Dale gently sidled Plover up alongside Condor and took up the dangling lead rope.

“What’s got your attention, boy?” Dale murmured.

Condor shook his mane and blew gently through his nostrils as though suddenly waking up. He allowed her to lead him away as docilely as ever.

The poor horse had lost his first Rider, F’ryan Coblebay, but Karigan had been right on the spot to claim him. Where was Karigan now? Had she died in Blackveil? It was difficult to tell from Condor’s demeanor if he knew. Perhaps, Dale thought morosely, it was time for Condor, like Phoebe, to claim a new Rider.

CENTERING AND FOOTWORK

After the house settled down for the night, Karigan, with bonewood in hand, met Cade in the library. He opened the bookcase and ushered her into the antechamber beyond. When the bookcase slid back into place, she noticed something new: a stool and a row of hooks on the wall. Hanging from the hooks was some clothing.

“The professor left these clothes for you,” Cade whispered. “You are to wear them when you come to the mill, so Mirriam doesn’t become irritated about the state of your nightgown.” He ignited one of the extra phosphorene tapers and pushed the door open to the stairway that led to the underground. “I’ll wait for you on the stairs.”

He stepped into the stairwell and shut the door behind him, leaving Karigan alone in the antechamber to examine the clothes: a pair of black trousers with a fine leather belt, and a black shirt with the billowing sleeves favored by swordfighters. There were also stockings and a pair of supple shoes, all black.

“I am not a Weapon,” Karigan murmured. She thought the professor was taking liberties, but she set aside the bonewood and changed. Everything fit well, even though the pieces were obviously made for men. The shirt buttons were on the wrong side, and the trousers gaped slightly at her waist. Tightening the belt more or less solved that problem. She wondered if the professor had gotten her measurements off an invoice from Mistress dela Enfande as he had for the Tam Ryder outfit.

She had no way of assessing how she looked, but when she stepped from the antechamber and into the stairwell, Cade’s raised eyebrows told her enough. Only after she closed the door to the antechamber did he speak.

“It is not proper, and yet it’s entirely appropriate.” He shook his head, and turned abruptly—too abruptly—to lead the way down the stairs.

Karigan thought she understood. She challenged Cade’s preconceptions of a proper woman as defined by the empire, leaving him conflicted. In the mindset of the empire, this garb on a female reeked of impropriety, yet he struggled to adjust his way of thinking because he opposed the empire.

The clothes felt good as she descended the stairs, much better than the nightgown that had always left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. The clothes made her feel more like her old self, for all they were not green. Her Tam Ryder outfit was comfortable enough, but it was a disguise, and she was not herself when wearing it.

Cade remained his reticent self even as they traversed the underground then climbed up into the bowels of the mill. It was just as well. Since seeing Condor in her mirror shard, Karigan had little desire to talk. She’d remained uncommunicative all through supper despite the professor’s efforts to engage her in conversation. Though she’d been looking forward to sparring with Cade, she would have been just as happy to stay in bed, alone with her morose thoughts.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Cade said as they climbed the final set of stairs.

“So are you.”

After a pause, Cade said, “I’m always quiet.”

True enough, Karigan thought, but was he also implying she was never quiet?

Finally they reached the floor with the professor’s secret library. Cade threw the lever for the lights and they crossed over to his practice area.

“I was wondering,” he said, as he removed his suit coat, “if your looking at the guns here would afflict you the same way as the Cobalt did at the Big Mounds.”

“I don’t think this sort of thing just goes away,” she replied, but she walked over to the cabinet displaying several of the weapons, including some that were as long as a sword. It was these Cade must have been referring to when he spoke of “longarms.”

She suffered no ill effects when looking from a distance, but then again, she couldn’t see the details. When she approached more closely, the glare of the weapons made her avert her gaze and step back from the cabinet as though physically repulsed.

Cade’s head was tilted as he watched her. “Curious,” he said. “I guess we’ll have to stick with swords.” He removed a longsword from its wall mount. He took up a relaxed stance and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply. It was as Karigan had seen him do the last time.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Centering myself,” he replied, without opening his eyes.

Karigan watched the rise and fall of his chest. There was something to that, she knew, and Arms Master Drent made sure his trainees learned how to use their breath while exerting themselves in a fight. It not only steadied their hearts and conserved energy, but allowed them to focus, or as Cade put it, center themselves. However, centering happened while doing in Drent’s world.

“So in a real combat situation you expect the enemy to politely wait around while you center yourself?” Karigan asked.

“I would not meditate when in combat.” Cade’s voice held an edge of irritation.

“Then why do you do so now? Combat can happen unexpectedly, with no time for . . . meditating. Practicing this centering thing could make you reliant on it and throw you when you don’t have time for it in an unexpected fight.”