The only ones still at large were Fergal, Lady Estora, and the Weapons who’d gone in search of them. Karigan fretted daily that she’d done the wrong thing in sending them on their way alone, no matter how much Captain Mapstone and her friends reassured her she’d made a wise and courageous decision. But whenever she saw Lord Coutre, who’d dropped considerable weight and whose face was constantly lined with worry, she wondered. Wondered if she could have done better.
And oh, how she missed her Condor.
One day, while the clouds sent sleet battering against the castle walls, Karigan glared at herself in the mirror to see how her hair was growing back. It was returning, but with a cowlick. Not only that, but the new hair was fine and blond, like a baby’s. She’d taken to parting her hair on the opposite side and combing a layer of it over the funny patch to obscure it. All her other hurts healed nicely and were fading, though there was an impressive scar down her forearm. Since it was usually covered, it did not bother her much.
Suddenly her door burst open and Yates strode into her room without knocking.
“Yates!” she cried, swinging around. “I could have been dressing or something!”
“But you weren’t,” he said with a mournful expression. “You were instead admiring your head.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “If you ever barge in here again without knocking, you’ll find yourself ‘admiring’ your head as well.”
He bowed. “My humblest of apologies. But I thought you’d want the news.”
“News? What news?”
Yates stood there with a smug grin on his face and said nothing.
“Tell me,” Karigan commanded, “or I’ll shake it out of you.” She reached for him but he hopped back just out of her grasp.
“I know you are quite capable of hanging me out the window by my ankles should you so wish,” he said, “but I’m not going to tell you. I will tell you the captain would like you to attend her in the throne room, and I’ll even escort you.” He proffered his arm.
“Scoundrel,” she said.
“The lady is harsh,” he said, feigning hurt. “But for her I shall endure the severest of tongue lashings.”
Karigan groaned and rolled her eyes.
“The sooner we go,” Yates added, “the sooner you can find out the news.”
She really wanted to swat him, but he had a point, so she grabbed his arm and practically dragged him down the corridor, not quite the same as when he escorted her one fairy tale day in autumn when she wore a blue gown and felt a princess. She remembered how the day ended. Not in the usual fairy tale fashion, but with the throwing of her shoe at the Raven Mask.
Both Tegan and Mara remarked upon how glum many aristocratic ladies had seemed upon hearing the news of the Raven Mask’s demise. Karigan felt little pity for them and their fantasies and thought of them as a bunch of silly clucks. Nor did she pity the Raven Mask for he had abducted and endangered Estora, threatening the unity of Sacoridia. Such a one as he was better off dead.
All the way to the throne room, Yates joked with her and treated her like a lady and he her obedient servant. She’d shake him if she weren’t laughing so hard. Though it wasn’t exactly the “Riderly” behavior Ty would insist on, no one paid them much attention. In fact, those they met in the corridor were in high spirits, despite the gloomy weather. Something was definitely afoot.
Then she caught snatches of conversation and Estora’s name.
Karigan grabbed Yates’ arm hard enough he yelped, and pivoted so she faced him squarely. “They’re back, aren’t they.”
He nodded, and she rushed off, leaving him behind.
When she reached the throne room, she found it mobbed with courtiers and Weapons. She slipped her way between bodies, angling for the dais. She discerned the king’s head rising above everyone else’s. Excited voices drowned out the sound of sleet hammering the tall throne room windows. To Karigan it all blended into one big roar.
The crowd actually thinned out near the dais, and she arrived just in time to find Fergal on his knee, extending messages to the king, while Captain Mapstone and Connly, and the king’s other advisors, looked on. She almost cried out Fergal’s name, but waited as the king reached for the messages. He said something she could not hear amid the clamor, but she thought his mouth formed the words, “Well done, Rider.”
Concern, pride, and exasperation filled Karigan as she gazed upon the scene. Concern over Fergal’s condition, pride at his safe return with the messages, no less, and exasperation because…well, because he was Fergal.
When he rose from his knee, he turned and smiled at her. She swept a critical gaze over him. His uniform was neat, clean, and looked in surprisingly good condition for one on the run. She noticed no illness or injury, and he looked, by all accounts, well fed.
Huh, she thought. Perhaps she had worried needlessly. But she was too overjoyed to worry about worry, and strode over to him and gave him a great hug, right there in front of captain and king and other important persons. Only later would Karigan learn that Fergal had followed her instructions so well that he confounded Immerez’s thugs who pursued him and Lady Estora, and even the Weapons who finally discovered them biding their time at an “inn” in Rivertown called the Golden Rudder. Later was soon enough for Karigan to throttle Fergal. Especially when he gave her a perfumed handkerchief as a remembrance from Trudy.
Captain Mapstone tapped Karigan on the shoulder and pointed across the room. When Karigan turned, she found Estora standing there in Rider green, looking as alive and healthy as Fergal. The two stared at one another for a moment or two, but then Estora left those friends, family members, and courtiers who thronged her and hugged Karigan. Lord Coutre came over and patted Karigan on the shoulder before moving on to pump Fergal’s hand in a hearty handshake.