First Rider's Call
Page 175

Karigan did not hear this last, because she was struck all at once at how eerily opposite, yet alike, their situations were. Estora was constrained by her status as a noble, destined—in servitude to her clan and country—to a noble marriage she did not desire. Karigan served her clan and country as well, but was bound to do so as a messenger, and a commoner.
Estora’s love of F’ryan, a commoner, was forbidden, and any aspirations Karigan might hold for one who was of the lineage of the high kings of Sacoridia, was likewise forbidden.
They were both trapped, neither free.
Karigan could not scream at Estora, nor could she find words of comfort. She stammered an excuse and hurried away, the gardens blurring in her vision. None of it mattered. She had known all along King Zachary could not be for the likes of her.
I am so stupid.
And in her disappointment, more disappointment than she could have ever imagined, she grew angry and turned it inside.
Emotions stormed within her as she strode down castle corridors, but she allowed none to surface. Lil Ambrioth had shared her love with King Jonaeus, but he had not been royalty when he started out in life, just a brave clansman whose decisions in war earned him the trust of people, enough so that they made him their first high king and united behind his banner. And had Lil truly shared a life as his partner, or did she die prematurely?
Karigan let go a rattling sigh as she turned a corner toward the Rider wing. This was all for the best, wasn’t it? Not just the political reasons, but for Karigan herself. It cut short any girlish notions she might entertain. This was the real world, and now she’d just have to throw herself into her work and drive King Zachary out of her mind.
Only, it wasn’t going to be that easy.
She threw open the door to her chamber, halting just inside. She stood there, unsure of what to do. She wanted to be alone, to work this all out in private, but she’d go mad in the tiny room. She needed to do something, to work it out actively.
“Riding,” she said. She’d go riding into the countryside where she could be both alone, and be doing something physical. It would make Condor happy, too.
“At least someone should be happy,” she murmured.
She was about to leave when she spotted something different in her room, the sun slanting through the narrow window and shining on objects on her washstand. Cradled in an open coffer in deep, luxurious purple velvet, lay a silver comb, brush, and mirror.
She crossed the room and carefully took the mirror into her hands. Reflected light glared into her eyes until she tilted it away from the sunshine. It was a dainty thing, light to hold. A hummingbird poised at a flower ornamented the mirror’s back, and so did her initials, just as her mother’s mirror had been engraved.
She traced the hummingbird with trembling fingers, feeling as she had not in a very long time, like a young woman who had no need of swords or uniforms, or any special duty. Just free to be herself, to be as she should have been, without worldly cares. And she felt . . . she felt feminine. How long had it been since she had worn a dress, or even jewelry?
She couldn’t take her eyes off the mirror and its fine workmanship, wondering where it had come from, and who would have known of the loss of her mother’s mirror. She searched for the maker’s mark and found it easily enough. Her cheeks flamed. The mirror nearly slipped from her fingers.
The royal silversmith.
Stamped above the maker’s mark was a Hillander terrier.
She found him on the castle roof. The dome of his observatory had been opened like a clam shell, one half of which moved on hinges and ran on some mechanism of tiny wheels and tracks.
King Zachary straightened from the eyepiece of his telescope at her approach, his features registering surprise. Her step faltered upon seeing him.
“Karigan? How did you know where to find me?”
“Fastion.”
“Of course.” He stepped around the telescope toward her, his gaze roving to the coffer tucked beneath her arm, his eyes full of questions.
She wondered if she had made a colossal mistake by coming to confront him in person, for her resolve melted beneath his gaze. She knew that the extraordinary gift he had given her was not a simple one, but an expression of . . . his feelings. To what depth those feelings went, she was unsure. A part of her wanted to know, another part did not.
The gift, in fact, had proved more upsetting than even Estora’s announcement earlier in the day. If this was indeed a true expression of his feelings, what was she supposed to do about it? How was she supposed to respond? Even after a hard ride in the country, she had found no answers, only a swirl of emotions that grew more and more intense till it hardened into anger. How dare he, she had wondered, bestow upon her such an intimate gift even as he planned his betrothal to Lady Estora?
“They’re exquisite, but I cannot accept this gift.”
“I wanted you to have them,” he said, his disappointment obvious.
“They’re too great a gift.”
“I heard your own very special set had been destroyed in the fire.”
Karigan wondered from whom he had heard about it. Several Riders had lost special things, and yet the king singled her out, only reinforcing what she thought the gift meant.
“There is someone else more fitting to receive these.” She held out the coffer, and he gazed at it for some moments before reluctantly reaching for it.
“It’s a queen’s gift,” Karigan said. “Not a gift fit for a common messenger.”
“Karigan G’ladheon, I gave this gift to you.” His voice was firm. “And you are anything but common. You are special to me.”