Firebrand

“No trouble,” he said. “Not ever.”

She could not meet his gaze, and it was some moments before he released her. It made her feel unsteady in other ways.

“Fastion,” he said, “see that Sir Karigan reaches her quarters without incident and that she takes some time to rest.”

“Yes, sire.”

The king nodded to her in leave-taking, and continued down the corridor. She watched after him for a moment before turning back to Fastion. As a Weapon, he should have ensured the corridor was clear of any impediment to the king. Certainly he would have known she was coming, wouldn’t he?

“Why did you let me bump into the king?” she asked him.

“It is only you, Sir Karigan.”

It was only her? Did he mean he knew she was of no danger to the king? But still . . . She stepped around him and said, “I don’t need an escort.”

“The king has commanded it,” he replied, and he fell in step beside her.

She walked fast, deciding to pay Fastion no heed, but of course he kept pace. When they reached the main hall, she turned to head toward the records room, but Fastion placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her in the opposite direction.

“What are you—”

“You are to return to your quarters,” he said, “as the king wishes.”

“But—”

“The Rider wing, Sir Karigan. All else is disobedience.”

“Granite Face,” she muttered. If he heard, he did not respond.

Grudgingly, she started toward the Rider wing when someone called out to her. She paused, and Estral strode up, gazing first at Fastion before asking her, “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Sir Karigan is always in trouble,” Fastion said, his voice betraying no humor.

“I guess I know that,” Estral said.

Karigan made an aggravated sigh and glared at Fastion. “I am not in trouble.”

“Then you and Weapon Fastion are just out for a walk?”

“He is escorting me to my chamber.”

Estral raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not what you’re thinking!”

“What do you think I’m thinking?”

Karigan scowled and Estral looked like she wanted to laugh.

“For the sake of the gods,” Karigan said in exasperation. “It’s by the king’s order.”

“Are you sure you’re not in trouble, then?”

Karigan strode off. The sooner she reached her chamber, the sooner she’d be rid of her “escort.”

“Do you have a few minutes to talk?” Estral asked, hurrying beside her.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.” She jabbed her thumb in Fastion’s direction.

“I’ll permit it,” he said.

“Weapons,” Karigan muttered, as if it were an oath.

When finally they reached her chamber, she let Estral in, but closed the door in Fastion’s face.

“Will you tell me what that was all about?” Estral asked.

Karigan explained her encounter with the king.

“But why did he think you were unwell?”

She explained that part, as well.

“You know he ordered you to your room because he cares about you, don’t you?”

She knew. She looked down at her hands, at the healing slash across the back of her wrist. “It would almost be easier if he didn’t.”

Estral gazed at her sympathetically. “I don’t think you mean that.”

Karigan wasn’t sure. She wanted it both ways. Sometimes she wished she had never come to Sacor City and met him.

“Did you tell him you revealed your eye to the queen?”

Karigan shook her head. “It didn’t come up.”

“The king hasn’t asked for a look?”

“No.” It pleased her that he had not, though he must find it a great temptation with such a tool at his disposal, a mirror that could reveal visions that could help him against Second Empire. Of course, no one knew how reliable those visions were. But if anything showed her he cared, it was this one thing. She headed over to the hearth to stoke the fire and decided to change the subject from such dangerous ground. “You said you wanted to talk.”

Estral nodded and slid into the chair at Karigan’s desk. “I have a request, but first I thought you’d want to hear about Alton’s gryphon.”

Karigan, poker in hand, looked back at her. “Alton’s what?”

“Actually, it’s more Merdigen’s gryphon.” She told Karigan how in her most recent communication with Alton, through Connly and Trace, she learned about Merdigen revealing his cat to be a gryphon.

Karigan laid a log on the coals. “Are you sure Alton has not taken to drinking in your absence?” She glanced at her untouched jug of whiskey that had been distilled by his aunt. “Gryphons aren’t real.”

“They are, apparently, as real as p’ehdrose,” Estral replied, “although Mister Whiskers may be the last of his kind.”

Karigan sat hard on her bed. “Mister Whiskers?”

Estral nodded solemnly, then told her about the plan to send him out in search of a mate. “Merdigen thinks it possible there could be more out there, and if there are, Mister Whiskers will find them. He’s hoping for kittens.” She explained the idea about having the gryphons guard the towers.

Karigan tried to work her way through her disbelief. “I don’t know. If they’re like cats, they’re apt to ignore any Sleepers that pass through the towers. Or, maybe just play with them.”