.”
“Tell me, Captain,” he said, “which are you?”
Bluebird appeared to watch them with his ears pricked as though viewing a sporting match. Wind whistled through the cracks of doors and shutters, stirring up a fine dust from the rafters.
“What is your answer, Captain?”
She pursed her lips, unsettled by his intensity. “All messengers face danger in the course of their duties.”
“But not all go into Blackveil.”
“No, but three did. One of them never came home. The king could have just sent soldiers, but he wanted his Riders to go because of their competence.”
“Would you go into Blackveil if he asked?”
“Of course.” She had, in fact, volunteered, but Zachary refused her.
Stevic studied her for a moment, and then something about his posture relaxed. His features became easier. “I know you have faced dangers of your own. Karigan has told me a little. I know, also, that because of your position you are often in the middle of political struggles, which cannot be easy.”
“No, it is not,” she murmured, recollecting how, after the assassination attempt on Zachary, she had opposed the schemers who wanted a “deathbed wedding” for their wounded, unconscious king. Moving up the wedding, they believed, would ensure a continuity of leadership, should Zachary die leaving no heirs of his blood, but doing so, she argued, violated king’s law for it disregarded his choice of successor, whose name was sealed in the Royal Trust. When Laren threatened to expose them, they’d drugged her and placed her under house arrest. Her future had been uncertain, her very life in jeopardy.
“I have always assumed that this—” He reached across the stall door and traced the scar that began on her chin, the poorly healed brown scar that slashed down her neck and disappeared beneath her collar. She started at the warmth of his touch. “I have always assumed it happened in the course of your duties.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Brigands along the road.” That was the short, less painful version.
He withdrew his hand and waited as if he expected more. What did he want? The whole bloody story and its nightmarish details? Instead, she said, “I was younger, a mere lieutenant during Queen Isen’s reign. If I hadn’t been with another Rider, I would have died.” She had almost died anyway. “Is that what you were waiting to hear? That I, too, have experienced close calls?”
“In a way,” he admitted. “It is a confirmation and a relief.”
She was incredulous. “A relief? A relief I was nearly gutted and almost died but for the grace of the gods?”
“Gutted?”
Laren clenched her hands at her sides. Bluebird nickered as though to comfort her. “The scar doesn’t stop at my throat.”
He backed away as though struck. “I am sorry. I did not mean to overstep—to pry. I—” He cleared his throat. “What I mean, is that I am relieved that the one who sends my daughter into perilous situations knows those dangers firsthand and does not make such decisions lightly. I mean, I am sorry you’ve known those dangers, but . . .”
Laren decided to let him flounder this time.
“I cannot find the words,” he said at last.
“So, the merchant’s golden tongue has turned to tin?” She could not help herself but gloat a little.
He laughed. It was a full, hearty laugh that seemed to clear the last of the tension from the air. When he subsided, he said, “I apologize for my questioning. It is not easy to hear your only child is dead. Then the shock of her return . . .”
“I have had to inform too many families of the loss of their children during my time as captain. Far too many. And I know it was the same for my captain when I was a young Rider, and for his captain before him.”
“It must be extremely difficult.”
“It is. I care about each of my Riders, and the last thing I ever want to do is tell a parent they have lost a child.”
Bluebird turned in the stall, presenting his rump as he lipped stray bits of hay from his bedding. Laren patted him and stepped out of the stall. She latched it soundly behind her and turned to face the merchant once more.
“Perhaps,” she said, “I should tell you how capable your daughter is, and maybe that would make you easier about her work as a Green Rider. Knowing Karigan, she probably doesn’t talk much about all she’s done.” Laren had overheard enough of Karigan’s conversation with her father yesterday to know this was true.
“I would like that,” he replied. “She does have a knack for leaving out details.”