The Queen’s Solar
R ider Tegan Oldbrine paused in Karigan’s doorway. “Did I just see a Green Foot runner stop by?”
Karigan looked up from the envelope. “Something from the queen.”
Tegan stepped into her chamber. “Pardon my curiosity, but what is it?”
Whereas Tegan was eager, Karigan was filled with dread.
She guessed it was an invitation to one event or another.
She had received others to teas, suppers, concerts, and a variety of entertainments, all of which she had declined.
She’d little interest in gathering socially with those of noble status.
Just from the envelope and its gold ink, it looked like something much grander than those that had preceded it.
“Well?” Tegan persisted.
The gold feather brooch that indicated Tegan’s rank as Chief Rider glinted against the green of her shortcoat. Karigan had worn it for a brief time before Connly had demoted her.
She opened the envelope. More gold ink curved and looped in graceful script and gleamed in the light.
“What does it say?” Tegan asked.
Karigan quickly scanned it. “It’s an invitation from the queen to the harvest ball on Feast of Vendane.” Vendane was the god of harvests.
“Ooh,” Tegan said, practically bouncing. “Is it a masquerade?”
“No.”
“Darn,” Tegan said. “No Queen Oddacious this time, I guess. I do know some excellent dressmakers if you are in need of a gown, though.”
Karigan raised an eyebrow at her friend.
“Fine, fine, but just you wait. You’ll come looking for me sooner or later. Tell me at least that there’s going to be a feast at this ball.”
“I’m not going, so I don’t need a gown,” Karigan replied.
She happened to have other reasons to make the acquaintance of a fine dressmaker in the city and hadn’t needed Tegan’s help.
“As for the feast...” She scanned the invitation.
With this year’s scarcity due to the war with Second Empire and the conflict with the Darrow Raiders, the idea of a traditional Feast of Vendane banquet seemed a little out of step with the reality of everyday folk who must do without.
“Ah,” she said. “Light refreshments.” Which meant they’d likely be generous refreshments, but too modest for the usual feast, which was slightly more sensitive in regard to the general population.
“You’ve got to go,” Tegan said. “It’s the social event of the season. I can do your hair.”
Karigan sighed and dropped the invitation on her desk.
“Thank you, but like I said, I am not going.” The fact it was the social event of the season was enough reason for her to decline the invitation.
She’d been to royal balls before, and her experiences had left something to be desired.
“I’ve much to do between Rider accounts and clan business. ”
“Might do you good to go,” Tegan said, “after all you’ve been through. An evening of fancy dress, dance, and fine libations can do wonders for one’s spirits.”
“I’d much rather have a tooth pulled.”
“Karigan Helgadorf G’ladheon,” Tegan said, and Karigan frowned at the use of her middle name, “Mara is right. You can be awfully crotchety. Several of us Riders would love that kind of invitation and would happily go in your place, if only we could. Well, to each her own.”
“I’m not—” But before Karigan could finish, Tegan was gone.
I’m not crotchety, she thought. But she now felt guilty.
She wished she could send another Rider in her place, but the invitation was for her, and her only.
She sighed and pulled out a fresh piece of paper, pen and ink, and carefully thanked the queen for the invitation, and offered her regrets that she could not attend such a grand occasion.
She then hunted down a Green Foot runner and sent him with her response to the queen.
Satisfied that was out of her way, she returned to her chamber to resume work on Rider accounts. Not half an hour had passed, however, when the runner knocked on her door again.
“The queen requests that you attend her,” he said.
“Now?”
He nodded and told her where she’d find Estora.
One did not disobey a direct summons from the queen and Karigan did not dawdle, but swiftly left the sanctuary of her chamber for Estora’s solar. She assumed Estora had not been pleased by her response to the invitation.
When she reached the entrance to the solar, the Weapon Cori ushered her inside.
The air within was pleasantly humid and smelled of fresh greenery.
Estora was watering what appeared to be herbs.
The entire solar flourished with potted plants great and small, saplings branching toward the ceiling, and ivy climbing columns, and various kinds of vegetation with leaves and blossoms spreading and growing wherever there was floor space.
There was so much greenery it was, in fact, difficult to see from one end of the room to the other.
When war with Second Empire had threatened, Estora ordered the ornamental gardens of the central courtyard converted to vegetable gardens.
Many of the ornamental plants, however, had been preserved.
With ample sunshine pouring through the solar’s windows and Estora’s care, the plants were doing well.
It was a bright and green oasis in the otherwise dismal stone walls of the castle.
“Ah, Karigan,” Estora said, setting her watering can aside. She wore an apron over her dress, and gardening gloves. “Thank you for coming.”
Karigan bowed. Had she a choice? It was the first time she’d been in Estora’s company since the queen’s startling declaration that Karigan and Zachary should be together with her blessing. Recalling that day, Karigan couldn’t help but feel awkward.
Estora tugged off her gloves and removed her apron. “I received your response to my invitation to the harvest ball, and I must say I am disappointed.”
“I am afraid I have been very busy,” Karigan replied.
“So your note said. However, I believe you should reconsider and find the time, for attending would be in your best interest.”
“But—”
Estora raised a finger. “No buts. You must take into consideration your status. You are no longer a common messenger, not even just a knight, but a scion of the king of Eletia. You are a representative of our ancient ally.”
A representative of Eletia? She had not thought of it that way. “But I was not given such a duty. Your Majesty, I do not know what the Eletians are up to by naming me an heir to the House of Santanara, but I don’t think they intended me to represent them in any way.”
“Are you so sure?” Estora countered. “Whether or not it’s what they intended, it is what people are perceiving, and they are anxious to see and get to know you, she who bore the light of the muna’riel and guided so many—hundreds, maybe thousands—to safety when the lower city was burning.”
Karigan twisted a ring around her finger, an emerald birch leaf on a band of white gold given her by Prince Jametari shortly after her “adoption.” This was what she did not want, to be on exhibit.
“I think I understand your reticence,” Estora continued, “but you must know that if you do not take control of the narrative around your situation, your story, someone else will. A certain story about a girl riding naked all the way from Corsa to Darden has been great fodder for many. I understand there are now even some songs. Yes, I know, you were wearing a nightgown, but you see how stories grow and this is but a minor example of what can happen. For all the glittering jewels, the fancy titles, and the gentility of the court, it has a seething underbelly of petty jealousies and grudges, intrigue and social maneuvering that flourishes with gossip and rumors. I tell you as a friend that it is best for you to present yourself as you wish to be seen, rather than have the court invent stories about who and what they think you are.”
“Invent...stories?”
“Oh, yes.” Estora paused to sniff a rose blossom that seemed to have acclimated well to the solar even though it was well past its season. “It is a mainstay of their daily amusement. The more salacious, the better.”
It wasn’t the first time Karigan had been warned about the royal court. It seemed all the more reason to avoid it, although Estora did have a point.
“Do you understand now why I recommend you attend?” Estora asked.
Karigan nodded.
“Good. Now that that’s been said, let us have some refreshment and you can tell me what you’ve been up to of late.
” She tinkled a bell and, at a servant’s arrival, ordered warm sipping chocolate for them both.
“Chocolate has been difficult to find since summer, but I have my own personal supply for the occasional treat.”
She led Karigan through the thick foliage to a pair of chairs and a table beneath an arbor of climbing honeysuckle where they could look out into the courtyard.
The courtyard gardens were all put to rest beneath heaps of autumn leaves.
The first snowfall had not accumulated and so the view was rather dull in browns and rusts.
The real garden, Karigan thought, was in Estora’s solar.
The sipping chocolate was soon served, and Karigan was honored and extremely pleased that Estora shared her own supply with her. It was quite wonderful, but she wondered if there was something else on Estora’s mind than a simple chat and refreshment with a friend.
At Estora’s prompting, Karigan told her all there was to tell about her activities—trying to untangle the Rider accounts and manage the clan’s business, though she did not mention the clan’s troubles.
“I have no doubt your father would be very proud of you,” Estora said.
He might not be very proud, Karigan thought, if, under her watch, the business went under, but she didn’t mention this. Instead, she told Estora about the Turvals.
“What a persistent fellow,” Estora remarked. “And an entirely inappropriate match. I am pleased Zachary sent him on his way.”
Karigan was, too, and she agreed that Edwin had been persistent. In fact, she couldn’t help but think she had not seen the last of the Turvals, no matter Zachary’s admonishment that they leave her alone and return to Black Island.
“How are Prince Davriel and Princess Esmere?” she asked.
Estora’s whole demeanor brightened at Karigan’s mention of her children.
“They are growing before my very eyes.” She launched into stories of spit-ups and smiles and all the things babies did whether they were princes and princesses, or the humblest of commoners.
Karigan was not particularly interested in all the details, but it was worth seeing Estora’s happiness and hearing that the twins were doing well.
“Zachary is already planning on giving each of them a puppy in next spring’s litter,” Estora said with a shake of her head. “They’ll still be too young to understand, but he insists.”
Mention of Zachary’s name seemed to summon a difficult silence between them. Estora gave her a sidelong glance and set her cup down. It appeared she had something to say that had nothing to do with the ball, chocolate, or babies.