“I need to check on Raven.”
“Mirriam may be right,” he mused.
“About Raven?”
He nodded. “Too dangerous to keep.”
Anger rose in Karigan once again. “He was provoked. Keep Arhys away, and he’ll be all right.”
“I don’t know . . .”
“You just told me an important secret,” she said, “so I’ll tell you one in return. Raven is a Green Rider horse. A true Green Rider horse, and if you know anything of your history, you’ll know that Green Rider horses are exceptional.” She did not await an answer but turned and strode for the stables.
She found all four horses, housed in the stables, including Raven, each in their stalls munching on hay. Raven spared her just a passing glance before returning to his fodder.
Luke joined her at the stall door. “He calmed down just as soon as you got Arhys out of here,” he remarked. “Can’t decide if it was brave or crazy of you to pull Arhys out of his way. Er . . .” He looked chagrined, as if suddenly remembering she was supposed to be crazy. “So, is the professor gonna get rid of Raven?”
“I don’t think so,” Karigan replied, hoping that her shared secret was enough to convince him of Raven’s value.
“Good,” Luke said with emphasis. “None of it’s his fault if he doesn’t like getting teased.” That said, he sauntered off to attend to his other duties.
Satisfied that Raven was content, she left the stable for the house, limping a little from the strain of running and the previous night’s swordplay, but not as much as she might have guessed. She was truly healing, and it was only a matter of time before the cast, which had begun to look rather grimy of late, came off her wrist.
When she entered the house, the servants regarded her with silence, and she hastened her step. After she climbed the stairs and headed down the corridor to her bedroom, she was not surprised to hear Mirriam bustling behind her. Indeed, the head housekeeper, now fully dressed, followed Karigan right into her bedroom. Karigan rolled her eyes at the expected, “Miss Goodgrave!”
But then Mirriam froze as she took in the open window and Cloudy the cat sitting on the bed. She screamed and went for the broom with which Karigan had been practicing forms before acquiring the bonewood.
“Cat!” Mirriam cried in horror. With astonishing speed, she slammed the broom on the bed, but Cloudy was already out the window. Mirriam scrambled to the window, holding the broom as a shield, and looked this way and that for some moments before slamming the sash shut. She turned her back to it and sagged, her hand on her heaving chest.
Karigan waited for the inevitable upbraiding to come. She said nothing while Mirriam caught her breath and collected herself.
“We have been over this,” Mirriam finally said, pointing at Karigan. “No open windows! I shall have it nailed shut if I must.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Karigan replied.
“I should hope not. But if it comes to it—”
“I doubt my uncle would permit it, in case there was a fire or something.”
Mirriam blanched, revealing she knew exactly to what Karigan referred.
“The window shall remain closed regardless,” Mirriam said. “And the vermin! I will see that one of the gardeners destroys it!”
That was it. Karigan had had it. She was tired of this strange world, she missed her home and her friends, and she’d been awake far too long hearing the most incredible—and terrible—tales of what had become of her world. Mirriam’s imperious ways were like the spark to an explosion. Karigan stepped right up to her. “You will do no such thing. If you so much as harm a hair on his body, I will—” Karigan thought hard for a suitable threat. “I will draw such attention to this house that you will want to wither in shame, and my uncle will have no choice but to dismiss you.”
“How dare you!”
“No, how dare you.” The rage was on her now, and she could not help but lash out, somehow maintaining enough control to uphold her guise as Kari Goodgrave, the privileged niece of Bryce Lowell Josston. “I think you forget your place, Mirriam. You are a servant in the employ of Professor Josston, and I am Professor Josston’s niece. I do not answer to you as the servants do. It is rather the other way around.”
“You have a sickness of the mind. You—”
“I am not so sick that I don’t know the place of servants.” All of Karigan’s frustrations about her situation, and all that had happened to her since arriving in this house, enflamed her words.
Mirriam’s mouth worked but nothing came out for once. Obviously no one had ever stood up to her before, and Karigan could almost see the woman’s brain trying to realign her understanding of her place in the world.
After a time, she smoothed her skirts and drew on a neutral expression. “Very well. Might I suggest Miss Goodgrave bathe and leave her dirty nightgown out so it might be laundered?”
“You know,” Karigan said, as if she hadn’t just heard Mirriam, “I believe I shall take a bath.” It was like twisting the dagger, and strangely satisfying. “And I think this nightgown ought to be laundered.”
Mirriam visibly fought with herself, trying to suppress a rebuke, but she swallowed and said in a constricted voice, “As you wish, Miss Goodgrave.” And she left Karigan just standing there.
Karigan, too tired to feel victorious, wanted to flop in bed and catch up on sleep, but she could just as easily nap in the tub, which would also relieve her aching muscles. She plucked at her nightgown, soiled with dirt, sweat, blood, and maybe a bit of horse manure. At least her confrontation with Arhys at the stables would explain any dirt picked up from her time at the mill.