It was not, to her surprise, Lorine, or even Mirriam, who answered her summons. When the door opened, it was the professor who peered in at her, then stepped inside. He was halfway across the room and looked like he was about to speak when Lorine appeared in the doorway behind him.
“Sir? I—” Lorine’s eyes were wide and her voice quavered.
The professor turned to her. “Not to worry, my dear, I happened to be almost at the door when I heard the bell ring. You were very prompt.”
Lorine curtsied, but looked flustered, especially when the professor handed Karigan’s tray to her. It was clear the maid was not accustomed to her employer helping her.
“Do you require more tea?” he asked Karigan.
She shook her head.
“Very well. Off with you, Lorine. If we’ve need, we shall call.”
Lorine bowed her way out of the room, tray in hand. The professor watched after her for a moment. “Poor thing is still nervous after all these years that she might make a mistake,” he said. “She was a mill slave before I brought her here, you know, and mistakes aren’t tolerated in the mills.”
Karigan’s mouth gaped open. Mill slaves? Slavery was outlawed in Sacoridia. What a strange place this was, and what a horrifying institution it permitted. She wondered what was being milled that it required slave labor.
The professor dragged a chair to her bedside. Closer up, there was a wolfish aspect to his appearance, his coarse hair shot through with salt and pepper strands, his piercing eyes and direct gaze.
“Are you rested well enough for some company?” he asked.
“Yes!”
He smiled beneath his mustache at her emphatic answer. “I believe we’ve much to talk about, and it has not been easy waiting these three days as you slept.”
Three days, Karigan thought, glad that she had declined another dose of the morphia, though she thought the healing sleep had probably done her much good.
“Are you the one who is supposed to be my uncle?” she asked.
His smile grew even broader. “I am indeed your uncle,” he said, “at least for the purpose of keeping you safe.”
GOODGRAVE
“Allow me to introduce myself properly.” The professor rose and with a half-bow, said, “I am Bryce Lowell Josston, adjunct professor of licensed archeology to the Imperial University.” And he sat once again.
Archeology. The term was not well known in Karigan’s world, but she had visited enough museums to recognize it. “You dig up old things.”
“That is quite right, my dear, and study the artifacts so my colleagues and I may understand the past.”
“I’m afraid I have not heard of your Imperial University,” Karigan replied. “In fact, all I know about where I am is that this place is called Mill City.”
“What is your name and from where do you hail?” the professor asked, his gaze on her sharpening.
Karigan returned his gaze no less keenly. She wanted to trust but was not sure how much. Still, she was a Green Rider whose embassy made her a representative of the king, which meant she should not hide but declare herself, especially in the presence of someone who seemed intent on helping her.
“My name is Karigan G’ladheon. I am a king’s messenger, a Green Rider, from the realm of Sacoridia. I noticed you have some furnishings in your house that are from Sacoridia, which tells me you are not unfamiliar with my country.”
When she had said her name, he leaned forward staring right into her eyes, squinting as if to divine something about her, and then opened his mouth to speak. But instead, he clamped it shut and rose abruptly from his chair to pace as though deeply unsettled.
Karigan watched as he walked furrows across the floorboards, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stooped. He spoke as if to himself. “Delusional. Delusional is the only rational explanation. But the objects. Those appear to be authentic.” He paused once more, pivoting toward her. “The objects. How did you come by them?”
“If you are referring to my belongings,” she replied, her irritation flaring, “the crystal I inherited from my mother, and the walking cane was a gift. I would like them back, please, and my uniform, too.”
“You do not claim the winged horse brooch?”
He could see it? Another indication magic was not working here. Rider brooches had spells of concealment on them so that only other Riders could see them.
“The brooch is my badge of office.”
He leaned over her, the friendly smile absent from his face. “Do not lie to me, girl. You are playing a very dangerous game. Where did you acquire those artifacts?”
“Who is the one playing games here, I wonder. I am telling you the truth.” If he actually reached out to shake her, which it looked like he wanted to do, she would break his nose. “I demand you return my belongings to me, and that you present me to an authority of your government.”
“You would not want me to do that,” he said, backing off without touching her. “Tell me,” he continued, “who is the king you serve?”
“Zachary Hillander.”
“Zachary the first, or the second?”
“There is only one Zachary.”
“And his queen?”
Karigan raised her eyebrow. Did he believe there was more than one Zachary, or was he testing her? “He is not married, though he is betrothed to Lady Estora Coutre.”
“Coutre,” the professor murmured, looking as if he might faint. Then he grew sharp and intense all over again. “Where did you learn this information? Who told you?”