Coutre was stunned, Laren was stunned, Sperren and Colin were stunned, and even the Weapons standing guard were stunned.
Coutre stared from Zachary to the documents, and back again, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes or ears. “You’re agreeing?”
“Tentatively.” Zachary tossed the documents onto the tabletop. “I require Lady Estora’s consent in the matter.”
“Oh, she’ll consent all right. We’re all—”
Zachary slapped the flat of his hand on the table and Coutre fell silent. “I know what you want, Lord Coutre, and I know that you think you know what Lady Estora wants. I’d like to find out for myself.”
Coutre blinked. “She’ll be willing. No doubt about it.”
“We shall see.” And to everyone in the room, Zachary said, “This matter is not to be spoken of beyond this moment, or beyond these walls, until the contract is finalized and sealed.”
Coutre and his aide left exultant and triumphant. Laren thought the old lord might do cartwheels of joy down the corridor. The image brought a smile to her face.
Zachary, by contrast, brooded. He did not look a man ready to rejoice over his future betrothal.
“There are, I suspect,” he said quietly, “dark and difficult times ahead. I must do what I can to strengthen my position, and lend my people a sense of stability, even if it does mean marrying.”
ARTIFACTS
Karigan paused her sweeping to scratch at her wound. Ben said it was healing nicely, though it was still sore. She still couldn’t recall how she received the wound, but like many things, she was probably better off not knowing. At least she was alive, unlike those who hadn’t returned with them from the wall. And now even poor Mara had taken a turn for the worse.
She wiped tears away from her face and swept up a fury of swirling dust. She worked in a chamber that might never be occupied by any Rider. The size of the Rider wing mocked their losses and declining numbers. Soon, she had no doubt, the Green Riders would be extinct, a memory to some, forgotten by most.
In a sense, she had lost Alton, too, a loss she could not explain. Why had he looked upon her with hatred when they parted in Woodhaven? Why wouldn’t he speak to her? She couldn’t think of what she had done to so anger him that he turned his back on their friendship.
There was so much she could not remember—could she have done something hurtful to Alton during one of these blank moments?
She jabbed the broom at cobwebs in the chamber’s corners. How could she make amends without knowing for what? She guessed she would never know, unless he chose to talk to her. She wanted to reach out to him and try to settle the matter, but it was difficult right now with them so far apart. While she was convalescing, she had written and rewritten a letter that would be delivered by the next Rider to head down to the wall. It was terrible to have lost friends in battle, and worse to lose one of her best friends for a reason that was a mystery to her.
For now, he had his own grief to work through. Grief over the loss of three Riders, his uncle, and his cousin.
“Not dead,” Merdigen had said of Pendric. “He has given his soul wholly to the wall, and it lives on with all the other guardians. Only his body is gone. It’s no longer of use to him.”
It sure sounded like death to Karigan.
Ironically, to the Eletian who had come hunting her, she was dead. Merdigen explained, after she regained her senses, that she had had enough blood on her to easily create an illusion of death. It proved convincing enough to send the Eletian on his way.
It wouldn’t take long for the Eletians to realize she was still alive, but now that the wild magic had fled her, and as long as she kept her distance from the wall, she supposed they would leave her alone.
She sighed and tossed the broom aside, then noticed Garth filling the doorway. He held a package in his arms.
“Hello,” she said.
“You aren’t overdoing it in here, are you?” His no-nonsense expression indicated she’d better not be, or else.
“What are you going to do to me if I say yes?”
“Hang you by your thumbs and tickle you with a feather.”
Karigan snorted.
Garth glowered at her with mock-sternness. “I happen to know where to find some really fine feathers. Brutal they are.”
“Oh?”
He smiled smugly. “Lady Morane’s hat collection.”
Lady Morane, the elderly matriarch of a minor noble clan from Oldbury, had taken a shine to Garth, and never failed to ply him with tea and sweet dainties when he delivered a message. Her hat collection was renowned, and it was surprising to find birds with any feathers left on them in that province.
“How do you know the quality of the lady’s feathers for, um, tickling?”
Garth reddened and sputtered, catching on immediately to her innuendo and realizing the trap he’d set up for himself.
“Here!” he said, pushing the package into her arms. “This came in for you—Connly brought it from Selium.”
She weighed the package in her hands with interest. It felt like a manuscript. “Connly’s back?”
“Yep. All nice and tanned, too. Said his ship was blasted off course by some amazing gale, and they grounded on a deserted island. Quite beautiful, he said. Took a while for the crew to make repairs. He’s reporting to the cap’n right now.”
The relief that a Rider had made it home safely almost broke her down to tears again. Garth clapped her on the shoulder and headed out.