Touchstone
S torm grunted as Karigan curried his hindquarters and raised a cloud of dust and dander, most of which ended up on her work tunic and breeches.
She smiled at how he stretched his neck and wiggled his lips to express his pleasure.
Even big and mighty warhorses enjoyed a good scrub with the curry comb.
“Oh, he’s liking that.”
Karigan peered around Storm’s rump to discover Zachary patting the stallion’s neck. She stopped what she was doing to step aside and bow. “Your Majesty.”
He nodded in return. “My lady.” He ran his hand down Storm’s front leg and said, “Hoof.”
Storm lifted his massive hoof, and Zachary caught hold of it to examen its condition. Apparently pleased, he released it and it clunked to the cobbled floor.
“Storm and the others are doing very well,” she said.
“So I have heard. I should punish you more often.”
“Uh...”
“I wanted to see how you were getting on,” he said. “I know your life has been rather full of late.”
She resumed currying. “To be honest, this punishment has been a balm. Your horses are so well trained and ready to please. They don’t complain, they don’t have ulterior motives, and they are good company and rather ordinary. Ordinary means a lot to me.”
“I am not surprised,” he said softly.
“The fresh air doesn’t hurt, either.”
He patted Storm’s wither. “I admit I’ve been concerned about you after all you’ve been going through, the passing of your aunt, the issue with the merchants guild, not to mention what happened on Feast of Vendane.
I thought you’d be interested to know that the jail you were held in was inspected and will be closed for renovation and repair.
The warden has been arrested for stealing funds that were allocated for improvement.
Subsequently, he is now imprisoned himself, but in much better conditions.
I am appalled by what I heard of that jail, and to learn how injured you were, and that no one tended to you. I am sorry beyond words.”
“Ben and Mason put me back together,” she said. “I am better.”
“All the same, what you suffered at the hands of the warden’s greed was uncalled for. The other prisoners were quite ill, as well.”
She set the curry comb aside and took up a comb to use on mane and tail. “I’m glad something good came out of my fight at the guild house.”
“And speaking of criminals, you got Croft, who had swindled many good people.”
She worked the comb into the coarse hairs of Storm’s tail. “I didn’t catch him. The men I hired did.”
“You sent them after him,” Zachary said, “and set up the interrogation last night. Winston and Chester were very impressed. I did not know you possessed interrogation skills.”
“I don’t,” she said. “Or, rather, I did not.”
“But you do now?”
She paused. “I had special instruction from Beryl Spencer.”
“Beryl Spencer? How is that even possi—? Oh. My spymasters have been missing her,” he said, “and her particular skills. Having another Rider who can—”
“No.” Then realizing how sharply she’d spoken to her king, she said, “It is not something I would be willing to do again.”
“I understand. It is not pleasant business.”
She parted Storm’s tail into more reasonable strands and resumed combing.
It wasn’t that the interrogation had been unpleasant.
It was that it had held too much allure.
She briefly closed her eyes, remembering the thrill of power she had commanded over Croft.
She feared if she were put into such a position again, the sense of power would seduce her into crossing the line, that she would become a sadist the likes of Nyssa Starling.
Tsk, tsk. Her dark shadow leaned against a nearby stall door. The power IS in you and should be used. And what is wrong with crossing the line when it involves someone who deserves it? Croft deserved it. He deserved so much more.
Karigan forced the comb through a snarl. Fortunately Storm did not react. She hated her shadow, wished her away, but could not be rid of her.
“Your ongoing punishment here at the royal stables,” he said, “and the assistance you provided the constabulary in regard to Croft, may help you in your court case, either by exonerating you or reducing any sentence, but it is never certain, and I cannot...interfere. Not directly, at least.”
“I understand,” she replied.
“I mean I could—”
“No, please, I don’t expect special treatment. I brought this situation down on myself, which means I need to deal with it myself.”
“I know, but Karigan, you need not face everything alone. Remember, the Riders stand behind you, as do I.”
“Thank you. That is—it’s reassuring.”
An uneasy silence fell between them and she attacked Storm’s tail with intensity.
“I have been so occupied of late,” Zachary said, “with war planning and negotiating with the lord-governors and our other allies that I have not had a chance to seek you out, to see how you are faring, and, frankly, just to see you.”
He was almost shy and boyish with the last, and her cheeks warmed.
The big snarl in Storm’s tail came loose in a clump that drifted to the floor.
She glanced up at Zachary. He’d stepped closer, his hand resting on Storm’s back.
She recalled his hands on her, and now that heat rushed through the rest of her.
He looked down and chuckled. “Last time we were alone together, that dog of mine...”
She focused on pulling the comb through Storm’s tail. Had Finder not gotten sick, there wouldn’t have been any turning back for them. It was foolish to play such games, yet it had not seemed like a game at the time. Rather, it had felt spontaneous, pleasurable, natural.
“Karigan,” he said, “Storm is not going to have a tail left if you keep at it like this.”
“What?” She looked down at the floor where tail hairs had floated into a heap. She then took stock of those caught in the comb. “Oh! I guess I got overly enthusiastic.”
He gazed at her with a slight cant to his head as she picked hairs out of the comb. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, “about the beautiful horse I saw you riding the other day. It wasn’t Storm.”
She stilled. “You saw him?”
“Yes. I happened to look out the window on the parade grounds. His coloring was unusual. He was hard to miss. Whose is he?”
She glanced around Storm to ensure no one else was within hearing range. The Weapons keeping watch at a distance did not matter. Even so, she kept her voice low when she answered. “I was surprised you saw us because no one else seemed to, but then you’ve seen the avatar ride Salvistar.”
“I have.”
She gazed at him straight on. “The stallion’s name is Valstarian. He is the son of Salvistar.”
“Salvistar’s son,” he murmured.
She nodded. “His dam is a spirit guide of a sort named Seastaria.”
At first he seemed too stunned to speak. Then, “Does this mean he is Westrion’s steed now and you are still the avatar?”
“I’m not quite sure,” she said. “He was here that day in a stall, and I thought he was one of yours. It became clear after my ride that he was not. It seems he’s been visiting around Rider stables on occasion.
As far as I know, Darys is the only one to have actually seen him. That is, until the other day.”
“Darys—Hep’s nephew?”
“Yes.” She was impressed he was able to remember the names of the least of his servants. Most in his position would not even bother. It was one of the reasons she loved him.
He bent down and collected strands of Storm’s tail hair. The big horse’s head hung low, his eyelids drooping, and he snored. Zachary twined the tail hairs between his fingers. At first he could not seem to look at her.
“I do not know how you bear it all,” he said at last. “Being avatar. Everything.”
“I do not know how you bear all you do as king,” she countered.
“I was trained to rule my whole life. It is something I know well, and I expected the burdens I carry. It is not nearly as extraordinary as being called upon by the god of death to be his avatar.”
She sighed wearily. “I may not be handling any of it as well as I could be, considering I snapped at the guild house.”
He caressed her cheek. “I am sorry. I am sorry so much is asked of you, and if there is any way I can lighten the burden, I will do it. For starters, I will ensure the captain keeps you on light duty until you have a chance to regain your footing.”
It was, perhaps, an indication of her state of mind that she did not argue.
“I am afraid, however,” he continued, “soon enough we will all be burdened with defending the free lands.” He glanced at her hand that held the comb. “I am pleased you still wear the bracelet I made for you. If it frays, I now have a new supply of tail hairs with which to fix it.”
She glanced at the bracelet on her wrist braided of the combined hair from Condor and Storm. She smiled.
He leaned forward as though to kiss her, but at that moment, Storm lifted his tail to expel the digested contents of his stomach. They jumped apart just in time to avoid a steaming mass of manure landing on their feet.
She could not help but laugh. It was not as dramatic as Finder’s illness, but amazing timing.
“Oh, Storm,” Zachary said, shaking his head. “Shall we try again?”
But their moment was broken by the return of Dix from his tea break. “Your Majesty! Is there something I may do for you?”
“I simply came to see how Rider G’ladheon was getting on with the horses.”
“Just grand,” Dix said. “Wish I had more like her.”
“One Rider G’ladheon may be more than we can handle.”
I am more than I can handle, Karigan thought.
“Well, if that is all, sire, you might want to know I saw Finder digging up something disagreeable in the paddock and eating it, along with some frozen manure.”
“Oh, dear gods,” Zachary said. “Not again. Terriers! ” To Karigan he said, “We will talk more later.” And then he strode down the aisle and out the door to the paddock. “Finder!”
Karigan led Storm back to his stall, reviewing her conversation with Zachary.
Much had been piling up on her shoulders.
Much that was not normal. It pleased her that he acknowledged it.
It would not resolve the pressure she was under, but it helped tremendously to speak of it with someone who understood.
· · ·
When she returned to the Rider wing, the common room was packed with boisterous Riders playing games and laughing and singing. She was not in the mood for it and sought sanctuary in the quiet of her own bed chamber.
She stoked the coals on her hearth to a blaze, but it did little to warm or brighten her chamber.
She thought to read a book, one her aunts had sent her as a Night of Aeryc gift.
It was a memoir by Vann Hampden called, My Journey to the Northern Ice.
Considering the storm, perhaps reading about snow and ice and freezing cold was not what she needed just now.
When she lifted the book to replace it on its shelf, a slip of paper fell out from between the pages and fluttered to her desk.
She unfolded the paper. It was a note her aunts sent with the gift, wishing her a happy Night of Aeryc with their love, signed by each of them.
The body of the note had been written in Aunt Stace’s hand.
She traced over the words as if touching something of the living woman.
Her handwriting was as distinct as her voice or the wave in her hair.
How could she be gone? Grief welled inside Karigan again and the ink blurred in her vision.
She had been little when her mother died, and while the thought of it brought sorrow, it was not so much about who her mother had been—Karigan did not remember much about her. No, it was more about what might have been had Kariny lived. It was a more abstract form of grief.
Aunt Stace she had known her whole life and her loss was as solid as the castle walls falling in on her.
Normally she would not think much about a simple note, but now it was more, a touchstone that brought back the living, breathing woman, her voice captured in writing.
Karigan would never receive another note written by Aunt Stace again for she was gone.
Karigan reverently refolded the paper and placed it in the book for safekeeping.
She wiped tears away, suddenly feeling she could not stand to remain in her chamber any longer. She fled the dark, quiet, cold for the world without.