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  “I ordered it.”

  Hadrian stared at her, stunned. “Thrace—I mean, Modina,” he said softly. “You don’t understand. He never meant to harm you. He only did what he had to. He was trying to save the person he loved most in the world. How could you do this to him?”

  At last she turned. “Have you ever lost the one person in the world that meant everything to you? Did you watch them die, knowing it was your fault?”

  Hadrian said nothing.

  “When my father was killed,” she continued, looking back out the window, “I remember I found it almost too painful to breathe. I had not just lost my father; it was as if the whole world had died, but somehow I was left behind—alone. I just wanted it to end. I was tired. I wanted the pain to stop. If I had the chance—if they hadn’t taken me away, if they hadn’t locked me up, I would have thrown myself into the falls.” She turned and looked at Hadrian once more. “Believe me. He is well cared for—at least, as much as he will allow. Ibis makes him good meals that he doesn’t eat. Can you think of a better place for Royce right now?”

  Hadrian’s shoulders slumped; his arms fell loose at his sides. “Can I at least see him?”

  Modina thought a moment. “Yes, but only you. In his present state, he is a danger to anyone else. Still, I’m not sure he will hear you. You can visit him in the morning.” She leaned over so she could see Amilia. “Can you see to it that he has access?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence.”

  “Good,” the empress said, then looked at Arista. “Now what is it that you have that can’t wait until morning?”

  The Princess of Melengar stood shifting her feet, folding and refolding her hands before her, the robe a tranquil dark blue. She looked at the empress, then at Hadrian, Amilia, and even Gerald, who stood stiffly just inside the door. When her eyes once more returned to Modina, she said, “I think I know how to stop the elves.”

  Hadrian had just descended to the third floor, where several people were returning to their rooms now that all the shouting had died down. He caught a glimpse of Degan Gaunt. The ex-leader of the Nationalists stood in his nightshirt, peering up the steps, both curious and irritated. This was the first time Hadrian had seen the man since the two of them had been released from the dungeon. His neck and nose were narrow, and his lips were so thin they were almost nonexistent. There were creases across his brow and lines about his eyes that spoke of a hard life. Hadrian could tell by the way he carried his weight, and the motions of his body, that he felt awkward, lost in his own skin. He had a faraway look in his eyes, two days’ growth of beard, and a plume of hair that hung out of place. If he had to guess, Hadrian might have pegged him as a poor poet. He seemed nothing like the descendant of emperors.

  “What’s going on up there?” Gaunt asked a passing servant.

  “Someone looking to see the empress, sir. It’s over now.”

  Gaunt appeared dubious.

  This was not how Hadrian had planned on meeting Gaunt. Hadrian had waited, giving them both time to fully heal. After that, he hesitated out of nerves. He wanted their meeting to go well, to be perfect. This was not perfect, but now that they stood face to face he could hardly walk away.

  “Hello, Mr. Gaunt, I am Hadrian Blackwater,” he said, introducing himself with a bow.

  Degan Gaunt greeted him with his nose crinkled up as if he smelled something bad. He critically observed Hadrian, then frowned. “I thought you’d be taller.”

  “I’m sorry,” Hadrian apologized.

  “You’re supposed to be my servant, right?” Gaunt asked. He began walking around Hadrian, orbiting him in slow, lazy circles, carrying a frown around with him.

  “Actually, I’m your bodyguard.”

  “How much am I expected to pay for this privilege?”

  “I’m not asking for money.”

  “No? What is it, then? You want me to make you a duke or something? Is that why you’re here? Boy, people come out of the woodwork when you’ve got money and power, I guess. I mean, I don’t even know you and here you come begging for privileges before I’m even crowned emperor.”

  “It’s not like that. You’re the Heir of Novron; I am the defender of the heir, just like my father before me. It’s a… tradition.”

  “Uh-huh.” Gaunt stood slouching, sucking on his teeth for a moment before jamming his pinky finger into his mouth to struggle with something caught between them. After a few minutes, he gave up.

  “Okay, here’s what I don’t get. I’m the heir. That makes me head of the empire, and head of the church. I’m even part god, if I get that right—great-great-grandson of Maribor or some kind of which or whether. So if I’m gonna be emperor and have a whole castle of guards and an army to protect me, what do I need you for?”

  Hadrian didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what he could say. Gaunt was right. His role as bodyguard was only important so long as the heir was in hiding.

  “Well, guarding you is sort of a family tradition that I would hate to break,” he finally told Gaunt. The words sounded silly even to him.

  “You any good with a sword?”

  “Pretty good.”

  Gaunt scratched his stubbly chin. “Well, since you aren’t charging anything, I guess I’d be stupid not to take you on. Okay, you can be my servant.”

  “Bodyguard.”

  “Whatever.” Gaunt waved at him as if shooing away a pesky fly. “I’m going back to bed. You can wait outside my door and do your guard thing if you like.”

  Gaunt returned to his room and Hadrian waited outside, feeling decidedly foolish. That had not gone as well as he had hoped. He failed to impress Gaunt, and he had to admit, Gaunt did nothing to impress him. He did not know what exactly he had expected. Maybe he thought Gaunt would be the embodiment of the noble poor. A man of staggering integrity, a beacon of enlightenment, who had grown out of the earth’s salt and struggled to the pinnacle. Sure, his standards were high, but after all, Degan was supposed to be part god. Instead, just being near him made Hadrian want to go bathe.

  He leaned against the wall outside the door, looking up and down the quiet hallway.

  This is ridiculous. What am I doing?

  The answer was obvious—nothing. But there was nothing to do. He had missed his opportunity and was now useless.

  From somewhere inside, he heard Gaunt begin to snore.

  The next morning Hadrian found Royce sitting on the floor of the cell, his back resting against the wall, one knee up, cocked like a tent pole. His right arm rested on it, his hand hanging limp. He wore only his black tunic and pants. His belt and boots were missing, his feet bare, the soles blackened with dirt. He hung his head back, tilted upward resting against the wall and revealing a week’s worth of dark stubble that covered his chin, cheeks, and neck. Lengths of straw littered his hair and clothing, but on his lap lay a neatly folded, meticulously clean scarf.

  He did not look up when Hadrian entered the cell. He was not sleeping—no one could get this close to Royce without his waking, but more obviously, his eyes were open. He stared at the ceiling, not seeing it.

  “Hey, buddy,” Hadrian said, entering the cell.

  The guard closed the door behind him. He heard the lock slide in place. “Call me when you want out,” he told Hadrian.

  The cell had a small window near the ceiling, which cast a square of light where the wall and floor met. Through its shaft, he could see straw dust lingering in the air. A cup of water, a glass of wine, and a plate of potato and carrot stew sat beside the door. All untouched, the stew having dried into a solid brick.

  “Am I interrupting breakfast?”

  “That was dinner,” Royce said.

  “That bad, huh?” Hadrian sat across from him on the bed. It had a thick mattress, a half dozen warm blankets, three soft pillows, and fine linen sheets. It had not been slept in. “Not too bad in here,” he said, making a show of looking around. “We’ve been in much worse, but you know, this was pretty much the last place I was thinkin
g you’d be. I sort of thought the idea was for you to disappear and give me time to explain why you kidnapped the empress. What happened?”

  “I turned myself in.”

  Hadrian smirked. “Obviously.”

  “Why are you here?” Royce replied, his eyes dull and empty.

  “Well, now that I know you’re here, I thought you could use some company. You know, someone to talk to, someone who can smuggle you fig pudding and the occasional drumstick. I could bring up a deck of cards. You know how much you love beating me at… Well, you just like beating me.”

  Royce made an expression that was almost like a smile. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed up a handful of straw. He crushed it in his fist letting the bits fall through his fingers and watching them in the shaft of light. When the last of it fell, he opened his hand palm-up, stared at it, turning it over and back as if he had never really seen it before.

  “I want to thank you, Hadrian,” he said, still looking at his hand, his voice soft, lingering, disconnected.

  “Awfully formal, aren’t you? It’s just a card game,” Hadrian said, and smiled.

  Royce lowered his hand, laying it on the floor like a forgotten toy. His attention turned vaguely toward the ceiling again. “I hated you when we first met, did you know that? I thought Arcadius was crazy making me take you along on that heist.”

  “So why did you?”

  “Honestly? I expected you’d be killed; then I could go to the nutty wizard, laugh, and say, See? What did I tell you? The clumsy fool died. Only you didn’t. You made it all the way to the top of the Crown Tower, no complaining, no whining.”

  “Did you respect me then?”

  “No. I figured you suffered from beginner’s luck. I expected you’d die on the return trip that next night when he made us put it back.”

  “Only, again I lived.”

  “Kinda made me mad, actually. I’m not usually wrong, you know, about people? And man, you could fight. I thought Arcadius was feeding me a load of crap the way he went on about you. ‘The best warrior alive,’ he said. ‘In a fair fight Hadrian can best anyone,’ he said. That was the telling part—a fair fight. He knew not all your battles would be fair. He wanted me to educate you in the world of backstabbing, deceit, and treachery. I guess he figured I knew something about that.”

  “And I was supposed to teach honor, decency, and kindness to a man raised by wolves.”

  Royce rolled his head to the side and looked at him. “He told you about me?”

  “Not everything, just some of the ugly parts.”

  “Manzant?”

  “Just that you were there, that it almost killed you, and that he got you out.”

  Royce nodded. His face drooped, his eyes stared again, his hand absently scooped up another handful of straw to crush.

  Hadrian’s eyes drifted around the cell. Centuries of captives had left a dark smoothness to all the stones a bit higher than halfway up, like a flood line. On the far wall, a year’s worth of old hatch marks scratched a pattern that looked like a series of bound bales of wheat. Up in the window, a bird had built a nest, tucked on the outside corner of the sill. It was empty, frosted in snow. Occasionally, he heard a cart, a horse, or the sound of people in the courtyard below them, but mostly it was quiet, a heavy, dull-gray silence.

  “Hadrian,” Royce began. He’d stopped playing with the straw, his hands flat, his stare focused on the wall, his voice weak and hesitant. “You and Arcadius… you’re the only family I’ve ever known. The only two people in this whole world—” He swallowed and bit his lower lip, pausing.

  Hadrian waited.

  Finally he went on. “I want you to know—It’s important that…” He turned away from Hadrian, facing the wall. “I wanted to say thank you for being there for me, for being here. For being the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever know. I just—I just want you to know that.”

  Hadrian did not say anything. He waited for Royce to turn back, to look at him. It took several minutes, but the silence drew the look. When he did, Hadrian glared at him. “Why? Why do you want me to know that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me—no, don’t look at the wall; look at me. Why is it so important that I know this?”

  “It just is, okay?” Royce said.

  “No, it’s not okay. Don’t give me this crap, Royce. We’ve been together for twelve years. We’ve faced death dozens of times. Why is it you’re telling me this now?”

  “I’m upset. I’m distraught. What do you want from me?”

  Hadrian continued to stare but slowly began to nod. “You’ve been waiting, haven’t you? Just sitting here, leaning against that wall, waiting—waiting for me to show up.”

  “In case you forgot, they arrested me. I’m in a locked cell. There’s not much else I can do.”

  Hadrian snorted.

  “What?”

  Hadrian stood. He needed to move. There wasn’t much space but he still paced back and forth between the wall and the door. Three steps each way. “So when are you going to do it? As soon as I leave? Tonight? How about a nice morning suicide? Huh, Royce? You could be poetic and time it with the rising of the sun, or just the drama of midnight, how would that be?”

  Royce scowled.

  “How are you gonna do it? Your wrists? Throat? Gonna challenge the guard to fight when he brings dinner? Call him names? Or are you gonna make an even bigger splash? Head for Modina’s room and threaten the empress’s life again. You’ll find some young idiot, a big one, someone with an ego. You’ll draw a blade, something little, something not too scary. He’ll draw his sword. You’ll pretend to attack, but he won’t know you’re faking.”

  “Don’t be this way.”

  “This way?” Hadrian stopped and whirled on him. He had to take a breath to calm down. “How do you expect me to be? You think I should be—what? Happy, maybe? Did you think I’d just be okay with this? I thought you were stronger. If anyone could survive—”

  “That’s just it—I don’t want to! I’ve always survived. Life is like a bully that gets laughs by seeing how much humiliation you’ll put up with. It threatens to kill you if you don’t eat mud. It takes everything you care about—not because it wants what you have, or needs it. It does it just to see if you’ll take it. I let it push me around ever since I was a kid. I did everything it demanded just to survive. But as I’ve gotten older, I realize there are limits. You showed me that. There’s only so far I can go, only so much I can put up with. I’m not going to take it anymore. I won’t eat mud just to survive.”

  “So it’s my fault?” Hadrian slumped down on the mattress once more. He sat there running his hand through his hair for a moment, then said, “Just so you know, you’re not the only one who misses her. I loved her too.”

  Royce looked up.

  “Not like that. You know what I mean. The worst part is…” His voice cracked. “It really is my fault, and that’s what I will be left with. Did you think of that? You were right and I was wrong. You said not to take the job from DeWitt, but I talked you into it. ‘Let’s leave Dahlgren; this isn’t our fight,’ you said, but I got you to stay. ‘You can’t win against Merrick,’ you said, so you went to protect me. You told me Degan Gaunt would be an ass, and you were right about that too. You didn’t do what you knew was right because of me. I pulled you along while trying to redeem myself to the memory of a dead father. Gwen is gone because of me. I destroyed what little good there was in your life trying to accomplish something that in the end means nothing.

  “I’m not the hero who saves the kingdom and wins the girl. Life isn’t like that.” Hadrian laughed bitterly. “You finally taught me that one, pal. Yep. Life isn’t a fairy tale. Heroes don’t ride white horses, and the good don’t always win. I just—I guess I just wanted it to be that way. I didn’t think there was any harm in believing it. I never knew it would be you and Gwen that would pay.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Royce told him.


  “You tell me that a few million more times and I might actually start believing it. Only that’s not going to happen, now is it? You’re not going to be around to remind me, are you? You’re going to give up. You’re going to walk out on me and that will be my fault too. Damn it, Royce! You have a choice. I know it doesn’t seem like it, and I know I’m a fool that believes in a fantasy world where good things can happen to good people, but I do know this. You can either head into darkness and despair or into virtue and light. It’s up to you.”

  Royce jerked his head up and looked at Hadrian, a shocked expression on his face. Shock turned quickly to suspicion.

  “What?” Hadrian asked, concerned.

  “How are you doing that?” Royce demanded, and for the first time since Hadrian had entered the cell, he saw the old Royce—cold, dark, and angry.

  “How am I doing what?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve quoted Gwen, once on the bridge and now—this. She said that same thing to me once, those exact words.”

  “Huh?”

  “She read my palm and told me there was a fork—a point of decision. I had to choose to head into darkness and despair or into virtue and light. She told me this would be precipitated by a traumatic event—the death of the one I loved the most.”

  “Gwen?”

  He nodded. “But you weren’t there. You couldn’t have heard her say that. We were alone in her office at the House. It was a year ago. I only remember because it was the night Arista came to The Rose and Thorn, and you were getting drunk and ranting about being a parasite. So how did you know?”

  Hadrian shrugged. “I didn’t, but…” He felt a chill run up his spine. “What if she did? What if I’m not quoting her—what if she was quoting me?”

  “What?”

  “Gwen was a seer,” Hadrian said. “What if she saw your future, bits and pieces like Fan Irlanu did in that Tenkin village?” Now he was staring at the wall, his eyes wandering aimlessly as he thought. “She could have seen us on the bridge, and here in this cell. She knew what I would say, and she also knew you wouldn’t listen to me. She must have known you wouldn’t listen to me at the bridge either. That’s why she said those things.” He was speaking quickly now, seeing it all before him. “She knew you would ignore me, but you can’t ignore her. Royce, Gwen doesn’t want you to die. She agrees with me. I may have been wrong in the past, but not this time. This time I’m right, and I know I’m right because Gwen saw the future and she’s backing me up.” He sat against the wall, folding his hands behind his head in victory. “You can’t kill yourself,” he said jubilantly, as if he had just won some unspoken bet. “You can’t do it without betraying her wishes!”