Warning: This is a post-Mirror Sight story - Spoiler alert!

A/N: I'm not KB, I'm sure that's obvious. The GR world belongs to her. I don't think anyone will sue me.

CHAPTER 1

A month had passed since the winter solstice. A long month of snowstorms that worked themselves up into furious blizzards, and then swirled their way out to sea, only to be replaced by driving rains; and the wind, never abating, howling incessantly all the time around the castle and driving flurries of snow and ice through every crack and crevice.

A month of bitterly cold days when the servants throughout the castle scurried to keep the fires well tended, so that its inhabitants might stave off the chill. In every room, from the scullery to the audience chambers, from the servants' chambers to the Royal apartments, from the stable boy's room to the Castellan's dining room. The kitchens, with their large hearths and steaming stews and fragrant hot bread, became a favourite stopping place for many, and more than a few dodged a slap from the spoons of the cook's assistants, as they tried to clear a space to move from stove to oven to bench and back.

In the city below the castle, a handful of elderly citizens had died from exposure to the cold, and the King deployed extra soldiers to roam the city in search of any of the poor who might be need of help. Young and old lined up at designated corners across the poorer quarters of Sacor City to eagerly receive a bowl of steaming broth, for supplies in the city were running low. Not just supplies of food and provisions, but, equally essential, of wood and fuel.

Most of the Lord-Governors and their attendants had remained cooped up in the castle, unable to leave as planned after the Night of Aeryc celebrations and subsequent meetings. And a few guards on duty had to be treated for frostbite, one earning a few jeers from his comrades about the location of said injury.

All agreed it was the coldest winter in living memory.

Finally the inhabitants of the castle had awoken one morning to a fine, calm day, with weak sunshine that glittered on the snow. But although that morning brought clear skies, the afternoon brought tragedy.

Queen Estora had gone into labour. Although the Menders said she was not due to give birth for another month, the babes seemed keen to come into the world. But as the labour dragged on, it became obvious to Master Mender Vanlynn and Ben that the position of the twins was making it difficult. After many exhausting hours, they were finally born, in the dark pre-dawn of the following day. One girl and one boy. One healthy, one very weak from the long birth and with a failing heart.

Shortly after the birth Estora collapsed on the bed, exhausted, with a young Mender by her side. Zachary rushed in, having been told earlier that his endless pacing during the labour distressed the Queen and banished to the corridor outside her chamber. Another Mender held the baby girl, cooing softly at the small bundle with a wisp of golden hair and blue eyes. But all other eyes were on Master Mender Vanlynn and Ben, who both leant over the tiny brown eyed boy. The infant's breathing was alarmingly shallow, and it seemed that the inhabitants of the bedchamber held their breath too with every exhalation.

Zachary stood by Estora's bedside in a daze, seeming unable to decide whether to unclench his fists to comfort her, or go to the Menders and make them work harder. He remained motionless, his eyes glued to Ben's face, which showed deep concentration. But finally, the Menders lowered their heads. The tiny royal heir had died.

Fastion and Ellen glanced at each other as Zachary strode out of the chamber, the door bouncing off the wall in his wake. Fastion strode after him as the other members of the room turned their attention to the new mother and her babe.

As dawn broke the King sat motionless in his armchair, a glass of whisky untouched beside him. Fastion, who had watched him sit this way for some time, opened the door to talk quietly to Allis outside, who returned in a short time with Captain Mapstone. Laren moved quickly to his side and squeezed his shoulder. "Oh Zachary, I am so very sorry". He seemed to hardly notice her presence. She gave his shoulder a shake. "Zachary". This, spoken more sharply this time, earned his childhood friend a weary glance, before he returned his gaze to the fire. Laren sighed. "It's not your fault you know." There was a lengthy pause, during which she searched for what to say. "You should go to your wife, and your daughter." Even this elicited no response. Laren found herself growing impatient. "Moonling!" His cheek twitched. "The Gods may have chosen to take a life, but they have also given one. They have blessed you with a daughter!"

She stepped back when he suddenly stood and rounded on her. "The Gods have seen my heart and having found it wanting, they have taken my son." His eyes blazed with anguish. Laren placed her hand on his shoulder comfortingly but he shook it off. "Leave." It was evidently useless to argue with him in this state. She would go to Estora instead with congratulations and condolences.

Karigan sat by the window in her room, looking out the small slit over the snow-covered courtyard. Mara had stuck her head in earlier, to see if she wanted to come to the kitchen with the others for breakfast, but she waved her away, saying she wasn't hungry.

Honestly, she didn't know what she was. News of the night's events had reached Mara quickly via Donal, but Karigan was too shaken to tease her friend. The Queen had given birth, and one tiny babe had not survived. Of course she felt happiness for her friend, and for the kingdom having an heir (albeit a female one – Queen Isen had shown quite nicely that female rulers could match male ones, thank you very much).

But still the sorrow and guilt tore at Karigan's heart. Guilt for not being happy enough for her friend. Sorrow at the thought that nagged and yet eluded her mind, something to do with the name Cade still written on her arm; his face recorded by Yates but the memories eluding her more as time passed. Guilt that that sorrow could still not chase away her sorrow for Zachary. Guilt that, in some tiny corner of her heart, she wished neither royal infant had ever existed. And dread for the celebrations that would long outlast the mourning.

And she didn't want any of it. Had wanted for nearly a month now, as soon as she was well enough to ride out again, to ride away from all this. To ride home to Corsa into the arms of her father and aunts. To ride anywhere, really. But the weather had kept everyone imprisoned inside, and the cessation of the storms the previous morning had only brought a decree from the Captain that she was not to go riding beyond the castle grounds. Wait until she was stronger, Laren had argued. Reluctantly she agreed.

Karigan knew she needed to train for a time with Drent, in any case, to adapt to having only one good eye. She had discovered with relief earlier that Drent was the only person who did not react to her mirror eye, when she took the bandage off at his request. Did he see nothing at all, she wondered? Or perhaps no possible future bothered him? In any case it was a strange feeling, to be so eagerly looking forward to recommencing the gruelling training sessions.

Karigan stood from the comfy chair yawning and stretched, feeling her joints popping. Luckily although her new chamber was quite large, it contained a large hearth, a relic of its long-ago use as a meeting room. She moved about the room restlessly, past the side tables piled with letters of welcome, from many of the Riders and other friends within the castle. No letters had been arrived from without due to the snowstorms, but a letter was being delivered this very day to her father and aunts, informing them that she was alive and well.

She passed under the ornately carved ceiling rafters that joined two of the wooden pillars in the middle of the room. Past the bookshelves and the large wardrobe that still held very few supplies until the shopping expedition Mara had threatened her with. Stopping at her bed with the gaudy gilt headboard depicting a young girl and several frolicking unicorns, which she definitely could not change without hurting Garth's feelings. At least looking at it still made her smile. She sat on the edge of the soft mattress on top of the rumpled bedclothes, which were more a testament to her restlessness than any particularly long amount of sleep.

Her bonewood staff was propped against the wall next to the bed and she shook it to full length, feeling the cool wood soothing against her fingers. She had thought perhaps the light of day would bring some kind of relief to her disordered thoughts, but found the thought of actually facing people just made her feel worse. They either treated her with awe, like the newer riders, or knew little of what she had been through, like most other inhabitants of the castle. To the visiting nobility she was a vague curiosity but to many she was also a pretender who might challenge their ranks, with her knighthood, and if they looked her way at all they passed her with a sneer.

But the worst were Captain Mapstone and Mara who likely suspected her feelings for Zachary, and thanks to the king's reactions since her dramatic return she was sure they both knew he felt something a little out of the ordinary for her. The only people she felt safe around were the Weapons, who probably also knew a little too much but in true form never blinked an eye at the strange goings-on. Maybe in a few days she could ask Donal about renewing her staff training, she pondered.

Karigan sighed and stood, scarcely conscious of carrying the bonewood staff in her hand as she moved towards the door. With a last mournful glance at her warm chamber, she turned the handle, only to nearly run right into a solid black wall in front of her.

Fastion's mouth quirked up ever so slightly at the corner, but his eyes were serious. "Greetings, sister-at-arms. We need to talk".

I'm back! Thanks to Owlkin for her support as always.

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