Beryl patted the horse’s neck. “This is Luna Moth,” she said. “I just call her Luna. She would much prefer to be playing with her friends rather than leaving.”
“Where are you off to?”
Beryl glanced at the reins in her hands, then back up at Karigan. “Now that old Lord Mirwell is under lock and key and those in his army who will not be executed are marching home, I thought I would return to Mirwell Province and see what good I could do there. After all, I still hold an officer’s commission in the provincial army.”
“You can’t be serious,” Karigan said. “They must know the part you played.”
Beryl smiled brightly, an expression Karigan had never seen on the serious woman’s face before. “It is generally believed Green Riders are a reckless lot, always galloping off into trouble. More or less it is true, and hopelessly so.” She shrugged. “It may be no one in Mirwell is aware of my . . . affiliations. After all, anyone privy to the information has been killed or locked up, and may yet face execution.”
“It isn’t just recklessness,” Karigan said. “You’re endangering yourself.”
“Perhaps, but maybe the new lord-governor will welcome one who can help him ease into his new position. After all, no one knows that position better than I. Besides, King Zachary desires a liaison to watch over Mirwell Province, and, shall we say, influence the new lord-governor’s loyalties.”
Karigan frowned. Her old nemesis from school, Timas Mirwell, was going to be lord-governor. In a way, his actions had precipitated the ultimate fall of his father: he had caused her to run away from Selium, which caused her to meet F’ryan Coblebay, which caused her to carry the message . . .
“Bad things may await me in Mirwell,” Beryl said, “but I can’t try to change the province from here. Besides, I can be quite persuasive.” She touched her brooch. “How about you? What will you do? I know Captain Mapstone is keen to swear you in. We’re so short of Riders now.”
Karigan smoothed some breeze tousled hair out of her face. “This afternoon I leave for Corsa with my father,” she said. “I could be leading my own cargo trains within the year.”
Beryl reached out and clasped Karigan’s hand. “Good luck,” she said. “I find it hard to imagine you as a merchant. It sounds rather tame.”
“Good luck to you,” Karigan replied. “Watch your back around Timas.”
Beryl stuck her toe in the stirrup and mounted Luna gracefully. “That’s Lord Timas to you.” She grinned, and with a wave of her hand, she was off.
Karigan snorted. Lord Timas? She did not envy Beryl.
Her wanderings led her into the quiet of the inner courtyard gardens. She sat cross-legged on a stone bench warmed by the sun, and cupped her chin in her hands, intent on watching bees crawl in and out of the rose blossoms. A hummingbird buzzed by and chased another from a blossom. It was hard to believe she had killed a man in this peaceful place not so long ago.
She rubbed the cold spot on her shoulder, the spot that stayed cold despite the heat that beat down on her. It was the place the tendril of black magic had scored her flesh, and although her various bruises, bumps, strains, and even the sword slash, were taking care of themselves, this wound was slow to heal. The skin was punctured and burned, but did not hurt. On the contrary, it lacked feeling. The menders did not understand it. They applied a variety of poultices, but nothing seemed to have much of an effect on it.
So absorbed in her thoughts was she that she did not hear the approach of another until a shadow fell on her. She gazed up and discovered the tall blonde, green-eyed lady she had seen in the throne room. She was familiar, but Karigan couldn’t place just where they had met before.
“Hello,” the woman said. “Am I intruding?”
“No,” Karigan said.
“May I sit?”
Karigan dropped her feet to the ground and moved over so there was room on the bench for two.
“I almost did not recognize you without the green uniform,” the woman said. Her own gown of aqua and deep gold was a summery contrast to the black Karigan remembered her wearing in the throne room.
Karigan tried to figure out who she was. The accent was eastern, her bearing that of nobility. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but have we met before?”
The woman’s eyes danced. “Yes, under very mysterious circumstances.’
Recognition struck Karigan, and she wondered how she had missed it before. “Lady Estora!”
“I am glad for this opportunity to talk to you without a veil on so you would know who it was you helped. I wish to tell you what a comfort it has been to have F’ryan’s final letter.”
Karigan smiled. “I’m glad I could help.”
“I now know what else that letter contained. Captain Mapstone told me all about it, and all you endured to bring it.” Lady Estora’s eyebrows became set and her tone more serious. “You know, that night in the throne room, I saw much in you that reminded me of F’ryan.”
“I didn’t know him,” Karigan said. “At least not well.”
Lady Estora seemed to search for the right words. “You were not going to let anything stop you, and you did not. That was very like F’ryan.”
Karigan looked at her knees. “I couldn’t stop. I was afraid. I was afraid for my father, I was afraid for the king, and I was afraid for me. If I stopped . . .” She spread her hands wide for Lady Estora to come to her own conclusion.