“F’ryan Coblebay?” Zachary said in surprise. “Your Rider?” he asked Laren. “The one whom Karigan—”

“Yes, F’ryan Coblebay,” Laren replied. “Your Rider, and one of the best. And yes, Karigan completed his final mission. He died trying to bring you information about your brother’s intention to steal your throne.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, “I remember.”

“Do you remember him?” Lady Estora asked.

“I do,” Zachary replied, “though I did not know him well. It is impossible for me to know well all who serve me.”

Lady Estora left the windows to once more stand before him. She held her back straight and her gaze was unwavering. “Then I wish to tell you about F’ryan Coblebay.”

Zachary remained silent, but Laren could not discern whether he was confused, upset, or just being polite. In any case, Lady Estora began her story, of a chance meeting with F’ryan in the gardens, and how this first encounter led to other intentional meetings.

“F’ryan offered me friendship and companionship,” Lady Estora explained, “when I could find it nowhere else. He made me laugh, took me on rides into the country, and strolled with me in the gardens. Because of him, the Riders allowed me into their world. We played card games and sang songs in the common room of the old barracks.” She smiled faintly in memory. “My nurse was really quite ancient, so it was not difficult to steal away.”

Zachary did not comment or ask questions. He simply listened.

“F’ryan was a wonderful man,” Lady Estora continued. “Always he saw the good in people. He could be serious if the situation warranted, but he was much the jester as well. The stories he told made me blush! And they’d leave me in tears from laughter. He was reckless and daring, but also the first to nurse an ill barn kitten back to health.”

Laren found herself immersed in her own recollections of F’ryan. He’d been a damn fine Rider, dispatching messages in record time, charming the nobles, taking on some of the most difficult errands with seeming ease, and escaping one impossible situation after another without apparent effort. Tall, strong, and clever, and not to mention a swordmaster initiate, he seemed to defy the gods and death. Until the arrows.

Until the arrows…

She could not forget—would not forget—the sight of his arrow-pierced body in the back of an undertaker’s cart. Her Rider, the living, breathing man who beat her at Knights, who always had a cheerful word for her, who ardently loved his country and fellow Riders. He’d been so strong, so alive. How could he have become that body, that corpse of putrefying flesh lying in that dirty cart? How?

And so she wondered about all the Riders who perished under her command. How could such life simply be snuffed out like a candle?

“Without your Rider, F’ryan Coblebay,” Lady Estora told Zachary, “I would not have survived my first months in court. As you may guess, as time went on, we fell in love.”

At first Zachary did not react, but then nodded slowly, as if it was what he expected all along. “I’m sorry I did not know him better. I can certainly understand how you came to love a…this Rider, and I am sorry for the grief you’ve suffered at his loss.”

“Yes,” Lady Estora murmured. “I grieve for him still. I knew his job as a king’s messenger was perilous, but I thought him…I thought him invulnerable. And yet, somewhere deep within, I must have known. I must have known that Westrion hovered not far from him.” She paused.

Laren waited. Zachary waited.

Lady Estora tilted her chin up and gazed steadily at Zachary. “I must have sensed death awaited him. Before his final errand, I gave all of myself to him, and more than once, and I do not regret it no matter what shame it may bring me.”

The three stood there, as silent and still as statues. The wind tossed eddies of snow against the windows. The cold of the room reached up through the floor, numbing Laren’s toes in her boots, and crept up her spine so that it ached.

The air was ripe with potential, but whether that potential held an outburst of anger or simple acceptance, she could not predict. For all that Laren knew Zachary well, matters of the heart were tricky and he rarely gave her insight into his own feelings on the subject. Only her powers of observation allowed her to recognize his feelings for Karigan. That was a topic for another meeting some other time, and she did not look forward to it.

“You do understand,” Laren told Zachary, “the courage Lady Estora is showing by coming to you with this. She did not wish for you to find out on your wedding night.”

“I do,” he replied, his voice toneless.

“Do you? Lord Coutre—”

“Lord Coutre,” Zachary snapped, “loves his daughter. I know how much, for I saw the effect the abduction had on him.”

Lady Estora dropped her gaze to the floor, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

“But—” Laren began.

He cut her off with a curt gesture. “I know he is strict. I know how conservative Coutre Province is compared to other regions of Sacoridia. I know. And I know also there was a time before the abduction that Lord Coutre would have disowned his daughter had he heard of her relationship with F’ryan Coblebay.”

“But if you decide—”

Zachary turned full on to Laren. “I am not Lord Coutre, and this is not his province. I know what would happen if I considered the marriage contract breached. And for what? Because of love? For love of a man who has been dead more than two years?” He shook his head, incredulous. “I don’t like secrets, Captain, but in this case, I understand. You did well to guard Lady Estora’s honor.”