To her surprise, the lad did not lead her to the throne room or the king’s study, but to a normally abandoned corridor that was currently anything but. Lamps lit the work of an army of servants scrubbing down walls and the floor. The king stood with his manservant directing the work, using a sword, her saber, as a pointer. A pair of Weapons stood opposite one another against the walls.

“Good morning, Rider G’ladheon,” the king said.

She bowed. “Good morning, Excellency.”

“What do you think?” He brandished her saber down the corridor.

“What do I think? I—um, about what, precisely?”

The king reached over and plucked a piece of hay from her hair. Her cheeks flamed. “Don’t plan to live in the hayloft, do you?” His voice was quiet, but there was a playfulness in his demeanor. He was like the month of Janure, always changing, always unpredictable.

Then she took his meaning and glanced again down the corridor, a corridor lined with doorways to small chambers.

“Yes, Rider,” he said. “It is time the Green Riders came home.” He took her arm and they strolled down the corridor, he pointing out the efforts of the servants to ready it for occupation. Karigan was dubious—the mold and dust were thick, and the rooms in decrepit condition.

“Before Agates Sealender came to mistrust his Riders,” the king explained, “this is where they lived—right here, in this corridor. And this is where they shall live again.”

The windows in the rooms, those not boarded over, were mere arrow slits, leaving the rooms dark and gloomy. How would they be furnished? How would they be heated in the winter? A hundred such questions paraded through Karigan’s mind, but she didn’t voice them because the king was so obviously pleased with himself.

“I know it won’t be the same as the fine old barracks to which you’ve grown accustomed,” he said, “but I think once it’s cleaned up and made habitable again, Riders will bring new life to this section of the castle. I promise you it will soon be far more inviting than it may now appear.

“In the meantime, you and the other Riders shall be quartered in the east wing.” He winked at her. “Quarters fit for visiting royalty—very nicely appointed. Sperren shall see to it.”

Karigan swallowed that.

“I suppose you would like this back.” He handed her the saber, hilt first.

She took it, and passed him his longcoat. “Thank you,” she said, “for everything.”

“You are very welcome.” There was a hint of a smile on his lips meant just for her. He turned to leave, but paused and faced her once again. “I expect you to attend me during this afternoon’s slate of meetings,” he said. “Cummings will fill you in.”

With that, he and his Weapons departed. Karigan stood in the corridor, the servants working around her. Who was Cummings, and where would she find him? What meetings?

She shook her head and started down the corridor. And came to a startled halt as a sensation of being watched crawled across her skin. She glanced back at the servants, but they were intent on their work. None even looked her way.

The light touch of an air current stroked her cheek, and there was a murmur in her ear. Drafts whirled around her legs, then dissipated.

She shuddered and strode rapidly out of the corridor, her future home.

TIDINGS FROM THE WALL

Cummings, Karigan learned, was the king’s personal secretary, a very efficient man who worked not out of the administrative wing, but in the royal offices of the west wing. Each morning he sent a Green Foot runner to Karigan’s luxurious new quarters in the east wing with a list of meetings and audiences at which the king required her presence. The king also wished her to continue her training sessions with Arms Master Drent, and none of the meetings on Cummings’ lists ever conflicted with these.

Karigan now better understood the running-around Captain Mapstone and Mara had engaged in.

When Tegan rode in, Karigan asked her to handle the daily needs of the Riders. Garth busied himself in overseeing the refurbishing of the “new” Rider quarters, including seeking out bits of furniture locked up in storage here and there. Some of the pieces he found were fancy and ostentatious, and some truly bizarre, often from another era and discarded as out of fashion or lacking taste. Most pieces were of a simpler, utilitarian nature, but the combination lent an air of eccentricity to the Rider wing. The important thing was that they were sound.

He found an especially ornate wardrobe of cherry carved with fancy scrollwork and some unknown coat of arms. The details were inlaid with yellowing ivory. Inside were drawer compartments with knobs of pearl, as well as space to hang clothes. It had belonged to some wealthy but forgotten clan, Karigan supposed. Garth declared the wardrobe hers.

“You, um, didn’t take this from the king’s apartments, did you?”

Garth put his hands on his hips and gave her his most offended look. “Of course not. It was thrown in with the rest, where they store all the unwanted stuff. It had a broken leg, and I fixed it.”

Chagrined, Karigan properly admired his handiwork, and helped him move it into her new room. Fortunately these rooms were larger than those of the old Rider barracks, for the wardrobe was a behemoth.

She helped Garth when she could, moving furniture or sweeping out rooms, scaring cobwebs from dark corners, and arranging for glaziers to fix windows. As more Riders arrived, they pitched in where they could, as if the work in some way helped them deal with their losses.