“We can talk about that later,” Karigan added. “Right now I’m more worried about you. Why in the bloody hells are you traveling in this weather?”
Estral wrote furiously on her slate. Father missing too long. No word. Very worried.
“The king has all his Riders keeping their eyes and ears open.” Karigan glanced at the frosty window. Of course, few Riders had gotten out on errands between storms. “Word has also been passed from garrison to garrison. You don’t think he’s with your mother?” Estral’s mother managed a lumber camp in the northern wilds.
Estral shook her head.
“So,” Karigan said, “you decided to set out and look for him yourself.”
Estral nodded, her expression fierce. She wrote, And to prod the king—more searchers.
Karigan suppressed a smile at the idea of prodding the king—any king, for that matter. One just did not do that, but Estral wasn’t just anyone. Beneath her gentle demeanor was the heart of a catamount. As for searching, where and how would she even begin? First of all, this was Estral who disliked travel and leaving home. For all that she’d spent a good amount of time down by the D’Yer Wall, Karigan knew her friend was an avowed homebody. Second, it was a big world—Lord Fiori could be almost anywhere. Not to mention it was winter, and a fierce one at that. Estral had survived the journey to Sacor City from the wall, but by the look of it, just barely.
WELL? Estral demanded, underlining the word three times. Aren’t you going to tell me I’m stupid?
“Of course not,” Karigan replied. “If it was my father, I’d want to search, too.” Just the idea of someone she loved going missing, however, gripped her so suddenly, so unexpectedly, she caught her breath. Grief surfaced sharp and raw, and a tremor daggered through her body. She fought to maintain her composure, to rein in a torrent of emotion.
Cade . . . Without him, she was but cold ashes.
Estral reached over and placed her hand on Karigan’s, her eyes of sea green conveying her appreciation for Karigan’s understanding and, perhaps, detecting her distress, concern.
Karigan took a trembling breath before she could speak again, hastening to move on from the grief that haunted her. “And what did Alton have to say about your plan to leave and search for your father?”
Estral shrugged, her expression inscrutable.
“You didn’t tell him, did you?”
Estral wrote, Left note.
Karigan could only imagine how well that went over. The wall had changed Alton, he had grown more volatile, and she knew he’d be distraught by Estral’s departure. It did not help that, at the moment, there was no direct contact between the castle and the wall, so there was no way to allay his fears. Rider-Lieutenant Connly, whose ability was to mentally communicate with another Rider who was stationed at the wall, was stranded by the weather in the west. She could only hope the storms would calm so Connly could make his way back and restore contact. If the weather settled down, they could also send a message by conventional means.
“I’ll ask the captain to send Alton word of your arrival when we are able,” Karigan said.
Estral once again touched her hand in gratitude and mouthed, Thank you. Then she yawned.
Karigan stood. “I was told you were very tired. I’d better go so you can rest.”
Estral looked ready to protest, then seemed to reassess. She sagged against her pillows.
“We’ll talk again when you are feeling better,” Karigan assured her. “I’ll look in on you tomorrow.”
Estral held her arms open, and the two embraced, something Karigan had feared she’d never get to do again.
She stepped out into the corridor of the mending wing and softly shut Estral’s door behind her, then paused, closing her eyes. It had turned into an eventful day, but even with all the surprise visitors, she was left feeling bereft, alone.
When she returned from the future to her present, she had been torn from Cade. He had been unable to cross through time with her. His loss cut through her gut—cold, steely, and excruciating, but she tried to cope with it by throwing herself into her duties—minding the Rider accounts, mucking stalls, cleaning tack, working with Arms Master Drent . . . She kept hoping time would give her distance, make each passing day a little easier, dull the pain. Some days she would begin to feel as if she were regaining her equilibrium, feel like her old self again, and then something—the sound of a voice that had a familiar texture to it, or even the scent of boiled cabbage, strangely enough—would bring it all back, remind her of those last moments when they were ripped from one another, leaving them separated by a gulf of almost two hundred years.
She constantly wondered what had become of him, or rather, what would become of him. Her return had to have altered the threads of time in some way, and there was no telling if he would even exist in the future now.
She set off, leaving the mending wing behind. The walls around her blurred as she walked, descended stairs, crossed through halls and corridors. She had been doing well for several days in a row now, but Estral’s distress for her father had heightened Karigan’s own sense of vulnerability, aroused her fear for all that could be lost, and her grief for what had been.
Lhean’s presence also brought the pain back with a sharp, terrible immediacy. He had been in the future with her, had met Cade. He’d been there the very moment Cade had been torn from her. Lhean was her connection to memories of which she possessed only glimpses. She wanted to speak of Cade with Lhean. Doing so, she thought, would keep him alive, but would also hurt. Sometimes she wished she could forget so the pain would go away. Oblivion would be so much easier.