But the light in his intelligent eyes faded, and after he heaved a final breath, his whole body went limp, his tongue lolling out between lax jaws. He was gone.

Karigan rested her forehead on his already cooling neck, all the strength and life gone from it. Some essential element of her soul had been stripped out leaving her drained, abandoned. By having saved him from the meat market in Mill City, she had still brought him to his death.

“Old Samson,” said his former owner, Dr. Silk. He shook his head. “So he meets his end after all.” He nudged one of Raven’s huge hoofs with his toe. “He will be dog meat and glue now.”

Karigan stood unsteadily, rage washing over her. She was ready to unleash it on Dr. Silk. She forgot where she was and all who depended on her. She could only think of murdering Silk.

He must have seen it in her eyes, for he took a step back. “Mr. Howser?”

The man moved toward Karigan, and she was ready and willing to take him down, too, if he got in the way.

Oddly, it was the presence of the emperor that calmed her. She had been unaware of his approach. Amberhill was just suddenly there, kneeling at Raven’s head. He placed his hand between the stallion’s ears in a sort of benediction. “He reminded me so much of my Goss.” He shook his head sadly. This was not Mornhavon, but Amberhill.

“Why did he do it?” someone asked.

“That horse was always wild,” Silk said. “Insane.”

“He was a Green Rider horse,” Amberhill said. “He came to defend his Rider.”

Silk stared aghast. The others who crowded around looked on uncomprehending.

“This noble horse will not be made into glue or dog meat,” Amberhill told Silk reproachfully. “He will be interred in the great pasture with my other beloved steeds.”

“A Green Rider horse?” Silk asked himself in disbelief. He must have regretted not knowing he’d had such an “artifact” right in front of him the whole time.

Amberhill rose and demanded, “Who shot my horse?” Heat rolled off him like palpable waves of anger.

Two guards fell to their knees right away, heads bowed. One said, “We feared—”

A flare of heat shut the man up. Ice melted beneath Amberhill’s feet, and vapor rose up around him like a shroud. Even amidst her loss, Karigan remembered how Yates seemed to burn up when Mornhavon occupied his body. Was the throne room kept cold in an attempt to prevent the emperor from burning up?

He strode to the guard who had spoken and held out his hand. The guard did not hesitate, but unsheathed his gun and handed it over to the emperor, head still bowed. Too shocked by the loss of Raven to understand what was happening, Karigan reeled when Amberhill fired the weapon and much of the guard’s head blew off in pieces.

By the time the second guard was executed, the Eternal Guardian was dragging Karigan from the throne room, its gold door battered by the impressions of horse hooves.

• • •

Karigan did not resist, too depleted by all that had happened. She stumbled alongside the Eternal Guardian, his steely grip on her arm the only thing keeping her upright. The passing corridors were a blur, and it was with some surprise when they entered the suite of rooms she shared with Lorine and Arhys.

The Guardian released her, and she collapsed onto the sofa, placing her head in her hands. There were no tears yet. It had not sunk in. She was just intolerably empty, wanted nothing more than to be in Cade’s arms. She was barely aware of the Guardian moving through the rooms, looking through doors, moving objects. There were no sounds or indication of Lorine and Arhys being home.

When the Guardian, that fearsome presence in leather and red armor, stood but inches in front of her he could no longer be ignored. “They cannot see or hear, at least for the moment,” he said in his wreck of a voice.

She was so dazed she had little idea what he was talking about.

He took her chin in the same hand that had struck her. She flinched.

“I am sorry about that,” he said, “but I had to make it look good after the disgrace of losing. I used a weaker staff on purpose.”

Look good? Weaker staff?

He tilted her chin up so he could study her face. “I cannot believe it,” he murmured. “After all these years. It is actually you. After Dr. Silk found your belongings in Blackveil, I thought you had vanished utterly, never to be seen again.”

Karigan jerked her chin out of his grasp. He did not reach for her again. Instead, he knelt before her. He twitched his head, and wheels and gears on the sides of his helm were set in motion. Ticking and whining, they lifted the visor and lowered the bevor. The hiss-sigh of his cylinder apparatus ceased. She looked upon a visage as wrecked as his voice, the features of his face fused together by scars and melted flesh. The extent of the scarring was horrific, beyond even what her friend Mara had sustained when Rider barracks burned down. It was like looking at a face of clay slapped together by a child. She wanted to look away but could not. There was something in his eyes, something about the way he had fought and held himself. Something about his stoic attitude.

“Do you know me?” he asked, his breaths a terrible wheezing sound. “I am much changed.”

She squinted, tried to fill in spaces where eyebrows might be, the original shape of his nose. How could it be? It was impossible. Just as impossible as it was for her to be here. “Fastion?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“How?” How was he right here before her, a Weapon of King Zachary’s court? One whom she considered a friend, as much as one could call a Weapon a friend. He was of the past, should have died long ago.