I am not the enemy.

One niggling doubt chewed at the corners of her confidence. She wouldn’t purposely do anything wrong, but what if—? What if she made some mistake, or accidentally—

Condor bucked, not hard enough to dislodge her, but enough to gain her attention.

“What?” she demanded.

He snorted and champed his bit.

“Oh.” He still wanted to run, and maybe he had picked up on her anxiety. She clapped him on the neck. “You’re right, my friend. Let’s forget this nonsense and get home.” She had much to tell King Zachary and Mara.

She nudged his sides and gave him rein, and he stretched into an easy lope that helped dispel her worries.

Feeling she needed to communicate her experiences to the king before anything else, she went directly to the castle, letting a servant lead Condor away to the stables. Her plan was thwarted, however, for the throne room was packed. It was public audience day.

The crowd spilled out of the throne room entrance and down the corridor. She had to push to enter, getting jostled and shoved, with curses spat at her.

Above the heads of others, she could just make out the king on the dais, his chin on his fist, eyes hooded. From all outward appearances he was calm, but Karigan wondered how he could be with all these people thronging the chamber.

She elbowed two men out of her way, and slipped ahead of them.

“Hey,” one of the men protested, “wait yer turn.” He made to grab her, but she jammed the heel of her boot into the meaty part of his foot, and worked her way forward, leaving behind his sharp cry of pain.

Another look toward the dais showed Sperren banging the butt of his castellan’s staff on the floor, but it proved ineffectual in gaining anyone’s attention for it could not be heard. Colin stood before the king, more in a protective stance than one to quiet people, his training as a Weapon taking precedence over his role of advisor. Quickly she surveyed the Weapons and guards on duty, and to a one, they watched the crowd with wary eyes, their stance taut.

Anxiety was thick in the air, and plain on the faces of several petitioners. A woman fainted away from the heat of so many bodies pressed together, and was carried away by her companion. Others quickly filled their space.

The words “uncanny,” “strange,” and “evil magic” muttered through the crowd. Even those who had come to the king seeking his wisdom on ordinary topics were picking up on the currents of anxiety.

Karigan saw the herald, Neff, trapped in an alcove not far from her. He wasn’t exactly shrinking away from the crowd hemming him in but he certainly wasn’t choosing to get into the thick of it either.

She changed course to reach him. If some measure of mastery over the crowd wasn’t achieved, the petitioners would never be heard, and they’d grow more hot and frustrated until something set them off, and then there’d be danger—danger to the king, herself, and just about anyone else caught in the crush. In her estimation, the first thing needed was to quiet the crowd so the king and his advisors could get their attention.

She worked her way to Neff’s side, perspiration beading on her forehead from the heat. Neff warily watched her approach.

She pointed at the horn he held protectively at his side. “Sound that thing!” She had to shout to be heard.

Neff’s eyes widened. “Wha—?”

“Do it! Sound a flourish, or better yet, a cavalry charge.”

“I can’t just—”

She grabbed a handful of tabard and drew him close. “Do it, or things could get much worse in here.”

“But the king—”

Karigan growled and tore the long horn out of his hands. She drew it to her lips and blew. The sound it issued was akin to a dying cow.

Some in the crowd looked about in surprise and those around the alcove moved away, but it hadn’t been enough to quiet all the people. The king peered in her direction, and when he caught sight of her, he nodded his approval.

Karigan drew the horn to her lips again, but Neff snatched it back. He gave her a long look of disgust that let her know exactly how appalled he was, then raised it to his lips and blared the cavalry charge in high-pitched blasts. Karigan had to cover her ears.

That had the desired effect—the crowd hushed in surprise.

“Order!” Sperren called out in a reedy voice that had already done too much shouting. “Order!”

The king rose from his throne chair and looked gravely upon the people. Before the babble could resume, he spoke.

“Citizens of Sacoridia—” His voice carried strong and sure through the throne room. He looked every bit the monarch, from his tall, square stance, to the sunlight shining on his fillet. “I am here today to listen to your petitions. In order to do so, your cooperation is required. A line will reform, no more than two wide.”

Angry voices broke out, but the king raised his hand and they quieted. “I swear to you, I shall hear every last one of you. However, those who do not cooperate will be summarily dismissed.” He nodded at the sergeant of the guard, and soldiers moved in to help organize the crowd into an orderly line. Some tempers flared, and those people were removed.

Karigan hesitated. She knew what she had to tell the king was important, but if she interrupted the public audience, she risked angering all those people again to a dangerous level. It took her but a moment to decide, and she strode toward the dais in the clearing space. She bowed before the king. While the petitioners were being organized into their line, she could at least have a quick word with him.