Mirror Sight
Page 252
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Master Goodgrave, meanwhile, left them so he could bark orders at his workers as the last piece of scaffolding came down. “Move along, Harland, I have no use for laggards.”
Karigan stepped back, stunned. For a moment she thought he’d said “Harlowe.”
Cade, Cade, Cade . . .
She had not allowed herself to wonder if, in the future reshaped by her coming home, Cade would still exist. She tried to ignore it, but whether he existed in the future or not, it felt to her like he had died. Maybe she should just let his memory go and forget the little she remembered of him, like so many other details. But no, he was not just a detail. He had been important to her. She was sure she had loved him. She hoped he would exist in the future, that she had not ruined that possibility, and that his world would be a better place than the one she had left.
“I asked you here not just to see the glass,” Captain Mapstone said, “but to give you this.”
“This” was a sheaf of papers, and with a glance Karigan realized it was the transcript of her notes. As she looked through the pages, she found an addendum of the captain’s own memory of what Karigan had told her and the king about her experiences.
“I know you’ve been having a hard time with recall,” the captain said, “so I wanted to make sure you had this to refer to. It isn’t quite fair to go through what you did and not remember it.”
“Thank you,” Karigan replied. “There are people I met, and even if their futures have changed, and they never exist now, they still deserve to be remembered.”
The captain nodded. “Yes, and in that way they are given life. Speaking of which, now that the storm has died down, I am sending Ty with the news of your return to your father. If you would like to add a note, which I recommend, you should have it ready by early tomorrow morning.”
“I will.”
“Good. If you need to talk about anything at all, you know you may speak freely to me. I know you left behind people important to you in that future. Also, what has happened to your eye, it can’t be easy.”
“I would like to set up sessions with Drent,” Karigan replied.
The captain showed her surprise. “So soon?”
“I have got to learn to fight with this.” She touched the bandage over her eye. She did not add that the physical exertion would help her cope with the rest.
“Very well, I’ll inform Drent. But remember, Karigan, you do not have to carry everything alone. Your Rider family will help.”
• • •
As much as Karigan knew her Rider family would help, she spent the rest of the afternoon in the solitude of her room away from the new Riders who stared at her and whispered behind her back. It was difficult being looked upon as strange, and as a stranger, by her own. They’d no doubt heard stories about her past adventures that made her seem even more outlandish. Other. They would, Mara reassured her, get over it with time.
Karigan read through the transcript. It was disjointed, sometimes providing only the name of a person or place. Dakrias had given her a fresh pile of paper, pen, and ink, and now she made notes on her notes, adding more if she saw a flash of a face, or recalled even the most innocuous of details. Bad air, she remembered. The air had been bad in Mill City.
There was mention of time, one of the most valuable pieces of information she had recalled. If events continued in a certain way, they had roughly two years to deal with Amberhill to prevent the fall of Sacoridia and the rise of the Serpentine Empire. Would her coming home already have altered the timeline, or would it march on largely unchanged, the fall of Sacoridia inevitable? How would the king and his advisors use the information she had brought them?
She did not have the answers, and for once was relieved to let others take responsibility for them. At least for now.
She continued looking over the transcript, lingering on names. Sadly, she could barely remember the people except for what was written: Mirriam, head housekeeper. Lorine, former slave and maid. Professor Josston—uncle?
Then there was Cade. She had the briefest of flashes, and they were like smoke, impossible to grasp and hold onto. She wrote his name in big letters across a sheet of paper. She had his name. At least she had that much.
She set aside her notes and began her letter to her father and aunts. A brief “everything is fine” would not pass muster, not this time. She started and stopped, started and stopped. How did one explain to a worried parent about Blackveil and the future? How was she supposed to break it to her father she wasn’t dead? Such news would bring its own shock.
Dear Father,
Contrary to what you may have heard, I am alive and well.
• • •
Then what?
She welcomed the interruption of a knock on her door.
“Come in,” she called, and pushed away from her vanity, which had served as a desk. Garth, apparently, was still searching for a suitable desk for her.
She had expected a Rider, but the man in her doorway was not that. She stood and bowed. “Your Majesty.”
He took one hesitant step into her room. A pair of Weapons lingered in the corridor.
“Hello, Karigan.” Not Rider G’ladheon, not Sir Karigan.
To her, his face had grown more careworn. She now saw a scar across his eyebrow. Mara said he’d led forays against Second Empire. He was more careful in his movements, and thinner than she recalled. The assassin’s arrow with its poison had taken its toll on him.
His near death, his marriage to Estora . . . Karigan did not know how she would have handled it all had she been here and not in Blackveil. Perhaps the gods dealt in backward mercies after all.
Karigan stepped back, stunned. For a moment she thought he’d said “Harlowe.”
Cade, Cade, Cade . . .
She had not allowed herself to wonder if, in the future reshaped by her coming home, Cade would still exist. She tried to ignore it, but whether he existed in the future or not, it felt to her like he had died. Maybe she should just let his memory go and forget the little she remembered of him, like so many other details. But no, he was not just a detail. He had been important to her. She was sure she had loved him. She hoped he would exist in the future, that she had not ruined that possibility, and that his world would be a better place than the one she had left.
“I asked you here not just to see the glass,” Captain Mapstone said, “but to give you this.”
“This” was a sheaf of papers, and with a glance Karigan realized it was the transcript of her notes. As she looked through the pages, she found an addendum of the captain’s own memory of what Karigan had told her and the king about her experiences.
“I know you’ve been having a hard time with recall,” the captain said, “so I wanted to make sure you had this to refer to. It isn’t quite fair to go through what you did and not remember it.”
“Thank you,” Karigan replied. “There are people I met, and even if their futures have changed, and they never exist now, they still deserve to be remembered.”
The captain nodded. “Yes, and in that way they are given life. Speaking of which, now that the storm has died down, I am sending Ty with the news of your return to your father. If you would like to add a note, which I recommend, you should have it ready by early tomorrow morning.”
“I will.”
“Good. If you need to talk about anything at all, you know you may speak freely to me. I know you left behind people important to you in that future. Also, what has happened to your eye, it can’t be easy.”
“I would like to set up sessions with Drent,” Karigan replied.
The captain showed her surprise. “So soon?”
“I have got to learn to fight with this.” She touched the bandage over her eye. She did not add that the physical exertion would help her cope with the rest.
“Very well, I’ll inform Drent. But remember, Karigan, you do not have to carry everything alone. Your Rider family will help.”
• • •
As much as Karigan knew her Rider family would help, she spent the rest of the afternoon in the solitude of her room away from the new Riders who stared at her and whispered behind her back. It was difficult being looked upon as strange, and as a stranger, by her own. They’d no doubt heard stories about her past adventures that made her seem even more outlandish. Other. They would, Mara reassured her, get over it with time.
Karigan read through the transcript. It was disjointed, sometimes providing only the name of a person or place. Dakrias had given her a fresh pile of paper, pen, and ink, and now she made notes on her notes, adding more if she saw a flash of a face, or recalled even the most innocuous of details. Bad air, she remembered. The air had been bad in Mill City.
There was mention of time, one of the most valuable pieces of information she had recalled. If events continued in a certain way, they had roughly two years to deal with Amberhill to prevent the fall of Sacoridia and the rise of the Serpentine Empire. Would her coming home already have altered the timeline, or would it march on largely unchanged, the fall of Sacoridia inevitable? How would the king and his advisors use the information she had brought them?
She did not have the answers, and for once was relieved to let others take responsibility for them. At least for now.
She continued looking over the transcript, lingering on names. Sadly, she could barely remember the people except for what was written: Mirriam, head housekeeper. Lorine, former slave and maid. Professor Josston—uncle?
Then there was Cade. She had the briefest of flashes, and they were like smoke, impossible to grasp and hold onto. She wrote his name in big letters across a sheet of paper. She had his name. At least she had that much.
She set aside her notes and began her letter to her father and aunts. A brief “everything is fine” would not pass muster, not this time. She started and stopped, started and stopped. How did one explain to a worried parent about Blackveil and the future? How was she supposed to break it to her father she wasn’t dead? Such news would bring its own shock.
Dear Father,
Contrary to what you may have heard, I am alive and well.
• • •
Then what?
She welcomed the interruption of a knock on her door.
“Come in,” she called, and pushed away from her vanity, which had served as a desk. Garth, apparently, was still searching for a suitable desk for her.
She had expected a Rider, but the man in her doorway was not that. She stood and bowed. “Your Majesty.”
He took one hesitant step into her room. A pair of Weapons lingered in the corridor.
“Hello, Karigan.” Not Rider G’ladheon, not Sir Karigan.
To her, his face had grown more careworn. She now saw a scar across his eyebrow. Mara said he’d led forays against Second Empire. He was more careful in his movements, and thinner than she recalled. The assassin’s arrow with its poison had taken its toll on him.
His near death, his marriage to Estora . . . Karigan did not know how she would have handled it all had she been here and not in Blackveil. Perhaps the gods dealt in backward mercies after all.
