Blackveil by Kristen Britain

felt, especially when she got up in the morning all aching and stiff. She could appreciate Elgin’s desire to stick to his life out here in the cabin—no need to adapt to the expectations of others, which, she thought, was all she’d ever done. She couldn’t remember a time when there weren’t orders to follow, or to issue. Her life was not her own, yet she did not resent it, for the messenger service gave her purpose.
    Elgin was well beyond her in years, but she was now older than he was when he retired. In fact, most Riders left the messenger service within four or five years, if they were not killed doing their duty first. But the calling still clung to her as strongly as it had when she first came to the service some twenty years or more ago. It appeared there was work for her yet to do, so long as she was not cut down in the process.
    “There is another reason I request that you come to assist in the training of the new Riders,” she said. “The king is preparing—quietly, mind you—for conflict. He does not know when or how, but he wishes to be prepared.”
    “Conflict? Is this about the Blackveil business?”
    Laren nodded. She had regularly apprised him of all that had come to pass during each of her visits, and especially the involvement of the Green Riders. “Mornhavon the Black will return sooner or later, and we’re already contending with Second Empire. We’ve word they’re consolidating their forces.” Green Riders had died trying to bring back the information.
    Elgin scratched a bristly cheek, deep in thought. Presently he said, “I am an old man. What am I against all that?”
    “We’re not asking you to solve the world’s problems,” Laren replied. “Just to help us so we can take care of it. Maybe you don’t remember how young some Riders can be. Our newest boy just turned twelve. Your experience will help give them what they need to survive—prepare them for the storm to come.”
    He turned away and she wondered if she said the wrong thing, hit too close to his heart. The cabin dimmed even more and creaked in the wind. Sparkling snow blew through cracks in the chinking and beneath the door. The horses and Bucket watched with ears perked, as if expecting some momentous proclamation.
    But Elgin remained silent.
    “I’d better get going,” Laren said, rising from her bench. “I want to reach the city before it gets dark. The clouds were building like it might snow again.”
    Elgin nodded. “Best take your chestnuts with you. Should be ready by now.”
    Shortly after, roasted chestnuts warmed Laren’s coat pockets as she sat astride Bluebird. It was already snowing and it looked like it could really pick up.
    “Be careful,” Elgin said from his doorway. Snow mounded the path to either side of him, and a thick layer overhung his roof. “I’ve lost some sheep to critters. Been thinking about getting a dog.”
    Laren thought a dog a sensible idea. “You be careful, too, Chief. And if you decide to give us a hand, know that you’ll have the gratitude of your king. And me.”
    He made a dismissive gesture and went back inside. Laren reined Bluebird down the path away from the cabin.
    “I think he’s interested,” she confided to her horse. “At least he didn’t tell me to go to the five hells.”
    Bluebird snorted and Laren slapped his neck.
    The snow fell heavily, dropping through the woods in curtains. It damped down the world, blanketing it all in an eerie hush, except for the creak of a tree limb or the thud of Bluebird’s hooves.
    Laren was glad the path from Elgin’s cabin was wide enough for his cart, for it made the way obvious in the snow, when a narrower track would have been obscured, the terrain and sameness of the trees disorienting. She supposed if she got lost, Bluebird would know the way home, but it was, nevertheless, reassuring to have a clear path to follow.
    She rode on, warm in her fur-lined greatcoat, confident in spite of the weather and the fading