Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, review, alert and favorite this story; I love hearing from you guys. I realize that the first chapter is probably not that original (and perhaps some parts of this chapter), but I hope you stick with me.

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.

Karigan drifted, unaware of whether or not she slept; she thought perhaps her eyes were closed, yet she could see everything.

She saw the mirror mask again, saw the colored threads of individual lives spread out against the vast expanse of the universe; she saw the stars twinkle at her as she gazed into the depths of the mask, saw the perfect ebony of the night sky reflected back at her. She wondered what it would be like to wear that mask: what sort of terrible power did the wearer wield? What would such power cost a person?

The scene shifted and she watched herself from a distance as she raised the mask and threw it with all the force she could muster at her feet. She heard Mornhavon's angry scream and watched in slow motion as a glittering shard leapt from its brethren on the floor to imbed itself in her leg.

Karigan vaguely remembered cutting her hand on that same piece of mask, but could not feel either wound. She had been cold, she knew, and frightened and in pain, but it was more like a dark memory now. She felt none of those things.

The colors swirled and blurred, then rearranged themselves into another picture. She saw Lynx on a vast plain, leaning down to catch the last words Yates spoke before the life left his body. She saw his lips move, but heard no sound – what had he said? The death of her friend should have devastated her; she should have been torn with guilt, and although she knew it was lurking, it felt as though she were acknowledging it from a great distance.

Again and again the scenes changed. Although she recognized some of the events – the incident with the mask, for example, had happened in the past – there were many more scenes that she did not. Was she seeing the future? Were these things happening, or what would happen? More importantly, why was she seeing them?

"Kari?"

The voice was soft and unfamiliar, yet she felt a strange stirring in her breast at the sound. She had no reason to respond, and yet the thump of her heart quickened immediately when she heard her name.

She saw herself in a room with stone walls – the castle? – seated at a large desk. Next to the projection of her, little legs swinging over the edge, a small blonde boy with almond shaped eyes watched her intently.

"Hmm?" She hummed in response.

"Can I call you mother?"

Karigan – the version of herself seated at the desk, the dream version – stopped writing and laid her pencil down slowly to fix the boy with a serious expression.

Before she could hear the answer the colors changed again, but she barely had time to register an objection before she was greeted with a new sight of not one, but two small boys. One she recognized as the blonde boy from the previous dream; the other looked younger and only slightly different, his hair a rich brown and his eyes – although almond shaped – a pale blue.

"So this is where you boys ran off to." She watched herself walk down a hallway to where the two boys sat playing with wooden swords. "Where did you get those?"

"Father," The younger boy replied, grinning at his brother.

"He said we could learn how to fight with real swords when we were older!" The blonde boy gushed.

"And so you can, but for now how about some dinner?"

The two boys grinned excitedly and reached simultaneously for one of her hands. She smiled lovingly at them and turned to lead them back the way she had come.

"Come along, Moonlings. Your father is waiting."

An unexpected light exploded outward, blinding her with its sudden intrusion; color and sound evaporated. Karigan could no longer see, but she knew that she was falling. The bubble that seemed to have enveloped her dissipated; all at once she was aware of her injuries again, aware of the cold stone under and around her, aware of the grief and pain that threatened to drown her.

Trapped, frightened and overwhelmed, Karigan began screaming.

Zachary wandered. The castle was quiet, most of its occupants safely repining in their beds; the clock bells had pealed out second hour only some moments before. The King carried no torch to light his way, preferring instead to allow himself to be swallowed into the darkness of the night. He felt more than heard Fastion's presence behind him and was thankful that only one Weapon accompanied him on his nightly meanderings.

Three days. Three days had passed since Lynx had arrived and given him the terrible news; three days in which he did not remember much of anything except the ache in his chest that refused to abate. He did not remember sleeping more than two hours in a single stretch since Lynx's report.

Three days in which he had despaired of ever seeing Karigan again.

Zachary squeezed the book he clasped in one hand, unsure if he wanted to open it again and unable to resist. Lynx had delivered Yates' journal to him the day after his arrival, and the King had poured over it exhaustively. He had gazed with horror at the drawings of deadly hummingbirds, the horror changing to sorrow as he took in the face of Hana, the Eletian healer that had been the first of their losses. He had already read the journal front to back more times than he could count, and yet he always found himself drawn to one of the last pages: Yates had drawn a perfect image of Karigan, eyes closed in slumber and the barest hint of a smile pulling at her lips. Every time Zachary gazed at the image, rendered in such careful and exact detail, he sent up another heartfelt thank you to Yates' spirit.

He started walking again. There was no path for his feet to follow, no thought to where he was going; he had taken up the aimless journey on that first night when sleep proved elusive. Each night he would slip from his apartments, Fastion an almost non-existent shadow behind him, and glide on silent feet through the sleeping castle. During the day he would be King; during the day he would pretend to be whole and place the needs of his kingdom over his own, just as he always had. Only under the cover of darkness could he allow his mask to fall away and be nothing more than a man desperate to believe that his love would return to him.

Zachary was torn from his thoughts by the sudden appearance of a cat, his white fur almost glowing as he sauntered down the deserted hallway. Curious – Zachary had never seen a cat in the castle before – he followed the animal at a discreet distance. The feline seemed to know exactly where he was going, navigating the corners without so much as a pause.

The ghostly feline slipped through a door on his left and Zachary followed automatically, forgetting in his single minded pursuit that he was quite possibly barging into someone's personal quarters.

The cat blinked wide eyes at him from the place it had taken up on the empty bed across the room. Zachary pulled up short just inside the doorway, his stomach flopping wildly. He knew that smell: horses and pine and the faintest undercurrent of something floral. The room smelled almost exactly like Karigan.

He took in the large old wardrobe standing against one wall, unassuming despite its superior craftsmanship; a small writing desk took up space on the opposite wall, a few loose papers hastily thrown into a pile and stacked on one corner. The space still felt lived in despite the absence of its occupant, and the King felt himself drawn in. He had never been in Karigan's room, although he'd often tried to come up with a reasonable excuse to seek her out there. He had always wanted to know what sort of treasures his Rider kept closest to her.

He glanced at her bed but moved instead toward the desk, pulling the chair out as quietly as he could and then lowering himself into it. He could almost hear Karigan chastising him for invading his privacy and would have smiled, if the thought had not brought to mind a more serious one.

Estora had been discussing that day's public audience with him earlier, and he supposed he must have stopped paying attention at some point because one moment she was talking about how best to handle the news of Mornhavon's return and the next she was shocking him back into awareness.

"You called her name." Estora's voice had been soft, calm even, but he thought he had detected a tinge of hurt behind the words.

"My Lady?" He'd questioned.

Estora had fixed him with a steady gaze and seemed to collect herself before continuing. "During out consummation. You called her name."

Zachary had felt the color drain from his face immediately. Although she was not reprimanding him and her expression held no trace of anger, he had been mortified. There was no need to ask whom she meant: of the very few things that he could remember from that act, the vision of Karigan above him was the clearest. He had treasured that image even after he woke, but never had he imagined that he had done such a thing. Whatever Estora's feelings for him may be, he knew that she must have felt at least some hurt; it was possible that she still did.

He had flushed in embarrassment and started to apologize, but Estora had given a small shake of her head and stopped him.

"I do not deny that I was … surprised, and even a little hurt. I do not expect you to love me, Zachary; ours is a marriage of political convenience, and I understand that. I do hope, however, that there can be some affection found between us, in time."

"I would understand if you were very angry with me, Estora." It was the first time he'd ever called her by her given name, no titles attached, and she had seemed surprised to hear it.

"There is nothing to be angry about. Now, if you'll excuse me." She had swept gracefully to her feet and padded to the door, only to stop a few feet from it. "Zachary?"

"Estora?"

"No matter what people may think, I do hope Karigan returns."

The Queen had left him then.

Alone in Karigan's room, Zachary allowed himself to heave a quiet sigh. One of his first thoughts upon waking from his injury and discovering the events that had transpired was how Karigan would react when she heard the news. Would she feel betrayed?

Then, when Estora had told him of his slip up, he'd wanted to scream. No matter which way he turned, someone was going to be hurt and angry. He would not deny that his first thoughts were always of Karigan and that she had his whole heart, but Estora was a good woman who did not deserve to always be second best. He did not want to betray or injure either woman, and yet it seemed inevitable.

The cat yawned and tilted its head, watching him in what could almost be called consternation.

"I don't suppose you have any answers for me?" Zachary whispered.

As if in answer the animal leapt off the bed and crossed the room in a few quick strides, catching the King by surprise. He expected the cat to disappear out the door behind him, but instead felt his surprise double when the animal strolled over to the desk and stretched out a paw to swat at the knob on the desk drawer.

"You are the strangest cat I have ever met," Zachary muttered. "I could almost swear you understand me."

One white ear flicked back as if listening; the cat sized him up, swatted at the knob one more time and then sauntered off into the shadows.

Zachary gazed at the offending drawer for the span of a few breaths, unsure of what to do. The idea that a cat had not only understood him but found a way to answer his question seemed ridiculous; and yet, ignoring what he could only interpret as a hint seemed … impossible.

Knowing that Karigan would surely beat him senseless if she ever found it, he slid the drawer open with bated breath.

A small stack of crisply folded papers stared up at him. He could make out Karigan's familiar handwriting on the top one, but without a light to read by he could not read it.

"Fastion."

His Weapon materialized at his side without a sound.

"I need a candle."

Fastion disappeared; Zachary pulled the stack of papers almost reverently from their resting spot in the drawer and placed them on the top of Karigan's desk, just a few inches away from where he had placed Yates' journal.

Somewhere near his left elbow a small cloud of yellow light coalesced into being; Fastion slid the candle carefully on the edge of the desk.

"Karigan would not approve, Sire," His Weapon said softly.

"If she returns, Fastion, I will gladly withstand the heat of her anger."

The first paper – letter – was addressed to her father; he tried to ignore the sense of disappointment that swelled in his breast. The second was addressed to Captain Mapstone; the third was addressed simply to her fellow riders.

Zachary held his breath: what would he do if he did not find a letter addressed to him? What would he do if he did?

There, on the very last letter of the pile, he found his name. The disappointment he felt quickly gave way to trepidation and a heady sense of excitement. Without a second thought, he broke the wax imprint and raked his eyes over the only letter Karigan had ever written him.

Zachary,

I have learned many things about myself these last few years, the most important of which is that I am no hero. I am, in fact, a coward. Everything I do seems to be motivated by fear: the fear of Mornhavon's return, the fear of losing another friend, but mostly the fear of what would happen to those I love if I fail.

Do you remember that night on the roof – the night you told me you loved me? It was fear that made me run, that always makes me run - especially from you. I feared – I still fear – what would happen if I ever found the courage to tell you that I love you, too. Many times I have tried to change this; there is no hope for a King and the daughter of a common merchant, no matter how much they may love each other. Surely you must know that as well as I. I love the kingdom too much to see it thrown into turmoil over someone as cowardly and insignificant as myself. I only find the courage to tell you this now, when I know the odds of my return are nearly impossible and the information can no longer jeopardize the stability of, well … everything. In many ways, I do not regret this expedition; Estora will be a wonderful Queen, but I cannot bring myself to remain in your presence knowing that another barrier stands between us.

If you are reading this letter, then I did not return from Blackveil. Please know that I entered Blackveil willingly, and did everything in my power to ensure Sacordia's safety; I fought with my very last breath.

I am sorry that even up until the last, I could not find the courage to tell you any of this in person.

Serving as your Green Rider has been honor.

Karigan

Karigan had stopped screaming.

She was suffocating; she could feel it in the burn of her lungs every time she tried to take a breath. She tried to regulate her heartbeat, to remain calm and focus on drawing in as much oxygen as the stone surrounding her would allow, but it was all to no avail. After all that she had been through, all of the scrapes that she had somehow gotten herself out of, she was about to find her end. She had never imagined her death, but she had never expected to go so … mundanely.

The sensation of light dusting her eyelids made her open her eyes for the last time; a shape, vaguely human and yet distorted, reached for her in a cloud of gray light. The Birdman had finally come for her, come to take her out her stone prison.

"Westrion …"