Free The High King's Tomb by Kristen Britain Page B

Karigan that the king signed her father’s contract of marriage. Then without thinking, she had told Karigan that she envied her for her freedom, the freedom to do as she wished, and to marry whom she wanted.
    It had been a mistake. Estora should have known better. No one chose to be a Green Rider, one was called to service. A magical calling, as she understood it. An irresistible, unyielding call that could break your mind if you failed to heed it. It did not matter what you were doing with your life—the call made you drop everything and come serve the king as one of his messengers. Choice was not involved.
    She paused at an intersection of corridors, deciding she would head for the outdoors to listen to birds and breathe the free air. She turned down the corridor that led past the kitchens and to a servants’ entrance.
    She tugged her shawl closer, and passed a servant pausing along the corridor to yawn. He rubbed his eyes and forged on in the opposite direction.
    Pleased he hadn’t even noticed her, she continued on her way. It was odd, but the more people crowded around her, the lonelier she felt. The only reason they flocked to her was because she was to be queen with all of that rank’s attendant power, not because they cared about her as a person. Since that day in the garden, Karigan had behaved the opposite of everyone else by avoiding her, and it hurt. She’d turn in the other direction if by chance they met in a corridor, and she even declined formal invitations to join Estora for tea. Karigan had been the one person who offered Estora genuine friendship with no conditions attached, and she missed it.
    If only F’ryan were still alive, she would not be so alone. She felt his loss as keenly as if it had happened just yesterday and not two years ago; and in the deep of night, when she was most lonely, she still wept for him. Wept for her lost love, wept for the emptiness in her heart. She held on to her memories of him as if they were the only things anchoring her to Earth; memories of his laughter, his touch, and the light shining in his eyes.
    “Oh, F’ryan, I miss you,” she murmured.
    It made Karigan’s avoidance of her all the more hurtful, for Karigan had been the last to see F’ryan alive and had taken his place among the Green Riders. She was, in a sense, Estora’s last connection to F’ryan.
    Activity picked up near the kitchens. Cooks and bakers would have already been at work for hours now, and she smelled luscious breads and pastries baking. Bright lamplight spilled through the arched entryway of the kitchens, and cooks and servants bustled within, clattering dishware and chattering boisterously among themselves. The kitchens were cavernous with numerous ovens, hearths, and preparation tables. Feeding a castle full of soldiers, administrators, nobles, servants, and visitors was a huge undertaking, which the kitchen operations reflected.
    Estora smiled and continued toward the servants’ entrance only to discover a certain Green Rider there with a pair of bulging saddlebags thrown over her shoulders and her hand on the door handle.
    “Karigan?”
    The Rider swung around, startled. Panic flickered across her features when she saw who addressed her.
    “Good morning, my lady,” she said with a quick bob. “I’ve two Riders needing these provisions, so I must—”
    “Oh, no, you don’t!” Estora strode forward and stood squarely before Karigan. “You will not run off on me again.”
    Karigan opened her mouth as if to speak, but Estora cut her off. “I know I upset you in the past, but is it really a reason to avoid me each and every time I see you? I apologize if that will help. But really, avoiding me is not the most adult reaction.”
    At first, unsettled emotions rippled across Karigan’s face, but then she took a deep breath, steadying her expression. It was not the open, friendly face Estora was accustomed to but closed and set.
    “It may be perceived,” Karigan said, “as