Unknown Intentions
T wo days later, Ghost Kitty sat on Karigan’s desk and watched her carefully ink figures into the ledger, mischief in his eyes.
It was bad enough she had to personally handle the clan’s accounts, but now the books of the Green Riders needed reconciling.
Poor Mara minded the books when Karigan and Daro were unavailable, but it was not her strong suit, especially when the castle and city were under siege by the enemy, as they had been in the summer.
She’d done her best, but receipts and entries were missing, and the figures were a mess, and so it had been left to Karigan to sort it all out.
She stroked Ghost Kitty’s cheek and was rewarded with loud purring. At least purposeful deceit had not been at play, she reflected, unlike the clan accounts.
The bookkeeping and assisting Tegan with Chief Rider duties kept her close to home.
She rarely left the castle except on rest days to attend to clan business.
She wasn’t absolutely sure, but she’d a sneaking suspicion someone up the chain did not wish for her to go away on long message errands.
Someone very high up. And yet, she couldn’t discount the fact that in the colonel’s absence, the Rider officers, Mara, Connly, and Tegan, were forced to take over her responsibilities in addition to their own.
It was not surprising they’d need help and that certain duties would trickle down.
Karigan rubbed her tired eye. She was glad to assist where she could, though she wished for some other assignment than keeping the books just for a change of pace.
At least she wasn’t out in the city, in uniform, where someone would invariably recognize her as the “Spirit of Light,” the one who, with the use of her moonstone, had guided hundreds to safety as the lower city burned.
She’d even been approached by people wishing her to bless them.
She did her best to explain she was no Spirit of Light, but an ordinary messenger.
It did not, however, seem to discourage them.
Fortunately, no one recognized her when she went into the city in civilian clothes.
She heaved a long sigh, determined to keep chipping away at the Rider accounts, and gods be damned, she would not stop until she restored the mess to perfect order even if all the denizens of Blackveil fell upon her.
Ghost Kitty reached out to paw the inkpot.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She grabbed it, and he retracted his paw to lick it as if that had been his intention all along. “You are not a help.”
He ignored her and jumped to the floor with a thump and left, rubbing his side against the doorframe on his way out.
Her chair creaked as she sat back and massaged the nape of her neck.
She’d been hovering over the books too long and needed a break.
She was considering whether to make another pot of tea when a Green Foot runner appeared in her doorway.
“Captain Connly asks you to come to the throne room,” the boy said.
“Isn’t this the day of the king’s public audience?”
“Aye, ma’am. Captain says not to waste time.”
What now?
As directed by her captain, she did not “waste time,” but hastened from her quarters in the Rider wing to the throne room.
The guards let her pass without a challenge.
The throne room was long with high, narrow windows.
Shafts of late afternoon daylight from the west side fell upon clusters of courtiers and citizens seeking their king’s counsel.
The chamber was not nearly as crowded as it would have been earlier in the day, so she slipped easily to near the front to see what was going on.
Zachary sat upon his throne chair looking pensive.
The queen’s throne was vacant, and Karigan idly wondered where Estora was.
Castellan Javien stood near the thrones reading through a document.
A tense silence emanated from Zachary, and onlookers who stood around her murmured and shifted restlessly.
“This document is in order, Your Majesty,” the castellan said.
“Of course it’s in order,” said another man, who stepped forward.
She groaned inwardly. Edwin Turval. He had called her bluff and taken his case before the king to force the issue of her marriage to his son. She then picked out Clare and Vernas among those in the very front.
Connly, who had stood near the dais as an adviser, or at least a Green Rider presence for those who’d been accustomed to seeing Colonel Mapstone, spotted her and made his way toward her. When he reached her, he asked in a quiet voice, “Do you know these people?”
“They showed up at my father’s office a couple days ago,” she replied.
“It’s all very lawful,” Edwin was telling Zachary, “and Sutton G’ladheon is the head of the family.”
Connly shook his head. “You find more trouble than a cat,” he told her.
She flashed back to Ghost Kitty reaching for her inkpot. “Not nearly, and I didn’t go looking for it. It found me.”
“Either way,” he replied, “I have never known anyone who attracts more trouble than one person ought to.”
He had no idea.
Zachary sat as stonily still and quiet as one of his Weapons, observing the proceedings.
He looked regal and forbidding in his royal cloak and fillet, though little of his thoughts could be divined from his expression.
She was not worried that he’d relent to the wishes of the Turvals and release her from the Riders so she could marry.
No, she was more interested in how he would reject their claim.
“You do know that Rider G’ladheon serves at the king’s pleasure,” Counselor Tallman told Edwin.
“We discussed it,” he replied. “If His Majesty won’t release her, then Vernas will live here with her until such time as her duty is done.”
A clever response, she thought, but unlikely to sway Zachary.
Zachary subtly shifted his gaze to her. Somehow, he’d been aware of her arrival and picked her out of the crowd. “That is an interesting solution,” he said, “fulfilling the needs of her service to the crown as well as to her new husband.”
What? Karigan screamed inside.
Edwin beamed in triumph.
Zachary’s gaze shifted back to Edwin. “However, I will not allow the scheme to proceed without her consent, or that of her father and her other family.”
There was a pause in which everyone in the chamber stilled themselves as if to work out his meaning.
“Other family?” Edwin asked, voicing the question that must be on the tips of their tongues.
“Yes. My understanding is that Stevic G’ladheon broke with his father long ago and does not recognize him as a member of the clan, and therefore does not answer to him.
Thus, Sutton G’ladheon is not the head of her family, a clan that does not include the island G’ladheons.
” Before Edwin could sputter a protest, Zachary continued, “As for her other family...”
Oh, no, she thought. He was going to announce it in front of all these people.
Not that her unconventional “adoption” by the royal House of Santanara of the Eletians was a secret for it had been impossible to contain, but it was not widely known and she preferred that those who had heard about it weren’t reminded.
“This summer she was adopted into the house of an important family whose head would certainly wish a say in this matter.”
“How can this be?” Edwin demanded. “Who is this man who claims her?”
Karigan braced herself, but Zachary simply replied, “He is beyond your reach.”
“Beyond my reach? But Your Majesty, you are the highest lord of the land. If I can speak to you here on this day, how can any other man be beyond my reach?”
“Because he is in Eletia.”
Karigan wished she could see Edwin’s face. Murmuring erupted around her. The story of her being named a scion of the House of Santanara was perhaps not as well-known as she had thought.
Edwin asked, “How is that even possible? Eletia is legend. Those people no longer exist.”
Surprise briefly flitted across Zachary’s features.
“Are you calling your king a liar?” Castellan Javien demanded in a deceptively mild tone.
Edwin bowed. “N-no, of course not. But...Eletians? Surely bedtime tales for children.”
Karigan was so accustomed to the idea of Eletians back in the world, had even visited Eletia, that she had forgotten their return was relatively recent and that more isolated regions, like Black Island, might not have heard the news.
“They have always been here,” Zachary said, “even before our own folk, and they were our allies during the Long War. They never left the world, though they kept to themselves. We all thought they had vanished for good, but now we know that is not the case. They are our allies once more as we face the resurgence of Mornhavon the Black, and Karigan G’ladheon is an important link in that alliance, for she has been formally adopted into Eletia’s ruling house.
Behold, Lady Winterlight of the House of Santanara. ”
There it was, the pronouncement before all these people, and it could not be taken back, forgotten, or denied.
Heat rose up from her collar into her face as everyone followed the king’s gaze and stared, parting a little so that she stood alone in a clearing.
Courtiers gave her reassessing glances—some rather cold and calculating—and murmured among themselves, the cogs and wheels of political machinations no doubt whirring in their brains.
The common folk present for the audience looked over one another’s shoulders to see the oddity of a Sacoridian Eletian. One or two bowed or curtsied to her.
Dear gods, she thought. Nothing would ever be the same again. Lady Winterlight would now be too well known.
As for the Turvals, they gaped at her. Edwin turned to Zachary. “Is this lawful?”
Zachary stared down at him. “It is not for Us to judge what is lawful in the land of Our ally, but We respect their judgment. We suggest, Master Turval, that you return to your island and find another, more suitable match for your son, and do not broach this matter with Us again.”
Castellan Javien tapped his staff on the floor. “You are dismissed.”
Edwin hastily bowed and backed away from the throne. He drew his wife and son away with him. The expression on his face was unreadable as he took one last look at her. And just like that, the issue of a marriage contract with the Turvals was dropped.
Connly shook his head beside her. “Like a cat,” he muttered; then he returned to his place beside the king’s dais.
She was about to leave when she overheard the next petitioner say, “—attacked by dragons.”
Many in the throne room laughed, but not Zachary. “You are certain these were dragons?” he asked.
“A survivor was brought to Lord Arey,” the man replied.
The throne room hushed. Karigan knew Zachary would not want to cause panic among the people, so he would handle the topic of dragons with delicacy.
“The waters off Arey can be treacherous,” he said, “and many ships have met their demise there. Might this sailor, in the terror of his ship breaking up, have imagined seeing a dragon caused the wreck?”
It was a moment before Lord Arey’s messenger spoke again. “It is not the first such incident that has been reported, my lord. The survivor is credible. In any case, I’ve Lord Arey’s letter for you.”
Javien accepted the letter and presented it to Zachary. Zachary did not open it. “Please refresh yourself in our kitchens,” he told the messenger, “and await a response.”
The man bowed and strode from the throne room.
It was time for Karigan to leave, as well. However, if she thought the topic of dragons would make people forget what was said of her Eletian status, she was to be mistaken.
As she turned to leave the throne room, people stared curiously at her. One gentleman intercepted her.
“My lady,” he said with a bow. “I am Lord—”
“I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “I must return to duty.” She hurried out of the throne room and did not look back.
Titles were trouble. They brought unwanted attention and responsibility, and in the case of Dama Cearing Asai’riel, the Lady Winterlight, the weight of unknown intentions.
The reason for Crown Prince Jametari adopting her into the House of Santanara was a mystery not only to her, but to the Eletians themselves, as well, which was worrisome.
Eletians liked to play games and Jametari, her adoptive brother, was a master.
When she returned to her chamber, she thought to settle back into working on Rider accounts.
Though it was a wearisome chore, numbers held some comfort for her.
They could be puzzling and frustrating, but they did not lie, were not subtle, and were not likely to meddle in her life or confer unwanted titles upon her.
But quiet accounting was not to be. No sooner had she sat down than another Green Foot runner appeared at her door.
“What now?” she muttered.
The boy bowed. “Rider Lady Winterlight,” he said, “Her Majesty the Queen has sent me with this.” The boy held out an envelope addressed to Lady Winterlight in gracefully written and shimmering gold ink.
Uh oh, she thought. More trouble.