Blackveil by Kristen Britain

from those who’d contest him for it, namely pirates and invaders from foreign lands. After repelling a particularly ferocious assault from the Under Kingdoms, he was formally invested as the prince of the region that included the harbor, today’s L’Petrie Province.
    Karigan’s gaze swept along the crescent contour of the shoreline, and there, near where the Grandgent River emptied into the ocean, were the warships of Sacoridia’s navy, and the yards that serviced them. It was a testament to Corsa’s importance as a port that the navy’s largest fleet berthed in its harbor, guarding it, the realm, and the all-important river from any enemies. Mordivelleo L’Petrie, she thought, would be pleased.
    “I was going to show you Garden House when you finished service with the king,” her father said presently, the sunset casting an orange glow on his face as he gazed out to sea. “But it seemed appropriate to take you there today. I hope you consider it a worthy endeavor, something to keep going when the time for you to inherit comes along. Many of our residents have moved on and done well for themselves.” After a long pause, he added, “I don’t suppose I’ve redeemed myself in your eyes at all.”
    “Is that why you brought me to Garden House?” Karigan asked.
    “I did not wish for you to judge my relationship with Silva based purely on your knowledge of the brothel.”
    “What is your relationship with Silva?”
    “We are friends of long standing.”
    “And you’re a client of her brothel.”
    Her father did not answer, but snapped the reins over the haunches of the drays and guided them away from the harbor.

    They left the town behind, the sleigh gliding into the deepening dark. With the setting sun, the air chilled perceptibly and Karigan burrowed beneath the blanket. The cobbles at her feet had gone cold long ago.
    She would receive no real answers about the brothel from her father. He had told her there were things he’d never discuss with her. And, she supposed, she did not want to know the specifics. What she really wanted was for none of this to have happened in the first place. She wished she had never heard of the Golden Rudder; she wished he’d deny his connection to it and say that it was all just a huge misunderstanding.
    But he did not, and it was not. She could wish all she wanted, but it wouldn’t change a thing.
    And yet, she reflected, because of his association with the brothel and its madam, he was doing good works such as supporting Garden House, his efforts no doubt saving the lives of those like Vera. Karigan may have had a privileged upbringing, but she wasn’t so naive that she didn’t recognize the need for such places.
    As she thought about it, she realized she’d only known a single, narrow facet of her father. Now she had discovered he was just as complicated and complex as any other person.
    So absorbed in her thoughts had she been, that when the sleigh hit a bump, she was surprised to discover her father was not taking the main road home, but rather a narrow lane bordered by forest.
    “Where are we?” she asked.
    “Arrowdale Road,” her father said.
    Karigan’s disorientation faded immediately. Arrowdale was a meandering old track that was the “long way” home. She used to go riding on it sometimes, but to her it had always seemed so forsaken, a little spooky. There were only a few, long abandoned homesteads along it, taken over by the march of the forest. History held that some battle of the Long War had taken place in the folds of the land, hence the name Arrowdale.
    “Your mother and I used to ride out this way at night sometimes,” her father said unexpectedly. “The stars were always lovely, and no one bothered us out here.”
    Karigan glanced up, and between the bordering tips of evergreens, the stars were bright. The Hunter was making his seasonal trek to the west, and the Sword of Sevelon was in the half-raised position, slowly rotating upward from its