“Zachary,” Nari said, “you now understand that I have been here a very long time, yes?”
He nodded.
“I have searched these caves thoroughly, myself. I have had the time to do so. I can tell you this passage ends in rubble, a dead end. All of them do, or they turn round and open into the same passage elsewhere. Even the crawlways. Slee has blocked all the openings so its pets cannot escape.”
“I don’t want you to leave,” Magged suddenly burst out. “I want a family.”
Zachary closed his eyes, trembled. He could see that Nari did not lie. He would not let it stop him, though. He could not. He could not give up.
“Your words about Argenthyne and the Sleepers,” Nari told him, “have given me hope that I have not known since I became trapped here. I wonder if there is a way that we are not seeing.”
“We can only keep looking.” He took up his bundle of glowstones and his torch. As they walked on, he considered Nari’s words about hope. Perhaps he was wrong to shunt away thoughts of Karigan. Perhaps, thinking of her and her impossible accomplishments was what he needed to escape the lair of the aureas slee.
JUST DESSERT
“Hmm,” the innkeeper said, “had someone like that come through here a couple years ago. Wish he’d come back, too. Folks traveled from miles around just to hear him sing.”
“Thank you,” Estral said.
Karigan could tell she was trying to hide her disappointment. Along their journey, thus far, if they chanced across villages, Karigan and Estral asked at the local inn or tavern if a minstrel of Aaron Fiori’s description had been seen there in recent months. Of the few inquiries they’d made, including this one at the sign of the Painted Turtle, they had no luck.
The innkeeper must have sensed Estral’s distress, as well, for he invited them to sit for a cup of hot spiced apple cider and a wedge of butter cream pie with, of course, the ulterior motive of hearing the latest news from Sacor City. It was worth it, Karigan thought, and Enver was missing out. He had insisted upon waiting for them out in the woods. He must be communing with the trees, or whatever it was that Eletians did.
The village was off the beaten track and rarely received current news. It turned out that word of the queen’s pregnancy had reached the village, but not that she was expecting twins. The village of Red Rock wasn’t much. It boasted the inn, a chapel of the moon, and little else. The residents were far-flung, scratching crops out of rocky patches in the Green Cloak in the warm months, and doing small-scale lumbering in winter. Some harvested cranberries from nearby bogs.
“Now, that is something,” the innkeeper said, and he sipped from his own mug of cider. Custom was nonexistent at this hour, so he could give Karigan and Estral his full attention. Karigan could tell he was hankering to spread the news. “Never thought the king would get around to taking a wife, and when he finally does?” He chuckled. “Making up for lost time.”
Karigan had become somewhat used to the speculation and comments about the intimate lives of the king and queen, some of which could be rather coarse. She’d learned to face it all with a forced smile, and tried not to think too deeply about it.
Estral remained silent as she picked at her pie. If she wouldn’t eat it, Karigan would.
“Haven’t seen a Green Rider out this way in years,” the innkeeper said. “Which way you heading?”
“North,” Karigan replied.
“Town of North?”
“No.” At least Karigan hoped not. It wasn’t the friendliest of towns for Green Riders.
“Maybe we should,” Estral murmured. “Someone may have heard something there.”
“I ask,” the innkeeper said, “because folk traveling north of here have had run-ins with groundmites. Winter’s been hard on ’em and they’ve been bold. Getting bolder every year, it seems. You should tell the king next time you see him.”
“I will.” Karigan frowned. He was right. The groundmites were getting bold—desperate—if they were traveling this far into Sacoridia’s borders. Encountering a band of the beasts was something she would rather avoid.
When the innkeeper left them to attend to some chores, Karigan turned to Estral and pointed at her pie. “You should really eat that. It will give you energy against the cold.”
Estral sighed and pushed the plate toward Karigan. “You have it.”
Karigan did not argue. At least Estral drank her cider. “You know, just because the innkeeper hasn’t seen your father doesn’t mean anything. We don’t even know for sure he’s gone north.”
“I know. It just seems so hopeless.”
It was not that long ago that Estral had been the one with hope. Perhaps the fatigue of traveling in the cold had gotten to her.
“We will keep looking,” Karigan said. “He’ll turn up.”
Estral nodded. “Thank you for helping with this. I don’t think I could do it on my own.”
“You,” Karigan said, gazing at the last bite of pie on her fork, “are capable of a great deal more than you think.” She was rewarded by a brief smile from Estral.
As they left, the innkeeper’s wife, overjoyed by the news of royal twins forthcoming, gave them a gift of a dozen cranberry nut muffins still warm from the oven. Estral swiped the sack of muffins from Karigan’s grasp.
“I won’t eat them all,” Karigan protested.
“I want to make sure there are some left for Enver,” Estral replied.