At first Karigan could not speak, but when she found her voice, all she could say was, “Alton.” It was like a recrimination.

The captain’s silence stoked Karigan’s anger. “What about Mara? What about Ephram? Why? How could you let this happen?”

She carried on, unleashing her rage. The captain swayed in the doorway, as if being physically battered.

“Why?” Karigan demanded. “Why did you let it happen? Why did you leave this all for me?”

The captain brought her bandaged hands to her face as if to fend off blows. By then, the fire in Karigan was quenched, and she felt as burned out as Rider barracks. She sank to her knees on the captain’s step.

The captain receded into her quarters and closed the door.

Karigan did the only thing she could do: she went to the stables. But even Condor could not soothe her. She climbed up to the loft and curled up on a pile of hay, holding herself; too numb, too shocked to do anything more than stare into the dark, with only the shifting and scraping of horse hooves down below to disturb her.

Someone entered the stable with a lantern.

“Karigan?” King Zachary called.

She buried her head in her arms, angered by the intrusion. Why couldn’t he just let her be?

Another part of her craved him to lend her comfort.

The light flickered and moved down below as the king searched for her. She should be flattered, she thought, that the king of Sacoridia thought enough of his Green Rider to seek her out.

He paused at the bottom of the ladder. She prayed he would go away, and she prayed he would climb up and find her.

The ladder creaked as he stepped on the bottom rung, the light rising and growing brighter as he climbed. When he stood upon the loft, she covered her eyes.

“Karigan,” he said, “I am terribly sorry. For everything, and more than I can ever express. I know you and Alton were close.”

He sat down beside her, and she willed the grief away, but his presence only seemed to incite it.

“I am sorry,” he said again.

Before Karigan could entertain another thought, the grief engulfed her, racking her body with sobs that came from deep down. She didn’t know when it happened, but the king had given her his shoulder in which to bury her face. He held her as the sobs took over.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.”

“Shhh . . .” the king soothed.

When she ran out of tears, she leaned into him, her cheek against his throbbing heart.

The king held her until she exhausted herself into oblivion. Dimly she remembered him settling her into a deep nest of hay, and covering her with a blanket, and after that, she’d fallen asleep. She did not know how long he had lingered there by her side. Perhaps it had been a dream.

She smoothed her hand over the blanket. It was soft velveteen. She cracked open swollen eyes that ached from all the crying, and discovered it wasn’t a blanket at all that covered her, but King Zachary’s longcoat of dusky blue. She pulled it up to her chin, inhaling his pleasant scent. It brought her some peace as though he were embracing her again.

Gray light filtered through chinks in the stable’s siding into the gloom of the loft. Down below the horses shifted, and she recognized Condor’s distinct snore. Soon Hep would arrive for the morning feeding, and the castle grounds would bustle with the new day, as if Alton was not gone.

More tears wanted to come, some trickled down her cheeks, but she was so wrung out, she had little left inside her.

It’s an old story, said Lil Ambrioth.

Her voice and presence ceased to startle Karigan. The apparition sat a short way away on a pile of hay, the hazy morning light lending some substance to her features.

Oh, yes, an old story oft repeated. How many Riders did I lead to their deaths over the course of the war? Some were dear friends, comrades all. Yet we forged on, even though more were struck down with each campaign. Do you know why we kept on?

“Because you had to,” Karigan said.

Lil nodded. Because we had to. We had to work to defeat Mornhavon, otherwise something worse than death awaited all who remained: loss of free will. To give up would have been to dishonor those who had perished fighting for the good of all the lands. In their deaths we found the spirit and courage to go on. It gave us new purpose.

On a rational level, Karigan understood Lil’s words, but the wound upon her heart was too raw.

I expect other Riders will return only to find shock and sorrow as you have, Lil said. They will need comfort and guidance, just as you did through the night. Who will be here for them? Who will lend them strength?

“I have no strength left to give.”

No? I suppose your king shall have to do it then. Lil’s tone was tinged with sarcasm. Or, would he do it for only one special Rider?

Karigan closed her eyes, remembering the king’s embrace and soothing words. One special Rider. He had done it for her, Karigan G’ladheon, not just for one of his Riders. The concept took her aback.

How about your captain? Lil asked. Do you suppose she’s in any condition to support her Riders?

The image of her suffering captain came back to her all too vividly, and she wilted in shame as she recalled how she had railed at her.

There was no one else.

Lil began to fade, leaving but the faint pigment of a cheek and the twinkle of eyes.

What had become of Lil’s Riders when she passed on? Did they continue to fight, or did they stagger without her leadership? Karigan was again struck by the feeling of a story left unfinished.