Wintertide: Book Five: the Riyria Revlations Page 2

  “See what I mean? Mince is a bit crazy when it comes to the empress,” Elbright apologized. “He’s got to get used to Regent Ethelred running things again. Not that he ever really stopped on account of the empress being sick and all.”

  “She was hurt by the beast she killed up north,” Mince explained. “The Empress Modina was dying from the poison, and healers came from all over, but no one could help. Then Regent Saldur prayed for seven days and nights without food or water. Maribor showed him that the pure heart of a servant girl named Amilia from Tarin Vale had the power to heal the empress. And she did. Lady Amilia has been nursing the empress back to health and doing a fine job.” He took a breath, his eyes brightened, and a smile grew across his face.

  “Mince, enough,” Elbright said.

  “What’s all this about?” Royce asked, pointing at bleachers that were being built in the center of the square. “They aren’t holding the wedding out here, are they?”

  “No, the wedding will be at the cathedral. Those are for folks to watch the execution. They’re gonna kill the rebel leader.”

  “Yeah, that piece of news we heard about,” Hadrian said softly.

  “Oh, so you came for the execution?”

  “More or less.”

  “I’ve got our spots all picked out,” Elbright said. “I’m gonna have Mince go up the night before and save us a good seat.”

  “Hey, why do I have to go?” Mince asked.

  “Brand and I have to carry all the stuff. You’re too small to help and Kine’s still sick, so you need to—”

  “But you have the cloak and it’s gonna be cold just sitting up there.”

  The two boys went on arguing, but Royce could tell Hadrian was no longer listening. His friend’s eyes scanned the palace gates, walls, and front entrance. Hadrian was counting guards.

  ***

  Rooms at the Bailey were the same as at every inn—small and drab, with worn wooden floors and musty odors. A small pile of firewood was stacked next to the hearth in each room but never enough for the whole night. Patrons were forced to buy more at exorbitant prices if they wanted to stay warm. Royce made his usual rounds, circling the block, watching for faces that appeared too many times. He returned to their room confident that no one had noticed their arrival—at least no one that mattered.

  “Room eight. Been here almost a week,” Royce said.

  “A week? Why so early?” Hadrian asked.

  “If you were living in a monastery for ten months a year, wouldn’t you show up early for Wintertide?”

  Hadrian grabbed his swords and the two moved down the hall. Royce picked the lock of a weathered door and slid it open. On the far side of the room, two candles burned on a small table set with plates, glasses, and a bottle of wine. A man, dressed in velvet and silk, stood before a wall mirror, checking the tie that held back his blond hair and adjusting the high collar of his coat.

  “Looks like he was expecting us,” Hadrian said.

  “Looks like he was expecting someone,” Royce clarified.

  “What the—” Startled, Albert Winslow spun around. “Would it hurt to knock?”

  “What can I say?” Royce flopped on the bed. “We’re scoundrels and thieves.”

  “Scoundrels certainly,” Albert said, “but thieves? When was the last time you two stole anything?”

  “Do I detect dissatisfaction?”

  “I’m a viscount. I have a reputation to uphold, which takes a certain amount of income—money that I don’t receive when you two are idle.”

  Hadrian took a seat at the table. “He’s not dissatisfied. He’s outright scolding us.”

  “Is that why you’re here so early?” Royce asked. “Scouting for work?”

  “Partially. I also needed to get away from the Winds Abbey. I’m becoming a laughing stock. When I contacted Lord Daref, he couldn’t lay off the Viscount Monk jokes. On the other hand, Lady Mae does find my pious reclusion appealing.”

  “And is she the one who…” Hadrian swirled a finger at the neatly arranged table.

  “Yes. I was about to fetch her. I’m going to have to cancel, aren’t I?” He looked from one to the other and sighed.

  “Sorry.”

  “I hope this job pays well. This is a new doublet and I still owe the tailor.” Blowing out the candles, he took a seat across from Hadrian.

  “How are things up north?” Royce asked.

  Albert pursed his lips, thinking. “I’m guessing you know about Medford being taken? Imperial troops hold it and most of the provincial castles except for Drondil Fields.”

  Royce sat up. “No, we didn’t know. How’s Gwen?”

  “I have no idea. I was here when I heard.”

  “So, Alric and Arista are at Drondil Fields?” Hadrian asked.

  “King Alric is but I don’t think the princess was in Medford. I believe she’s running Ratibor. They appointed her mayor, or so I’ve heard.”

  “No,” Hadrian said. “We just came through there. She was governing after the battle but left months ago in the middle of the night. No one knows why. I just assumed she went home.”

  Albert shrugged. “Maybe, but I never heard anything about her going back. Probably better for her if she didn’t. The Imps have Drondil Fields surrounded. Nothing is going in or out. It’s only a matter of time before Alric will have to surrender.”

  “What about the abbey? Has the Empire come knocking?” Royce asked.

  Albert shook his head. “Not that I know of. But like I said, I was already here when the Imperialists crossed the Galewyr.”

  Royce got up and began to pace.

  “Anything else?” Hadrian asked.

  “Rumor has it that Tur Del Fur was invaded by goblins. But that’s only a rumor, as far as I can tell.”

  “Not a rumor,” Hadrian said.

  “Oh?”

  “We were there. Actually, we were responsible.”

  “Sounds…interesting,” Albert said.

  Royce stopped his pacing. “Don’t get him started.”

  “Okay, so what brings you to Aquesta?” Albert asked. “I’m guessing it’s not to celebrate Wintertide.”

  “We’re going to break Degan Gaunt out of the palace dungeon, and we’ll need you for the usual inside work,” Royce said.

  “Really? You do know he’s going to be executed on Wintertide, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, that’s why we need to get moving. It would be bad if we were late,” Hadrian added.

  “Are you crazy? The palace? At Wintertide? You’ve heard about this little wedding that’s going on? Security might be a tad tighter than usual. Every day I see a line of men in the courtyard, signing up to join the guard.”

  “Your point?” Hadrian asked.

  “We should be able to use the wedding to our advantage,” Royce said. “Anyone we know in town yet?”

  “Genny and Leo arrived recently, I think.”

  “Really? That’s perfect. Get in touch. They’ll have rooms in the palace for sure. See if they can get you in. Then find out all you can, especially about where they’re keeping Gaunt.”

  “I’m going to need money. I was only planning to attend a few local balls and maybe one of the feasts. If you want me inside the palace, I’ll have to get better clothes. By Mar, look at my shoes. Just look at them! I can’t meet the empress in these.”

  “Borrow from Genny and Leo for now,” Royce said. “I’m going to leave for Medford tonight and return with funds to cover our expenses.”

  “You’re going back? Tonight?” Albert asked. “You just got here, didn’t you?”

  The thief nodded.

  “She’s okay,” Hadrian assured Royce. “I’m sure she got out.”

  “We’ve got nearly a month to Wintertide,” Royce said. “I should be back in a week or so. In the meantime, learn what you can, and we’ll formulate a plan when I return.”

  “Well,” Albert grumbled, “at least Wintertide won’t be boring.”

  Chapter 2
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  Into Darkness

  Someone was whimpering.

  It was a man’s voice this time, one that Arista had heard before. Everyone cried eventually. Some people even broke down into fits of hysterics. There used to be a woman who was prone to screaming, but she had been removed some time ago. Arista held no illusions about the woman being set free. She had heard them drag the body away. The whimpering man used to cry out but had grown quieter over the last few days. He never wailed anymore. Although not long ago, she heard him praying. Arista was surprised that he did not ask for rescue or even a quick death. All he prayed for was her. He asked Maribor to keep her safe, but in all his ramblings, the princess never caught the name of the man’s lover.

  There was no way to track the passage of time in the dark. Arista tried counting meals, but her hunger suggested they came less than once per day. Still, weeks must have passed since her capture. In all that time, she never heard Gaunt despite having called out to him. The only time she had actually heard his voice was the night she and Hilfred failed to rescue him.

  Since then, she had been confined to her cell, which contained only a pail for waste and a few handfuls of straw. The room was so small that she could touch all four walls at once, making it feel like a cage or a grave. Arista knew that Modina, the girl once known as Thrace, had also been kept somewhere just like this. Perhaps even in that very cell. After losing everyone and everything that mattered to her, it would have been a nightmare to wake alone in the dark without explanation, cause, or reason. Not knowing where she was or how she got there had driven the girl mad.

  Arista had her own share of loss but knew she was not alone in the world. Once the news of her disappearance reached him, her brother Alric would move the world to save her. The two had grown closer in the years since their father’s death. He was no longer the privileged boy and she no longer the jealous, reclusive sister. They still had their arguments, but nothing would stop him from finding her. Alric would enlist the help of the Pickerings—her extended family. He might even call on Royce and Hadrian, whom Alric affectionately referred to as the Royal Protectors. It would not be long now.

  Arista pictured Hadrian’s lopsided smile. The image stung, but her mind refused to let it go. Memories of the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, and that tiny scar on his chin pulled at her heart. There were moments of warmth but only kindness on his part, only sympathy—compassion for a person in pain or need. To him, Arista was just the princess, his employer, his job, just one more desperate noble.

  How empty an existence I’ve led that those few I count among my best friends are two people I paid to work for me.

  She wanted to believe Hadrian saw her as something special, that the time they had spent on the road together endeared her to him—that it meant as much to Hadrian as it did to her. Arista hoped he considered her smarter or more capable than most. But even if he did, men did not want smart or capable. They wanted pretty. Arista was not pretty like Alenda Lanaklin or Lenare Pickering. If only Hadrian saw her the way Emery and Hilfred had.

  Then he would be dead, too.

  The deep rumble of stone against stone echoed through the corridors. Footsteps sounded in the hall. Someone was coming.

  Now was not the time for food. While Arista could not judge the passage of time in the darkness, food never came until she feared it might never arrive. They fed her so little that she welcomed the thin, putrid soup, which smelled of rotten eggs.

  The approaching footfalls came from two sets of shoes. The first she recognized as a guard who wore metal and made a pronounced tink-tink. The other wore hard heels and soles that created a distinct click-clack. That was not a guard nor was it a servant. Servants wore soft shoes that made a swish-swish sound or no shoes at all—slap-slap. Only someone wealthy could afford shoes that clacked on stone. The steps were slow but not hesitant. There was confidence in the long, measured strides.

  A key rattled against the assembly of her lock and then clicked.

  A visitor?

  The door to her cell opened, and a bright light made Arista wince.

  A guard entered, jerked her roughly to one side, and attached a pair of iron bracelets chaining her wrists to the wall. Leaving her sitting with her arms above her head, the guard exited but left the door open.

  A moment later, Regent Saldur entered holding a lantern. “How are you this evening, Princess?” The old man shook his head sadly making tsking noises. “Look at you, my dear. You are so thin and filthy, and where in Maribor’s name did you get that dress? Not that there’s much of it left, is there? Those look like new bruises, too. Have the guards been raping you? No, I suppose not.” Saldur lowered his voice to a whisper. “They had extremely strict orders not to touch Modina when she was here. I accused an innocent jailor of improperly touching her and then had him pulled apart by oxen as an example. There were no problems after that. It might seem extreme, but I couldn’t have a pregnant empress, now could I? Of course, in your case I really don’t care, but the guards don’t know that.”

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Her low raspy voice sounded strange, even to herself.

  “I thought I would bring you some news, my dear. Kilnar and Vernes have fallen. Rhenydd is now a happy member of the Empire. The farmlands of Maranon on the Delgos peninsula had a nice harvest, so we’ll have plenty of supplies to feed our troops all winter. We’ve retaken Ratibor but had to execute quite a few traitors as examples. The peasants must learn the consequences of rebellion. They were cursing your name before we had finished.”

  Arista knew he was telling the truth. Not because she could read his face, which she barely saw through her matted hair, but because Saldur had no reason to lie. “What do you want?”

  “Two things, really. I want you to realize that the New Empire has risen and nothing can stand in its way. Your life, Arista, is over. You will be executed in a matter of weeks. And your dreams are already dead. You need to bury them alongside the sad little graves of Hilfred and Emery.”

  Arista stiffened.

  “Surprised? We learned all about Emery when we retook Ratibor. You really do have such a way with men. First you got him killed and then Hilfred as well. You must make black widows jealous.”

  “And the second?” She noticed his momentary confusion. “The other reason we’re having this little chat?”

  “Oh, yes. I want to know who you were working with.”

  “Hilfred—you killed him for it, remember?”

  Saldur smiled and then struck her hard across the face. The chains binding Arista’s wrists snapped taut as she tried to protect herself. He listened to her crying softly for a moment and then said, “You’re a smart girl—too smart for your own good—but you’re not that smart. Hilfred may have helped you escape arrest. Perhaps he even hid you during those weeks we searched. But he couldn’t have gotten you into the palace or found this prison. Hilfred died wearing the uniform of a fourth floor guard. You must have had help from someone on the staff to get that, and I want to know who it was.”

  “There was no one. It was just me and Hilfred.”

  Saldur slapped her again. Arista cried out, her body shaking, jangling the chains.

  “Don’t lie to me,” he said while raising his hand again.

  Arista spoke quickly to stay the blow. “I told you. It was just me. I got a job working in the palace as a chambermaid. I stole the uniform.”

  “I know all about you posing as Ella the scrub girl. But you couldn’t have gotten the uniform without help. It had to be someone in a position of authority. I must know who the traitor is. Now tell me. Who was helping you?”

  When she said nothing, he struck her twice more.

  Arista cringed. “Stop it!”

  “Tell me,” Saldur growled.

  “No, you’ll hurt her!” she blurted.

  “Her?”

  Realizing her mistake, Arista bit her lip.

  “So, it was a woman. That limits the possibilities considerably,
now doesn’t it?” Saldur played with a key that dangled from a small chain, spinning it around his index finger. After several minutes, the regent crouched down and placed the lantern on the floor.

  “I need a name and you will tell me. I know you think you can carry her identity to your grave, but whether you hold your tongue out of loyalty to her or to spite me, you should reconsider. You might believe that a few weeks is not long to hold your tongue, but once we start you’ll wish for a quick death.”

  He brushed her hair aside. “Look at that face. You don’t believe me, do you? Still so naive. Still such an optimistic child. As a princess, you’ve led such a pampered life. Do you think that living among the commoners of Ratibor and scrubbing floors here at the palace has made you strong? Do you think you have nothing else to lose and you’ve finally hit bottom?”

  When he stroked her cheek, Arista recoiled.

  “I can see by your expression that you still have some pride and a sense of nobility. You don’t yet realize just how far you have to fall. Trust me, Arista, I can strip you of that courage and break your spirit. You don’t want to find out just how low I can bring you.”

  He stroked her hair gently for a moment then grabbed a handful. Saldur pulled hard, jerking her head back and forcing Arista to look at him. His gaze lingered on her face. “You’re still pure, aren’t you? Still untouched and locked in your tower in more ways than one. I suspect neither Emery nor Hilfred dared to bed a princess. Perhaps we should begin with that. I will let the guards know that they can—no—I will specifically order them to violate you. It will make both of us very popular. The men will be requesting extra duty so they can desecrate you night and day.”

  Saldur let go of her hair, allowing her head to drop.

  “Once you are thoroughly used and your pride has evaporated, I’ll send for the Master Inquisitor. I’m sure he will relish the opportunity to purge the evil from the infamous Witch of Melengar.” Saldur moved closer and spoke softly, intimately. “The inquisitor is very imaginative, and what he can do with chains, a bucket of water, and a searing hot brand is sheer artistry. You’ll scream until you lose your voice. You’ll black out and wake where the nightmare left off.”