“Eggs? Where did you get eggs?”

“Connly brought them from the River Unit.”

Karigan was already salivating. It was the supper hour and not breakfast, but she didn’t care. She was too weak to sit outside, so she waited in the tent, listening to the sound of Estral banging pots and pans around out by the fire. She did not know where Enver was, but Estral said the king, his Weapons, and Connly had gone to where the River Unit had established an intermediate encampment about halfway to the Green Cloak. The fewer who moved back and forth, she explained, the better chance they had of remaining undetected by Second Empire, and the king wanted to meet with all the officers and survey the troops. So it was, once again, just the three of them. Karigan missed the king and wished he could be there beside her, but it was also a relief that the temptation of him was out of reach.

When Estral returned with eggs and sausage and panbread, Karigan’s eyes went wide. “They gave us sausage, too?”

Estral smiled and nodded.

For the first time in a long while, Karigan was hungry and willing to eat. She ate as much as she could, but left a good portion untouched. Estral, however, looked pleased.

“Enver was right,” she said.

“About what?”

“That you drinking so much of Destarion’s soporific might in fact help you. We were afraid you’d had too much, that . . . that you would not wake up.”

Karigan remembered Nyssa’s nagging, but she had resisted, had just wanted to sleep. She then told Estral all about her torment.

“She’s a ghost?” Estral asked.

“I am not sure exactly. She appears to me like one, but she is also in my head.”

She then explained what she remembered of her dream of Siris Kiltyre and the Riders.

“If it was anyone other than you,” Estral said, “I would have a hard time believing it, but I know you’ve become accustomed to dealing with ghosts.”

“I am not sure ‘accustomed’ is what I am, but I certainly seem to deal with them an awful lot.”

“It is good to hear you able to talk about it.” Estral reached over and squeezed her hand. “We’ve all been very worried about you. The king, especially.”

Karigan felt her cheeks warm. “I—I wish he wouldn’t.”

“It is difficult for both of you, I know. The heart does not always obey the head. Which reminds me . . . The king asked me to give you something.” She produced a bracelet of braided horse hair made from Condor’s own tail.

“He made this?” Karigan asked, running it through her fingers.

“He said Captain Mapstone taught him how to make them when he was a child. He and Condor, by the way, seem to be getting on famously. He thought that if you had something of Condor close by, it might make you feel better.”

“I am so sorry,” Karigan murmured, “that I worried everyone so much. I was lost.”

“You were badly hurt. Still are, and we know this. With Nyssa haunting you, it is not surprising you were having an impossible time of it. Even had you not been haunted, the trauma of it . . . I have been having nightmares.”

Estral tied the bracelet around Karigan’s wrist for her, collected the dishes, and left to let her rest some more. She stroked the bracelet and smiled. She had once rejected a fine brush, comb, and mirror set he’d tried to give her. This, she would keep. So simple, so telling. And yes, having something of Condor close to her was a comfort.

She rested some more, in peace. When Enver returned and checked on her, he was pleased to learn she had eaten and was feeling better. She explained to him the torment of Nyssa, and then about the dream.

“Siris Kiltyre was,” she said, “the third captain of the Green Riders, and he wore the same brooch I now wear, which is why, I guess, he and I have a connection.” She told Enver how the ghosts of Riders past buffered her from Nyssa. “Siris said I should seek your help. I realize it all sounds incredible, but I have had dealings with ghosts before, including that of the First Rider.”

“I know this about you, Galadheon, and saw it when you breathed in the smoke spirits.”

Of course. With everything that had happened, she’d forgotten about that incident at the old lumber camp.

“You are wise to acknowledge the truth of these dreams and heed them,” Enver said. “In what way did Siris think I should help you?”

Karigan thought back. “He said to strengthen my mind against Nyssa. To give me the resolve to get rid of her. He wants you to show me how to listen to the voice of the world. I know I have not been very receptive.” She was still not enthused at the prospect, but she’d do anything to be free of Nyssa.

“The last time we attempted it,” he replied, and not without humor, “you fell asleep.”

“I remember.”

“Your Siris Kiltyre is wise. This Nyssa has found a way through your natural defenses, and despite your ability to command the spirits of the dead, you have been too weak to fend her off. Siris Kiltyre and the Riders beyond the veil are giving us a chance to strengthen your defenses; then you may do with the torturer what you must.”

What must I do with her? Karigan wanted to ask, but Enver was already bustling about, digging through his packs. He produced, to her surprise, two tiny teapots and an equally tiny cup. They were made with simple clay and glazed to a natural finish, and inscribed with intricate, swirling decoration.

“We’re having tea?” she asked.