“Looking masks are part of our heritage, Cade, perhaps trivialized in the latter part of Sacoridia’s history but derived from ancient rituals when magic was as rife in the land as water in the ocean. Who is to say that true looking masks did not hold power? And as you may recall, we found all those broken pieces of a mirror embedded in our young lady’s flesh when she arrived.”

“Which could have been just an ordinary broken mirror,” Cade said. “It’s not proof.”

Karigan’s heart pounded, hearing of the shards. Had they saved any? If so, would any power remain in them? Then she dismissed the idea, remembering that magic did not seem to work in this time.

“Perhaps not,” the professor said, “but like the uniform, the brooch, it all supports what she says. I’m pretty good at detecting liars, and I don’t think she has fabricated this story. There are too many precise details, and she did not bungle them, trip herself up, as a liar would have.”

Karigan was not sure it mattered if they believed her—she would find some means of reaching home one way or the other. But if they did believe her, it would ease the way for her to find out the information she wished to take back to King Zachary about the defeat of Sacoridia and the rise of the empire. On inspiration, she said, “Test me.”

“What?” Cade asked.

“Test me. Ask me questions that only someone who lived during my time, or scholars like yourselves, would know.”

Cade wasted no time and jumped in with the first question. “What is the Order of Black Shields?”

“Easy. They guard the royal family, living and dead. Usually we just call them Weapons.”

Cade sat back, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps easy for someone who studies history, but not generally known. What was the succession of Clan Hillander on the throne?”

Karigan started with the Clan Wars and Smidhe Hillander, down the line of succession to King Zachary. Thus began an exhaustive period of eager questioning by both Cade and the professor about Sacoridian history, as well as facets of everyday life. Early on, they tried to slip her up with false or very specific questions. She could not answer all they asked.

“Who was Lady Amalya Whitewren?” Cade asked.

“I have no idea,” Karigan replied.

“She was only one of the most popular poets of your time.”

Karigan shrugged. She’d never heard of this person, but it wasn’t surprising since she did not follow what was happening in poetry.

The professor cleared his throat. “Cade, if I’m not mistaken, Lady Amalya came into prominence after Karigan G’ladheon left for Blackveil.”

“That could be,” Cade said, nodding thoughtfully. “Then tell me—”

And so the questioning went on. At times the two men seemed to forget they were testing her, more interested in confirming or debunking theories about customs, dress, architecture, arts, and politics. Karigan had to sip her cooling tea to moisten her throat.

“Enough,” the professor finally said. “For now, anyway.” He smiled. “Are you satisfied, Cade?”

“Either she is unusually well-tutored and a good actress, or she is speaking truth.” He sighed heavily. “I concede that by some miracle, whether by this magical mask or other means, she has come to us through time. The evidence supports her.”

“But you still doubt?” the professor persisted.

“You know me, Professor, I always question.”

“That’s a fine attribute in an archeologist.” The professor turned back to Karigan. “My dear, despite my own doubts, I began to believe you rather early on, after our initial chat. I had come across the name of ‘Karigan G’ladheon’ in some of my books. One mentions how you saved King Zachary’s throne from his usurper brother.”

Karigan squirmed in her chair, thinking it very odd to be mentioned in any book.

“I’d also seen your name listed in various roll calls that have survived to this day, and the one in which you suddenly became Rider Sir Karigan G’ladheon rather than just Rider G’ladheon. There is an account of how a Rider G’ladheon had rescued King Zachary’s betrothed, though the telling of it is maddeningly lacking in details. In any case, if I am correct, it is after this rescue that you were anointed to knighthood.”

Karigan nodded, squirming some more.

“I hope you will tell me that story sometime, yourself, but not tonight as we’ve already asked much of you.”

She sighed in relief and relaxed.

“There is another G’ladheon mentioned in passing in some of the histories, a prominent merchant.”

“Yes,” Karigan said, “my father.”

The professor brightened. “Ah, I had hoped so. It’s just so very exciting to make connections. I mention all this because after your arrival, I sought to confirm your identity, or at least that of whom you claimed to be, so I took to doing research on the G’ladheon name. I once again came across those references I mentioned before, and found new ones, including a roster of those Sacoridians going on the expedition to Blackveil. It included details about how the expedition was provisioned and outfitted, which I found very interesting. You see, one little detail had nagged me about the garb you were wearing when you arrived here. Everything was right but the boots. You were not wearing riding boots as a Green Rider ought.”

“No,” Karigan agreed. “We were issued infantry boots because we’d be on foot in Blackveil, not riding.”