corridor.
“Snow’s stopped,” he answered. “The clouds look like they’re breaking up.”
“Good, good,” Aunt Stace said. “Then maybe you’ll take a few minutes to visit with your daughter. It isn’t often she’s home.”
Karigan pocketed her moonstone and crept to the doorway of the office. She peered into the entry hall and saw her father heavily cloaked and holding a pair of snowshoes. Snow crumbled off his boots and shoulders. Aunt Stace faced him with her arms crossed.
“I will,” he said. “But I still need to—”
“You need to talk to your daughter. About certain things.”
“Certain things? What things?” Then Stevic G’ladheon’s features clouded over. “She told you about the brothel?”
Aunt Stace’s eyebrows shot up. “ Brothel? What brothel?”
Silence filled the hall as brother and sister regarded one another.
Aunt Stace shook herself and Karigan could tell she was just bursting with questions, but instead said, “You need to talk to Karigan about her family. Kariny’s family.”
“Why? What for?” Stevic’s manner was guarded.
“She’s a right to know,” Aunt Stace replied, “about what was said back on the island concerning the Grays. How some of the women of that line—”
“No.”
“Stevic—”
“No. I will not talk about those lies. None of it was true, and I will have no such talk in my house.”
“But you—”
“It’s bad enough my daughter is cursed and that damn Rider call has taken her from me.”
His words stunned Karigan. Cursed? He believed her cursed? She tightened her grip on the moonstone in her pocket.
“But Kariny—”
“Do not speak of her—do not even bring up her name—not when you discuss magic. She was untouched by the taint. She was perfect. ”
Karigan swallowed hard, feeling as if the floor beneath her feet were falling away. She knew her father’s views on magic, an antipathy borne of fear. It was not uncommon among Sacoridians whose ancestors suffered so under the depredations of Mornhavon the Black.
Yet the vehemence in his voice, the hate—it took her aback. He saw her as cursed, as tainted by evil. A small cry escaped her lips.
Her father and aunt both looked toward the doorway where she stood.
“Karigan?” Aunt Stace said.
Her father blanched.
Karigan barely registered the tears on her cheeks.
“Karigan,” her father said. “I didn’t mean to say—”
But then she removed her hand from her pocket, the moonstone on her palm. It lit the entry hall in a brilliant silver-white hue, illuminating her father’s flesh with a deathly pallor.
The snowshoes crashed to the floor.
“No,” he whispered.
Before Karigan or Aunt Stace could say another word, he flung the front door open and bolted out into the wintry landscape.
Karigan sank to her knees, the moonstone clenched in her fist. In two strides Aunt Stace was there, holding her.
ISLAND LORE
K arigan’s aunts had always been of the opinion that applying food to a problem usually solved it. They placed before her a bowl of goose and leek soup from the kettle simmering over the fire, as well as peach preserves, tarts, and muffins.
Aunt Tory uncorked a bottle of pear brandy. Tea, she declared, just wasn’t efficacious enough to succor the distress caused by her brother, and after splashing a dram into a goblet for Karigan, she poured herself a cup near to overflowing. Then she took a long, hard draught of the stuff, ending with a satisfied sigh. She refilled her cup while her sisters looked on in astonishment and severe disapproval.
For Karigan’s part, she sat at the kitchen table with head in hands, the fire warming her back. She had no appetite whatsoever and sat mute while Aunt Stace recounted her confrontation with their brother.
“We should sit on him,” Aunt Tory said.
“I’m not sure that would help Karigan,” Aunt Stace replied.
“She could sit on him, too. The more of us, the better.”
Aunt Gretta snickered, a mischievous
“Snow’s stopped,” he answered. “The clouds look like they’re breaking up.”
“Good, good,” Aunt Stace said. “Then maybe you’ll take a few minutes to visit with your daughter. It isn’t often she’s home.”
Karigan pocketed her moonstone and crept to the doorway of the office. She peered into the entry hall and saw her father heavily cloaked and holding a pair of snowshoes. Snow crumbled off his boots and shoulders. Aunt Stace faced him with her arms crossed.
“I will,” he said. “But I still need to—”
“You need to talk to your daughter. About certain things.”
“Certain things? What things?” Then Stevic G’ladheon’s features clouded over. “She told you about the brothel?”
Aunt Stace’s eyebrows shot up. “ Brothel? What brothel?”
Silence filled the hall as brother and sister regarded one another.
Aunt Stace shook herself and Karigan could tell she was just bursting with questions, but instead said, “You need to talk to Karigan about her family. Kariny’s family.”
“Why? What for?” Stevic’s manner was guarded.
“She’s a right to know,” Aunt Stace replied, “about what was said back on the island concerning the Grays. How some of the women of that line—”
“No.”
“Stevic—”
“No. I will not talk about those lies. None of it was true, and I will have no such talk in my house.”
“But you—”
“It’s bad enough my daughter is cursed and that damn Rider call has taken her from me.”
His words stunned Karigan. Cursed? He believed her cursed? She tightened her grip on the moonstone in her pocket.
“But Kariny—”
“Do not speak of her—do not even bring up her name—not when you discuss magic. She was untouched by the taint. She was perfect. ”
Karigan swallowed hard, feeling as if the floor beneath her feet were falling away. She knew her father’s views on magic, an antipathy borne of fear. It was not uncommon among Sacoridians whose ancestors suffered so under the depredations of Mornhavon the Black.
Yet the vehemence in his voice, the hate—it took her aback. He saw her as cursed, as tainted by evil. A small cry escaped her lips.
Her father and aunt both looked toward the doorway where she stood.
“Karigan?” Aunt Stace said.
Her father blanched.
Karigan barely registered the tears on her cheeks.
“Karigan,” her father said. “I didn’t mean to say—”
But then she removed her hand from her pocket, the moonstone on her palm. It lit the entry hall in a brilliant silver-white hue, illuminating her father’s flesh with a deathly pallor.
The snowshoes crashed to the floor.
“No,” he whispered.
Before Karigan or Aunt Stace could say another word, he flung the front door open and bolted out into the wintry landscape.
Karigan sank to her knees, the moonstone clenched in her fist. In two strides Aunt Stace was there, holding her.
ISLAND LORE
K arigan’s aunts had always been of the opinion that applying food to a problem usually solved it. They placed before her a bowl of goose and leek soup from the kettle simmering over the fire, as well as peach preserves, tarts, and muffins.
Aunt Tory uncorked a bottle of pear brandy. Tea, she declared, just wasn’t efficacious enough to succor the distress caused by her brother, and after splashing a dram into a goblet for Karigan, she poured herself a cup near to overflowing. Then she took a long, hard draught of the stuff, ending with a satisfied sigh. She refilled her cup while her sisters looked on in astonishment and severe disapproval.
For Karigan’s part, she sat at the kitchen table with head in hands, the fire warming her back. She had no appetite whatsoever and sat mute while Aunt Stace recounted her confrontation with their brother.
“We should sit on him,” Aunt Tory said.
“I’m not sure that would help Karigan,” Aunt Stace replied.
“She could sit on him, too. The more of us, the better.”
Aunt Gretta snickered, a mischievous
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