THE KING’S VISION
Karigan wearily ascended the steps that led out of
the ballroom. On her way out, she had paused only to sample a few
of the oysters chilling in the hull of the sloop and found them as
fresh as if she were on the docks of Corsa. How that was managed,
considering the miles between Sacor City and the nearest shoreline,
she did not know.
In any case, they
had revived her spirits a little after her disturbing experience
with the looking mask, and the disappointment of not having been
able to reveal herself to King Zachary. She would not have such a
chance again before leaving for Blackveil. Perhaps never
again.
When she reached the
top landing, she stopped and turned to take in one last view of the
masquerade ball. It seemed just the same as when she arrived, the
dancers flowing around the ballroom floor; the music, conversation,
and laughter drifting up to her. The colors, the light, the
motion.
It was a pretty
picture, Karigan thought, but surreal. A gilded dream she was not a
part of. Never would be. Did not, she decided, want to be. Riding
Condor through the woods, feeling the surge of his powerful muscles
as he galloped, the rhythm of hoofbeats, and the wind against her
face—the freedom of the ride—that was real; free of masks and all
they implied, the only dance she required.
She turned away
thinking of the comfort of her own chamber, and maybe a cup of tea,
when a scream stopped her short. She whipped around, jangling the
bells of her crown. Down below a man in red charged the king, a
dagger flashing in his hand.
It took a moment for
Karigan’s mind to digest what was happening. An assassin! “No!” she
cried.
The scene turned
into a knot of chaos. Before the man reached the king, Weapons in
black converged on him, guests in colorful finery falling away.
Dancers collided into one another in the confusion. Some ladies
fainted. Shouts and more screaming rose above discordant music, the
conductor doggedly directing his musicians as if to get through
whatever calamity had befallen the ball, his musicians desperately
trying to keep up with him.
The assassin
struggled in the vortex of Weapons, his shouts rising above the
clamor. “You killed him! My father! He died in exile. I have no
land, no title, nothing!” It was followed by more Karigan could not
make out.
King Zachary put a
protective arm around Lady Estora and hurried her past the melee
and toward the stairs. Several Weapons broke off from the main knot
to accompany them. As they launched up the stairs, Karigan moved
into a niche behind a marble statue of Hiroque of the Clans to
clear the way.
Four Weapons, hands
on the hilts of their swords, preceded King Zachary and Lady
Estora. In the lead was Donal. Somehow he sensed her presence in
the niche and spared her a glance and a nod. To her surprise, he
did not order her to leave.
Does he recognize me? she wondered in amazement.
Even in this costume?
King Zachary and
Lady Estora followed more slowly.
“—disagreed with the
exile of his father, of course,” King Zachary was saying. “And
apparently exile disagreed with Hedric D’Ivary. I assume from his
son’s accusation the old man did not survive life in the
north.”
“It’s not your
fault,” Lady Estora said.
“I put him
there.”
“With the agreement
of all the other lord-governors. That man was cruel to those border
folk. Instead of offering them refuge, he allowed them to be
subject to rape, murder, slavery ... even the
children.”
Karigan was not sure
she had ever heard such passion from Estora, and it appeared the
king had not, either, for he paused on the landing with an
expression of surprise.
“You acted justly.”
Estora’s tone of conviction brooked no argument, and none was
forthcoming. She turned to take in the commotion below, just as
Karigan had only moments earlier. The king also looked, and Karigan
held her breath hoping to remain unnoticed.
“You never did tell
me,” Lady Estora said in a much quieter voice.
“Tell you
what?”
“What you saw in the
looking mask. What you really
saw.”
“Nothing,” he
replied, but even from where Karigan was standing, she could see
the lines of tension on his face.
“Please do not be
dishonest with me,” Estora said. “It would not be a good way to
commence our lives together, hiding things before we’re even
married. I have been very honest with you, after all.”
“Very well,” the
king replied. “I just did not want to cause you concern.” He
hesitated, but Lady Estora’s gaze on him was unflinching. “I saw
arrows in flight. Many arrows.”
“Arrows? What
does—”
“I do not know what
it means,” he said. “Though I cannot think it bodes well. Shall we
continue on? I imagine the ball is going to break up now and I’d
rather not be detained by those needing to ask a hundred senseless
questions.”
They set off down
the corridor, leaving Karigan feeling stunned and wondering if
she’d paled as much as Estora had at the king’s
answer.
Arrows. He’d seen
arrows. She had also seen arrows. What did it mean? What did it
portend?
Three more Weapons
filed by and a fourth paused on the landing and peered at her. It
was Fastion. She stepped out from behind the statue.
“You should return
to the Rider wing,” he said. “It appears the ball is
over.”
“But ... but the
assassin!”
“He is in hand and
all is well.”
“But—”
“Do not worry,”
Fastion said. “We may be Weapons, but we are foremost shields. We
defend the king with all our skills and will die for him if
necessary.”
Karigan shuddered.
Strangely, however, she was more shaken by what King Zachary said
he’d seen in the looking mask than by the assassination
attempt.
Fastion glanced over
his shoulder. “Other guests are now leaving.”
The guests in their
masks and finery mounted the stairs, their voices shrill and
laughter nervous. Fastion set off down the corridor and Karigan
hurried to catch up.
“Fastion,” she said.
“How is it you and Donal recognized me in my costume?”
“You were the most
out of place, out of your element.”
That was the truth,
she thought.
“We are also well
acquainted with the way you move.”
“Oh,” she replied,
taken aback.
“We would not have
permitted you on the balcony with the king if we didn’t recognize
you,” Fastion added.
“What? You—” But
Fastion turned down another corridor, going his own way without
another word.
Why would they have
allowed even her? No, she did not want to think about it. Weapons
had their ways and reasons, and she was an honorary member of their
corps. That had to be it, nothing more.
She struck off for
the Rider wing.
“Why’s she so glum?”
The chair creaked beneath Garth’s weight as he sat down. “She looks
like she lost her best stallion—er—friend.”
Why, Karigan
wondered, did it seem everyone but her had seen the play
Mad Queen Oddacious? Currently she sat
in the common room of the Rider wing, still in costume, although
the mask, fan, and crowned wig were on the table in front of her.
Garth, wet and muddy from the road, had only just arrived from his
latest errand. Yates and Tegan had just heard her rather spare
account of the masquerade ball. She’d left out certain details,
like her visions in the mask and her encounter with Lord Amberhill.
Maybe she’d tell Mara later if they had a moment
alone.
“She didn’t lose her
best friend,” Yates said. “She’s just mad that this time she wasn’t
the one who got to save the king.”
Karigan rolled her
eyes.
“Save the king?”
Garth demanded. “Something happen while I was gone? Is that why the
guards harassed and challenged me all the way across castle
grounds?”
Karigan was obliged
to recite, once again, her account of the assassination
attempt.
“Huh,” Garth said.
“A king is apt to make enemies. Those D’Ivarys were a bad bunch,
abusing people the way they did.”
“Those D’Ivarys,” Tegan emphasized. “The current
lord-governor is not of that ilk. Anyway the Weapons kept the king
safe, which is their job, and his reign goes on.”
Karigan wished she
could be that calm about it. She knew the attack had been clumsy
and the assassin didn’t have a chance with all those Weapons to
protect the king, but what if circumstances had been
different?
And Garth was
right—a king was apt to make enemies. There would be other attempts
on the king’s life and there was not a single thing she could do
about it. If it came down to it, she would not hesitate to give her
life for his, and not just because he was her sovereign and what it
would mean for the country.
I am hopeless, she thought.
“Queen Oddacious
looks ready to retire for the night,” Yates said.
Karigan yawned and
stood. “She already has.”
She left the common
room for her own chamber. On her bed she found Ghost Kitty waiting
for her, belly up and purring. It was with much relief that minutes
later she was in her nightclothes and joined him.
That was an eventful end to the
evening, Amberhill thought as he stepped outside of the
castle’s main entrance.
The assassin hadn’t
even gotten close to Zachary before the Weapons were on him like a
cloud of wasps. He’d seen the young man earlier and wondered about
his nervousness. Now he knew.
Several carriages
were picking up ladies and gentlemen as they filed out of the
castle and down the stairs to the drive. The usual complement of
guards at the door was doubled, and they were not permitting anyone
back inside.
Amberhill shrugged
and espying his own carriage pulling up, set off down the stairs,
finally removing his mask when he reached the bottom. The carriage
door swung open and inside Yap awaited him, looking bleary-eyed, as
though he’d had a good long nap.
“Ready to go home,
sir?”
Amberhill stepped up
into the carriage and sat across from Yap. “It will be home no
longer,” he said. His ring had been quiet during the ball, but now
he felt it pulling on him.
“Sir?”
“The ocean, Mister
Yap. That is where we are bound.”
Yap grinned. “Aye,
sir!”