Author's Note: I'm so excited! Things are starting to heat up, kiddos! I hope you're as excited as I am. Anyway, thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorited/alerted this story - I hope you enjoy this next installment. Any mistakes are mine, as usual, and I hope to hear what you thought of this chapter!
"What do you mean, 'not allowed'?" Mara demanded.
"My apologies, Rider Brennyn, but the King has ordered that no one be allowed to enter," Donal answered mildly. "Rider G'ladheon's room is off limits to all but the menders and the King himself."
"He can't just keep her locked away!" Mara sputtered in frustration. "I mean, he can, since he's the King and all, but … it's just … surely … oh, Hells!"
Word had reached the Rider wing yesterday that Karigan had been found and was currently in the Mending wing recovering from injuries sustained in Blackveil; Mara had been closely followed by Connly as they practically stormed the Mending wing and demanded to see her, only to be resolutely denied entrance. They had demanded to see Ben but were told that he remained secluded in Karigan's room, working to heal her injuries. Connly had talked Mara into leaving without much of a fight, pointing out that Karigan would undoubtedly be sleeping and needed all the rest she could get. Mara had resolved to try again as soon as her duties would permit.
Her duties being what they were, Mara had only found the time to make her way back to the Mending wing later the next evening; now, she stood in front of a stoic Donal once more and tried not to light the whole wing on fire in her frustration.
"Where is Ben?" She demanded again, switching tactics.
"He left Rider G'ladheon's room some hours ago and has not yet returned," was the toneless answer.
"I insist on seeing Karigan, Weapon, and I will not leave until I have done so!"
"You have a long night ahead of you, Rider Brennyn."
Mara fixed her best glare on the very formidable man standing in front of her, and for a brief moment she thought she detected the beginnings of a smile. The moment was gone quickly, however, leaving her staring daggers into a visage that may as well have been carved from stone.
"This is ridiculous!" Mara nearly yelled, throwing her hands up in defeat. "I have half a mind to march right up to King Zachary and tell him …"
"No need to march anywhere, Rider Brennyn," a smooth voice intoned behind her, "for I am here. Now what is it you would like to tell me?"
Mara had the good sense to blush all the way to the roots of her wildly bouncy curls and immediately dropped into a curtsy. When she rose and finally managed to lift her eyes, she felt relieved to see that the King's gaze seemed more amused than affronted. Truly, she must learn to control her temper; Captain Mapstone had warned her repeatedly that it would get her in big trouble someday soon.
"Forgive me, Your Highness, I am frustrated and let my temper fuel my words."
"I understand, Rider Brennyn. I appreciate that Rider G'ladheon is a friend – and fellow messenger – and that it is only natural for you to wish to see her. I admit, I placed Donal here for exactly this reason; your friend was found in grave condition, and I do not wish her to be disturbed until the menders are certain that she is no longer in danger."
Karigan had been found in grave condition? Mara did not like the sound of that; very few details had been given to them concerning the manner of Karigan's discovery in the castle or how she had arrived, and Connly had been unable to find any answers despite having spent most of the previous evening asking questions. How grave must her condition to be to necessitate one of the King's personal Weapons posted outside her door?
"I have come to check on Rider G'ladheon's condition, Rider Brennyn, and promise to send a runner straight to Rider Connly when I have been apprised of her condition. I am afraid, however, that Donal here must continue to deny you entry – no matter how fierce your temper."
Zachary smiled at her to take any sting that she may have perceived out of his words.
"Of course, Your Majesty."
Mara waited for the King to nod at her in dismissal and begin to step away from her before turning her back on Karigan's door and making her way down the hall. She would seek out Connly and let him know of the King's assurance to keep them informed, and recommend that he should send a message to the Captain in Corsa if he hadn't already done so. Captain Mapstone would want to know of the events of the expedition whether she was on leave or not.
Mara resigned to get some dinner and track down Lynx to see if he knew of Karigan's discovery, or what possible injuries she may have had; if she did not hear that Connly had received a message any later than tomorrow morning, then she was determined to plant herself in front of Donal and stay there until she was either allowed into that room, or Karigan came out.
The creatures of Blackveil pressed in around her in a mass of undulating bodies that twined in and out of each other like a giant serpent. The sound was almost worst than the sight: over the constant hum of hummingbirds and click-clack of giant crabs, she could make out the voices of Grae and Hana and Yates as they tried to yell instructions to one another over the din.
Karigan stopped walking and slammed her eyes shut, throwing her hands over her ears to drown out the sounds. The terrible cacophony grew in response and she did not doubt that she was just about to feel herself ripped to shreds when a soft pressure on her shoulder made her eyes spring open.
Yates stood before her, a twisted grin on his face and an odd light in his eyes. He bowed to her just as he always had, but there was something grotesque about the way his body twisted, as if his torso wasn't really connected to his waist. She opened her mouth to scream but the sound was choked in blood; she pulled her hands away from her ears and held them in front of her face only to discover that one was so badly broken it was nearly turned around, the palm facing up, and the other split open to the bone and leaving trails of blood to runnel down her face.
"How does it feel, Karigan, to know that you kept me alive all that time, only to lose me to Alessandros?"
Yates mouth opened unnaturally wide, revealing row upon row of pinpoint sharp teeth, and then he lunged for her. The scream finally tore from her throat and she took off running as fast as her injured leg would carry her. Her blood pulsed in her ears, the rhythm soon joined by the raggedness of her breathing as she tore through the trees. The venom in her leg was spreading throughout her body with every step she took: she could feel it like a current of the hottest water imaginable as it traveled through her blood stream.
The trees broke and the wall stretched out before her, a neutral gray in the unsteady colors of her world. She tried to push harder, knowing that the wall meant safety; the wall meant home.
A tumbler sprang in front of her and before she could blink she found herself on her back in the grass, her lungs struggling for air. The ghostly sound of laughter rang in her ears, and yet she knew that there was no laughter to be heard; when she finally managed to push herself into a sitting position, the tumbler stood perfectly poised on one leg in front of her, blocking her path to the wall. He was wearing the mirror mask.
The head tilted to the side, almost like a bird, and then with an audible clap that came from nowhere she was back at the costume ball, bodies swirling around her in a nauseating blur of colors.
"I destroyed that mask," she whispered. "I smashed it at my feet."
The tumbler straightened his head and the mask transformed into the green one. "You must choose a mask, Karigan," Captain Mapstone's voice told her from unmoving lips.
"I do not wear masks."
"Of course you do." Estora sounded colder, harsher, and when the tumbler reached up to pull the mask from its face Karigan found herself looking once more at her friend who was no longer a friend. Estora was just as beautiful as she remembered, but there was a hardness to her gaze that told Karigan she was not among friends. "We all wear masks, Karigan, it's how we play the game."
"I am not playing a game!" Karigan insisted.
"What if I told you that one of these masks could give you everything your heart desires?"
Estora swept one smooth hand through the air beside her and Karigan found herself looking into a pair of almond shaped eyes that warmed her instantly. Zachary was watching her intently, so close she could smell him. "Please come home to me, Kari," he told her softly. "I need you here with me."
Karigan began to cry.
"Zachary …"
"I'm here, Karigan."
"Zachary, I'm so sorry."
Karigan pushed herself to her feet, every movement sending bolts of fire and blinding pain through her body. She clenched her jaw and pushed harder, the salt of her tears leaving tracks through the dried blood on her cheek.
She took one step forward; in front of her, Estora pulled a beautiful hunting knife from her sleeve and sneered at her, the expression turning her once friendly visage into a nightmare.
"He will never be yours, Messenger!" the Lady screamed.
Karigan automatically threw up a hand to defend herself, but the blow never came. Estora and the masked dancers around them were frozen in place; she looked from one dancer to the next, her horror multiplying as she realized that their ranks consisted of the people she knew and loved, both dead and alive.
"C'mon, Kari," a little voice urged.
Karigan drew her gaze away from the horrible scene in front of her and found herself looking into the upturned faces of two little boys, the smallest of whom had wrapped one small hand around the last three fingers of her hand.
"'Tum on." This was accompanied by a tug on her fingers.
Stunned, Karigan let herself be led through the crowd of dancers, her eyes not leaving the forms of the little boys in front of her. She recognized them and the familiar way her heart seemed to expand in their presence, the fierce protectiveness that seemed to leap out of her and envelop their tiny frames. She expected to see little wooden swords strapped to their sides, but was prevented from looking by a vast darkness opening up before her.
When she looked, Karigan immediately recognized the graceful hulk of Salvistar waiting for her. She was about to groan when the light around the ebony steed began to shift and swirl; a warm gust of air swept around her, pulling her hair up around her shoulders. She had the impression of great arms reaching toward her and the soft twinkle of stars, and then all the pain and fire left her body in a rush. She felt no pressure and yet knew that she was being embraced; her skin tingled with the warmth and perfection of it.
"Westrion," She murmured, the horrors of Blackveil fading from her mind.
For the first time since becoming a Green Rider, Karigan knew no fear, or uncertainty or strain; for the first time in her life, she did not think about the people she loved.
"Take me home."
Where was home?
Zachary paced; in the bed next to him, Karigan continued to mumble unintelligible words from her place beneath the blankets. He thought he had recognized something about masks, and it made sense when he recalled how she had spoken about a mask in those brief seconds of consciousness he had witnessed the other day. But what mask could she be talking about? More importantly, why hadn't she woken up yet? He had spoken with Ben earlier and the young mender had assured the King that he had done what he could for her injuries. The list that he had rattled off – at the King's insistence – nearly made Zachary nauseous: beside the obvious piece of glass embedded in her thigh and the open slice in her hand, she had come to them with a broken wrist and the remnants of a foreign poison in her system. Someone, maybe Karigan herself, had been possessed of the good sense to splint the wrist with a pair of finely crafted arrows that no one doubted were Eletian; the poison, although Ben had assessed the majority of it to have already left her system, still raged with enough fervor in her veins to bring on fever.
Ben had worked through the night and exhausted both himself and his talent in his efforts to repair the damage to Karigan's body. The Rider had made sure the King understood that he could do nothing to remove or lessen whatever trauma her mental and emotional faculties had withstood during her time in Blackveil, and that there was no way insure that Karigan came back to them at all.
At least as terrifying as the idea that Karigan might not come back to him at all was the fear of what kind of condition she would be in if she did. What had happened to his courageous Rider? What had she been made to suffer … at his decree?
"Westrion."
The word brought him around quickly. The King perched carefully on the edge of Karigan's bed, his stomach icing over in fear. This was not the first time he had heard Karigan utter the Birdman's name, or the first time the thought had occurred to him that it sounded almost like a familiar greeting between friends.
"Karigan?" he said softly.
She sighed and turned her face toward him but remained unresponsive.
"Karigan," he tried again, his voice nearly a whisper in his earnestness, "Come back."
She seemed to hear him without knowing that she did, or who was addressing her.
"So tired," she answered, "So much pain. Take me home."
"No," Zachary said forcefully, his heart leaping into his throat. Where was home? "Karigan, you must come back. Do you hear me?"
He couldn't resist cupping her cheek – still warm and flushed from the fever – in one calloused hand, the feel of her skin against his grounding him. He went one step further and placed a kiss on her forehead, praying that he wasn't about to lose his chance of one day receiving a kiss, freely given, from her lips.
"Please, Kari; please come back to me."
His heart felt like stone in his chest. He sent up about one hundred prayers and promises to Westrion simultaneously, in the span of a few seconds: he begged the Birdman not to take her from him, to keep her soul tethered to her body and send her back to those who needed her more than the God ever could. The King promised to do anything and everything the Birdman asked of him, if only he would not keep Karigan for himself. All of this he did in the span of a breath, his eyes closed just as he used to do when he was a boy and would wish on stars.
"Zachary?"
His name … that voice … he opened his eyes and found himself staring into familiar, fever bright blue ones.
"You're alive." His voice was gravelly and deep with the strain of holding in a sob. "You came back to me."
In the shock of hearing her voice and seeing those intelligent blue eyes staring back at him, Zachary did not grasp the slight movement that was the lifting of her body to meet his. In the space of just a moment Karigan's warm lips had come to press against his; in the confusion, his heart took advantage of the way his mind faltered and kissed her back.
The moment felt as if it was stolen from a dream. He knew the exultation and pleasure of finally kissing the lips he had spent the last few years dreaming about; he knew the quickness with which his own desire could be ignited by such a chaste act, and the ease and completeness with which he could give himself to her. Even as she pulled her silky lips from his, he wanted to pull her against him and kiss her into oblivion. His hands demanded to hold her, to press her lithe form against him and lower their bodies to the bed and make sure she never left his side again. The kiss had been too short, the contact not nearly enough to sate him; he felt as though he had been singed by an ethereal fire.
Reeling with the suddenness and shock of the last few seconds, his brain setting off warning bells even as the rest of him demanded their complete surrender to each other, Zachary almost missed her next words.
"I always come back to you, Zachary. Where are the boys?"