“I wish you were here now,” she whispered.
Lying on her back, she looked up at the stars, scattered like dust over the immense heavens. Seeing them, she felt even more alone. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 2
THE EMPTY CASTLE
Above Hadrian’s head the wooden sign displaying a thorny branch and a faded bloom rocked in the morning breeze. It was weathered and worn, and it took imagination to determine that the flower depicted was a rose. The tavern it announced displayed the same haphazard charm of necessity as the other buildings along Wayward Street. The crooked length of the narrow road was empty. Autumn leaves scattering in the wind and the rocking sign marked the only movement.
The lack of activity surprised Hadrian. At this time of year, Medford’s Lower Quarter usually bustled with vendors selling apples, cider, pumpkins, and hardwood. The air should be scented with wood smoke. Chimney sweeps should be dancing across rooftops as children watched in awe. Instead, the doors of several stores were nailed shut—and to his dismay, even The Rose and Thorn Tavern lay dormant.
Hadrian sighed as he tethered his horse. Skipping breakfast in exchange for an early start had left him eager for a hot meal eaten indoors. He had expected the war to take its toll and Medford to be affected, but he had never expected The Rose and Thorn to—
“Hadrian!”
He recognized the voice before turning to see Gwen, the lovely Calian native, who, in her sky-blue day dress, looked more like an artisan’s wife than a madam. She swept down the steps of Medford House, one of the few open businesses. Prostitutes were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Hadrian hugged her, lifting her small body. “We were worried about you,” she said. “What took you so long?”
“What are you doing back at all?” Royce called as he stepped out onto the porch. The lithe and slender thief stood barefoot, wearing only black pants and a loose unbelted tunic.
“Arista sent me to make sure you made it all right and were able to convince Alric to send the army south.”
“Took you long enough. I’ve been back for weeks.”
Hadrian shrugged. “Well, Alric’s forces laid siege to Colnora right after I arrived. It took me a while to find a way out.”
“So, how did—”
“Royce, shouldn’t we let Hadrian sit and eat?” Gwen interrupted. “You haven’t had breakfast, have you? Let me grab a shawl, and I’ll have Dixon fire the stove.”
“How long has the tavern been closed?” Hadrian asked as Gwen disappeared back inside.
Royce raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Not closed. Business has just been slow, so she opens for the midday meal.”
“It’s like a ghost town around here.”
“A lot of people left, expecting an invasion,” Royce explained. “Most who stayed were called to serve when the army moved out.”
Gwen reappeared with a wrap around her shoulders and led them across the street to The Rose and Thorn. In the shadows of an alley, Hadrian spotted movement. Figures slept huddled amid piles of trash. Unlike Royce, who easily passed for human, these shabbily dressed creatures bore the unmistakable angled ears, prominent cheekbones, and almond eyes characteristic of elves.
“The army didn’t want them,” Royce commented, seeing Hadrian’s stare. “No one wants them.”
Dixon, the bartender and manager, was taking chairs off the tables when Gwen unlocked the doors. A tall, stocky man, he had lost his right arm several years earlier in the Battle of Medford.
“Hadrian!” he shouted in his booming voice. Hadrian instinctively held out his left hand to shake Dixon’s. “How are you, lad? Gave them what for in Ratibor, eh? Where you been?”
“I stayed to sweep up,” Hadrian replied with a wink and a smile.
“Denny in yet?” Gwen asked Dixon, stepping past him and rummaging through a drawer behind the bar.
“Nope, just me. I figured, why bother? All of you want breakfast? I can manage if you like.”
“Yes,” Gwen told him, “and make some extra.”
Dixon sighed. “You keep feeding them and they’ll just keep hanging around.”
She ignored the comment. “Did Harry deliver the ale last night?”
“Yup.”
“Three barrels, right?”
As Gwen talked with Dixon, Royce slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. That he loved her was no secret, but Royce had never even held Gwen’s hand in public before. Seeing him with her, Hadrian noticed that his friend looked different. It took him a moment to realize what it was—Royce was smiling.
When Gwen followed Dixon into the pantry to discuss inventory, Royce and Hadrian resumed the task of pulling chairs off tables. Throughout the years, Hadrian had likely sat in each one and drunk from every wooden cup and pewter tankard hanging behind the bar. For more than a decade The Rose and Thorn had been his home, and it felt odd to be just visiting.
“So, have you decided what you’ll do now?” Royce asked.
“I’m going to find the heir.”
Royce paused, holding a chair inches above the floor. “Did you hit your head during the Battle of Ratibor? The heir is dead, remember?”
“Turns out he’s not. What’s more, I know who he is.”
“But the nice priest told us the heir was murdered by Seret Knights forty years ago,” Royce countered.
“He was.”
“Am I missing something?”
“Twins,” Hadrian told him. “One was killed, but the midwife saved the other.”
“So who’s this heir?”
“Degan Gaunt.”
Royce’s eyes widened and a sardonic grin crossed his face. “The leader of the Nationalist army, who is bent on the New Empire’s destruction, is the imperial heir destined to rule over it? How ironic is that? It’s also pretty unfortunate for you, seeing as how the Imps snatched him up.”
Hadrian nodded. “Yeah, it turns out Esrahaddon’s been helping him win all those victories in Rhenydd.”
“Esrahaddon? How do you know that?”
“I found him in Gaunt’s camp right before the Battle of Ratibor. Looks like the old wizard was planning to put Gaunt on the throne by force.”
The two finished with the chairs and took seats at a table near the windows. Outside, a lone apple seller wheeled a cart past, presumably on her way to the Gentry Quarter.
“I hope you’re not taking Esrahaddon’s word about Gaunt being the heir. You can never be sure exactly what he’s up to,” Royce said.
“No—well, yes—he confirmed the heir was alive, but I discovered his identity through Gaunt’s sister.”
“So how do you plan to find Gaunt? Did either of them tell you where he is?”
“No. I’m pretty sure Esrahaddon knows, or has a good idea, but he wouldn’t tell me, and I’ve not seen him since the battle. He did say he would need us for a job soon. I think he’ll want help rescuing Gaunt. He hasn’t been around here, has he?”
Royce shook his head. “I’m happy to say I haven’t seen him. Is that why you’re in town?”
“Not really. I’m sure he can find me wherever I am. After all, he found us in Colnora when he wanted us to come to Dahlgren. I’m on my way to see Myron at the abbey. If anyone knows about the history of the heir, he should. I was also given a letter to drop off to Alric.”
“A letter?”
“When I was stuck in Colnora during the siege, your old friends helped get me out.”
“The Diamond?”
Hadrian nodded. “Price arranged for me to slip away one night in exchange for delivering the letter. He preferred risking my neck rather than one of his boys.”
“What did it say? Who was it from?”
Hadrian shrugged. “How would I know?”
“You didn’t read it?” Royce asked incredulously.
“No, it was for Alric.”
“Do you still have it?”
Hadrian shook his head. “Delivered it t
o the castle on the way in.”
Royce dropped his face into his hands. “Sometimes, I just …” Royce shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“What’s wrong?” Gwen asked as she joined them.
“Hadrian’s an idiot,” Royce replied, his voice muffled by his hands.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Thank you, Gwen. See? At least she appreciates me.”
“So, Hadrian, tell me about Ratibor. Royce told me about the rebellion. How did it go?” Gwen asked with an excited smile.
“Emery was killed. Do you know who he was?”
Gwen nodded.
“So were a lot of others, but we took the city.”
“And Arista?”
“She survived the fight but took the aftermath hard. She’s become something of a heroine there. They put her in charge of the whole kingdom.”
“She’s a remarkable woman,” Gwen said. “Don’t you think so, Hadrian?” Before he could answer, a loud crash from the kitchen made her sigh. “Excuse me while I help Dixon.”
She started to stand but Royce reached his feet first. “Sit,” he said, kissing the crown of her head. “I’ll help him. You two get caught up.”
Gwen looked surprised but simply said, “Thank you.”
Royce hurried off, shouting in an unusually good-natured tone, “Dixon! What’s taking you so long? You’ve still got one hand, haven’t you?”
Gwen and Hadrian both laughed, mirroring surprised expressions.
“So, what’s new around here?” Hadrian asked.
“Not a whole lot. Albert came by last week with a job from a nobleman to place the earrings of a married woman in the bedchambers of a priest, but Royce declined it.”
“Really? He loves plant jobs. And a priest? That’s just easy money.”
She shrugged. “I think with you retired, he’s—”
Outside, an approaching clatter of hooves halted abruptly. A moment later, a man dressed as a royal courier, and walking with a distinct limp, entered the tavern. He paused at the doorway, looking puzzled.
“Can I help you?” Gwen asked as she stood.
“I have a message from His Majesty for the royal protectors. I was told they were here.”
“I’ll take that,” Gwen said, stepping forward.
The courier stiffened and shook his head. “It’s for the royal protectors only.”
Gwen halted and Hadrian noticed her annoyed expression.
“You must be new.” Rising to his feet, Hadrian held out his hand to the courier. “I’m Hadrian Blackwater.”
The courier nodded smartly and pulled a waxed scroll from his satchel. He handed over the dispatch and departed. Hadrian sat back down and broke the falcon seal.
“It’s a job, isn’t it?” Gwen’s expression darkened and she stared at the floor.
“It’s nothing. Alric just wants to see us,” Hadrian said. She looked up, her eyes revealing a troubled mix of emotions Hadrian could not decipher. “Gwen, what’s wrong?” he pressed, his voice softening.
At length she replied, almost in a whisper, “Royce asked me to marry him.”
Hadrian sat back in his chair. “Seriously?”
She nodded and hastily added, “I guess he thought that since you retired from Riyria, he would too.”
“That’s—why, that’s wonderful!” Hadrian burst out as he leapt to his feet and hugged her. “Congratulations! He didn’t even say anything. We’ll be like family! It’s about time he got around to this. I would have asked for your hand myself years ago, except I knew if I did, I’d wake up dead the next morning.”
“When he asked me, it was as if—well, as if a wish I never dared ask for had come true. So many problems solved, so much pain eased. Honestly, I didn’t think he ever would.”
Hadrian nodded. “That’s only because he’s not only an idiot, he’s blind as well.”
“No. I mean, well—he’s Royce.”
“Isn’t that what I just said? But yeah, he’s really not the marrying type, is he? Clearly, you’ve had tremendous influence on him.”
“You have too,” she said, reaching out and taking hold of his hand. “There are times I hear him say things I know come from you. Things like responsibility and regret, words that were never part of his vocabulary before. I wonder if he even knows where he found them. When I first met you two, he was so withdrawn, so guarded.”
Hadrian nodded. “He has trust issues.”
“But he’s learning. His life has been so hard. I know it has, abandoned and betrayed by those who should have loved him. He doesn’t talk about it, at least not to me. But I know.”
Hadrian shook his head. “Me either. Occasionally something might come up, but he usually avoids mentioning anything about his past. I think he’s trying to forget.”
“He’s built so many defenses, but every year it’s as if another wall has fallen. He even summoned the courage to tell me he’s part elven. His fortress is dissolving, and I can see him peering out at me. He wants to be free. This is the next step—and I’m so proud of him.”
“When will the wedding be?”
“We were thinking in a couple of weeks at the monastery, so Myron can preside. But we’ll have to postpone, won’t we?”
“Why do you say that? Alric just wants to see us. It doesn’t mean—”
“He needs the two of you for a job,” Gwen interrupted.
“No. He might want us, but we’re retired. I have other things to do and Royce … well, Royce needs to start a new life—with you.”
“You’ll go, and you must take Royce with you.” Her voice was filled with sadness and a hint of regret, emotions so unlike her.
Hadrian smiled. “Listen, I can’t think of anything Alric could say that would get me to go, but if he does, I’ll do the job on my own—as a wedding present. We don’t even have to tell Royce the courier was here.”
“No!” she burst out. “He has to go. If he doesn’t, you’ll die.”
Hadrian’s first impulse was to laugh, but that thought evaporated when he saw her face. “I’m not as easy to kill as all that, you know?” He winked at her.
“I’m from Calis, Hadrian, and I know what I’m talking about.” Her gaze drifted off toward the windows, but her eyes were unfocused, as if she were seeing another place. “I can’t be the one responsible for your death. The life we would have after …” She shook her head. “No, he must go with you,” she repeated firmly.
Hadrian was not convinced but knew there was no reason to argue further. Gwen was not the type for debate. Most women he knew invited discussion and even enjoyed arguments, but not Gwen. There was clarity to her thinking that let you know she had already made her own journey to the inevitable conclusion and was just politely waiting there for you to join her. In her own way, she was much like Royce—except for the polite waiting.
“With you two gone, I’ll have time to organize a first-rate wedding,” she said, her voice strained as she blinked frequently. “It will take that long just to decide what color dress a former prostitute should wear.”
“You know something, Gwen?” Hadrian began as he reached out and took her hand. “I’ve known a lot of women, but I’ve met only two I admire. Royce is a very lucky man.”
“Royce is a man on the edge,” she replied thoughtfully. “He’s seen too much cruelty and betrayal. He’s never known mercy.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You have to do this, Hadrian. You have to be the one to show him mercy. If you can do that, I know it will save him.”
Royce and Hadrian entered Essendon Castle’s courtyard, once the site of Princess Arista’s witchcraft trial. Nothing remained of that unfortunate day except a slightly raised patch of ground where the stake and woodpile had stood. It had been just three years earlier, and the weather had been turning cold then too. That had been a different time. Amrath Essendon had only recently been murdered and the New Empire had been little more than an Imperialist’s dream.
The guards at the gate
nodded and smiled at them.
“I hate that,” Royce muttered as they passed.
“What?”
“They didn’t even think to stop us, and they actually smiled. They know us by sight now—by sight. Alric used to have the decency to send word discreetly and receive us unannounced. Now uniformed soldiers knock on the door in daylight, waving and saying, ‘Hello, we have a job for you.’”
“He didn’t wave.”
“Give it time, he will be—waving and grinning. One day Jeremy will be buying drinks for his soldier buddies at The Rose and Thorn. They’ll all be there, the entire sentry squad, laughing, smiling, throwing their arms over our shoulders and asking us to sing ‘Calide Portmore’ with them—‘Once more, with gusto!’ And at some point one particularly sweaty ox will give me a hug and say how honored he is to be in our company.”
“Jeremy?”
“What? That’s his name.”
“You know the name of the soldier at the gate?”
Royce scowled. “You see my point? Yes, I know his name and they know ours. We might as well wear uniforms and move into Arista’s old room.”
They climbed the stone steps to the main entrance, where a soldier quickly opened a door for them and gave a slight bow. “Master Melborn, Master Blackwater.”
“Hey, Digby.” Hadrian waved as he passed. When he caught Royce scowling, he added, “Sorry.”
“It’s a good thing we’re both retired. You know, there’s a reason there are no famous living thieves.”
Hadrian’s heels echoed on the polished floor of the corridor as they walked. Royce’s footsteps made no sound at all. They crossed the west gallery past the suits of armor and the ballroom. The castle appeared as empty as the rest of the city. As they approached the reception hall, Hadrian spotted Mauvin Pickering heading their way. The young noble looked thinner than Hadrian had remembered. There was a hollow cast to his cheeks, shadows beneath his eyes, but his hair was the same wild mess.
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