His answer, however, was delayed, delayed by the arrival of yet another unexpected visitor.

FROSTBITE

A bedraggled figure stood uncertainly in the throne room entrance, wrapped in a bulky, hooded fur coat and trailing a scarf. Everyone watched as Neff spoke to and peered beneath the hood of the visitor, who tugged a flat object out of a satchel and showed it to him. He studied it for a moment, and then coming to some conclusion, turned and hastened down the runner.

When Neff reached the dais, he announced, “Your Majesty, Lady Estral Andovian, daughter and heir of Lord Fiori, the Golden Guardian of Selium, begs an audience.”

“Estral?” Karigan hadn’t realized she’d blurted her friend’s name aloud until she noticed everyone’s gaze on her.

“Of course,” King Zachary told Neff. Then projecting his voice down the length of the room, he said, “Please approach, Lady Estral. You are ever welcome.”

The Eletians, speaking softly to one another, intently watched Estral’s advance. Their musical voices, however, were drowned out by the chatter of Karigan’s aunts.

Estral’s steps looked pained as she moved forward, and it was clear she was experiencing some difficulty. It was Karigan’s father who leaped to her aid. He strode to her and placed his arm around her for support. Karigan, as if roused from a dream, shook herself and followed after him. As she neared Estral, it was easier to see the windblown tendrils of sandy hair sticking out from beneath her hood. White patches had formed in the middle of her ruddy cheeks.

Frostbite.

She did not spare Karigan a glance, but kept determinedly pushing forward, her gaze fixed on the king.

“Send for a mender,” Karigan’s father ordered. “I don’t think she can feel her feet.”

Karigan did not hesitate, but ran to the corridor just outside the throne room entrance where a couple of Green Foot runners stood on duty.

“We need a mender down here,” she told one of them. “Get Rider-Mender Simeon now!”

“Yes, ma’am!” the boy said, and he set off down the corridor at top speed.

Karigan’s step faltered as she turned back to the throne room. When in the name of the gods had she become a ma’am? It made her feel old. Maybe it had just been the tone of her voice that inspired the boy’s response, or maybe to those young Green Foot runners she was old. Ancient, even.

She trotted back down the length of the throne room to find the king, the captain, her aunts and father, and the Eletians gathered around Estral, who was seated on the bottom step of the dais. Lhean knelt before her, helping her to sip from a flask.

“It is a warming cordial,” Lhean explained.

After just a few sips, Estral’s color looked better, but she did not speak, and then Karigan remembered that she could not. Mara, who had caught Karigan up on so much news upon her return, had told her Estral’s voice had been stolen by a magical spell.

Aunt Stace held Estral’s hands in her own to warm them. Aunt Gretta was removing her boots.

“She needs a lukewarm bath,” Aunt Brini said.

Lhean continued to speak to Estral in a voice so quiet that Karigan could not hear his words. She wondered what he said. Captain Mapstone and the king, meanwhile, stood aside, shoulder to shoulder, gazing at the flat object Estral had carried with her—a slate—and spoke to one another in low voices.

What was that about?

Karigan’s gaze swept beyond those who hovered over Estral to where Lhean’s companions stood, and she caught Enver watching her. He quickly looked away. Since her arrival home, she’d caught people staring at her every now and then. Rumors had been circulating about her returning from the dead in spectacular fashion on Night of Aeryc. She really couldn’t blame them for looking at her askance, and she wouldn’t have given Enver a second thought, except that his averting his gaze struck her as not very Eletianlike. An Eletian, she believed, would not care if she caught him staring, but just as she thought when she had first met him, she suspected he was not a typical Eletian, or maybe not even a full Eletian, which was an interesting notion.

Fortunately, Ben Simeon and a trio of apprentice menders soon arrived. Ben knelt beside Estral, and he and his assistants helped her into a litter, then buried her beneath blankets. All the while, Karigan’s aunts provided Ben with their unsolicited advice.

“Please, Aunt Tory,” Karigan pleaded, tugging on her aunt’s sleeve, “he doesn’t need your recipe for hot toddies just now.”

Ben cast her a grateful, harried glance.

“Do not spare the whiskey, young man,” Aunt Tory exhorted. It was not a surprising suggestion, as she was rather fond of strong toddies herself.

Despite the “help” of Karigan’s aunts, the menders worked efficiently.

“It will be all right,” Karigan tried to reassure Estral, but if she heard, Karigan could not tell, and the menders lifted her away on her litter and whisked her from the throne room.

Karigan stood at a loss, feeling torn about which direction to go. She glanced from the Eletians, who were now conferring with the king, to her family, and then to the throne room entrance, through which Estral and her bearers disappeared.

Captain Mapstone joined Karigan and her father, the slate tucked beneath her arm. Aunt Gretta marched up to them and said, “Those menders best heed my advice. I have plenty of experience with frostbite.”

“I am sure they’ve got all the expertise they need,” Karigan’s father replied.