Wintertide

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “Early spring?” Hadrian asked.

  “Only temporary I’m sure,” Royce replied. “Nothing this nice stays long. Okay, now that you’re on level ground, try walking to the gate. I’ll wait here.”

  Even after two weeks, the courtyard still bore signs of combat. Dark smears and sooty smudges on the walls, a broken cart, a missing door, and several shattered windows all told the story of what had happened while he was in the prison.

  Hadrian spotted another patient out for her daily exercise. Arista wore a simple blue dress and had gained enough weight to start looking like herself again. She swung her arms and took deep breaths of fresh air while circling the ward. Her hair was down and blowing in the breeze.

  “Hadrian!” Arista cried out after seeing him.

  He tried to straighten up and winced.

  “Here, let me help you.” She rushed forward.

  “No, no, I’m trying to go solo today. Royce is releasing some of his tyrannical control.” He hooked a thumb toward his friend waiting at the palace doors. “I’m surprised Alric lets you wander around alone.”

  She laughed and pointed at two well-armed guards whose eyes never wavered from Arista as they stood a short distance away. “He has turned into a mother hen. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I’m not going to complain. Did you know he cried the night they carried us out? Alric has always been more like our mother than I am. How can I be mad at someone for caring?”

  They walked together to a bench. Clear of snow, the warm sun had dried it clean. The two of them sat down and Hadrian was grateful for the rest.

  “Alric did well,” he said. “I’m sure it was difficult for him to leave Medford and go to Drondil Fields. Royce tells me he took quite a few of the citizenry with him.”

  She nodded. “Yes, and doing so made the siege difficult. Hundreds of people were jammed into the corridors, halls, and all around the courtyard. Food was scarce after only a month because there were so many mouths to feed. Alric’s advisors told him he had to deny food to the sick to save others, but he refused to listen. Some of the weak actually died. Count Pickering said Alric needed to surrender in order to save those he could. I heard from Mauvin that Alric was planning to do just that. He was just waiting until after Wintertide. I’m proud of my brother. He knew they would kill him, but he was willing to sacrifice himself for his people.”

  “How are things now at Drondil Fields?”

  “Oh, fine. Supplies are flowing again and Count Pickering is administrating from there. I’m not sure if you know, but Medford was destroyed. Drondil Fields will need to function as the capital until Alric can rebuild. That’s funny, as it served just such a purpose in the beginning.”

  Hadrian nodded and the pair continued to sit while quietly looking around the courtyard. Arista unexpectedly took his hand and squeezed. Glancing down, he saw her looking back with a warm smile.

  “I want to thank you for trying to rescue me,” Arista said. “You have no idea how much it meant. When I was in the…” She paused and looked away, staring at some distant, unseen point. A shadow crossed her face and lingered long enough to make her lip quiver. When she spoke again, her voice was softer and less confident. “I felt very alone. More so than I imagined a person could be.”

  Arista chuckled softly. “I was so naive. When I was first captured, I believed I could face death bravely—like Alric was going to.” Arista paused again, studying the fallow garden and wetting her lips. “I’m ashamed to say that I’d completely given up by the end. I didn’t care about anything. I just wanted the fear to stop. I was terrified, so terrified that… and then…then I heard your voice.” She gave another sad, little smile. “I couldn’t believe what I heard at first. You sounded like a birdsong in the dead of winter…so warm, so friendly, so very out of place. I was falling into an abyss, and at the very last moment, you reached out and caught me. Just your voice. Just your words. I don’t think I can ever express how much they meant.”

  He nodded and squeezed her hand back. “I’m pleased to have been of service, My Lady.” Hadrian gave a reverent little bow of his head.

  They sat quietly again for some time. When the silence was nearly uncomfortable, Hadrian asked, “What are you going to do now? Go with Alric to Drondil Fields?”

  “Actually, that’s something I need to talk to you about—but not today. We both have healing yet to do. It will wait until we are stronger. Did you know Esrahaddon is dead?”

  “Yeah, we found that out.”

  “He came to me the night he was killed and told me something. Something involving Degan Gaunt…” Her voice faded as she glanced toward the main gate, a look of curiosity crossing her face. “Who is that…?” She pointed.

  Hadrian followed her gaze and saw a lone figure entering on horseback. The rider was thin, small, and wearing a monk’s frock. The man rode slumped over the horse’s neck. Once inside the palace’s gate, he fell face first into the slush. Royce was the farthest away, but he was still able to reach the man first. Several servants were right behind him. Hadrian and Arista approached, and by the time they arrived, Royce had already rolled the man over and pulled back his hood.

  “Myron?” Hadrian said in disbelief. He stared down at the familiar face of their friend from the Winds Abbey. The monk was unconscious, but there was no sign of a wound.

  “Myron?” Arista asked, puzzled. “Myron Lanaklin of Windermere? I thought he never left the abbey.”

  Hadrian shook his head. “He doesn’t.”

  ***

  The little monk lay on a cot in the infirmary. Two chambermaids and the palace physician busied themselves tending to him. They brought water and cleaned the mud from his face, arms, and legs, looking for wounds. Myron woke with a startled expression, looked around in a panic, and collapsed again. A miserable moan escaped his lips followed by, “Royce?”

  “What’s wrong with him?” Hadrian asked.

  “Just exhausted, as far as I can tell,” the doctor replied. “He needs food and drink.” Just as he said this, a maid entered with a steaming bowl.

  “I’m so sorry,” Myron said, opening his eyes again and focusing on Royce. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure it was my fault. I should have done something…I don’t know what to say.”

  “Slow down,” Royce snapped. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

  “Everything?” Hadrian asked. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

  “It was four days ago and me and Miss DeLancy were out talking with Renian. I was telling him about a book I had just finished. It was early and no one was in the garden but us. Everything was so quiet. I didn’t hear anything. Maybe if I had heard…”

  “Get to the point, Myron.” Royce’s irritation increased.

  “He just appeared out of nowhere. I was talking with Renian when I heard her gasp. When I turned, he was behind her with a knife to her throat. I was so scared. I didn’t want to do anything that might get Miss DeLancy hurt.”

  “What did he look like? Who put a knife to her throat?” Royce asked intently.

  “I don’t know. He didn’t say his name. He looked a little like you, only larger. Pale skin, like new vellum—and dark eyes—very dark. He told me, ‘Listen carefully. I’ve been told you can remember exactly what you hear or read. I hope that is true for her sake. You will travel to the palace in Aquesta, find Royce Melborn, and deliver him a message. Any delay or mistake may cost her life, so pay attention.’”

  “What’s the message?” Royce asked.

  “It was very strange, but this is what he told me, ‘Black queen takes king. White rooks retreat. Black queen captures bishop. White rook to bishop’s four, threatening. Check. White’s pawn takes queen and bishop. Jade’s tomb, full face.’”

  Royce looked devastated. He stepped back and actually stumbled. Breathing hard, he sat on a vacant bed.

  “What is it?” Hadrian asked anxiously. “Royce?”

  His friend did not answer. He did not look at him or at anyone. H
e merely stared. Hadrian had seen the look before. Royce was calculating, and from his intense expression, he was doing so in earnest.

  “Royce, talk to me. What did that mean? I know it’s a code but for what?”

  Royce got up. “Gwen’s in danger. I have to go.”

  “Let me get my swords.”

  “No,” he said bluntly. “I want you to stay out of this.”

  “Stay out of it? Stay out of what? Royce since when do—”

  Royce’s face turned to a mask of calm. “Look at you—you’re hobbling around. I can handle this. You get some rest. It’s not that bad.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t try to manage me. Something terrible is happening. It’s Merrick, isn’t it? He likes chess. What did that message mean? I was the one who got you to help me find Gaunt, and if there is a price to be paid, I want to help. What’s Merrick up to?”

  Royce’s face changed again. The calm faded, and what lay behind it was a look Hadrian had never seen on his partner’s face before—terror. When he spoke, his voice quavered. “I have to go, and I need you to stay out of it.”

  Hadrian noticed Royce’s hands were shaking. When Royce saw them, too, he pulled them under his cloak.

  “Don’t follow me. Get well and take your own path. We won’t be seeing each other again. Goodbye.”

  Royce bolted from the room.

  “Wait!” Hadrian called. He struggled to stand and follow, but it was useless. Royce was already gone.

  Chapter 20

  The Queen’s Gambit Accepted

  It was late as Arista walked the balcony of her room. The storm from the night before had left the handrails mounded with snow, and icicles dangled from the eaves. In the light of the nearly full moon everything was so pretty, like a fairytale. Pulling her cloak tight, Arista lifted the hood such that she looked out through a fur-lined tunnel. Still the cold reached her. She considered going back inside, but she needed to be out. She needed to see the sky.

  Arista could not sleep. She felt uneasy—restless.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleeping was nearly impossible. The nightmares were not a surprise given what she had gone through. She often woke in the dark, covered in sweat, certain she was still in the dungeon—certain that the sounds of snow blowing against the window were the scratches of a rat named Jasper. Afterward, lying awake brought thoughts of Hadrian. The hours of darkness trapped in that hole had stripped her bare and forced her to face the truth. In Arista’s most desperate moment, her thoughts had turned to him. The mere sound of his voice had saved her, and the thoughts of her own death were extinguished when she feared he was hurt.

  She was in love with Hadrian.

  The revelation was bitter, as it was clear he did not feel the same. In those last hours, the only words that passed his lips were ones of common comfort, the same encouragement anyone would give. He might care about her, but he did not love her. In one way, she found that a blessing, as every man who ever did had died. She could not bear to see Hadrian die as well. She concluded they would remain friends. Close friends, she hoped, but she would not endanger that friendship by admitting anything more. She wondered if somewhere Hilfred was watching her and laughing at the irony or crying in sympathy.

  Still, it was not thoughts of Jasper or Hadrian that kept Arista walking the balcony that night. Another ghost stalked her troubled mind, whispering memories. Something was happening. She had felt it building ever since they pulled her from the prison. At first she assumed it was the lingering effect of starvation, a form of light-headedness affecting her senses. Now she realized it was more than that.

  “…at Wintertide the Uli Vermar ends. They will come—without the horn everyone dies. Only you know now—only you can save…”

  The words of Esrahaddon echoed in her head, but she could not understand what they meant.

  What is the Uli Vermar? And who is coming?

  Something had clearly happened. Somehow the world had changed on Wintertide. She could feel it. She could taste it. The air sizzled with the sensation. While she had known how to tap the natural power of the world, Arista was shocked to discover that the world could talk back, speaking to her in a language she did not fully understand. It came in subtle impressions, vague feelings she might have previously dismissed as imagination. All the signals spoke of a great shift. She, like every living thing in tune with the natural world, was aware of the change just as they were aware of the approaching dawn. Something about this Wintertide was different. Something rare, something old, something great had transpired. Her eyes looked to the northeast. It was there, hurtling toward them.

  They are coming.

  “Anne said you were out here,” a voice startled her.

  Arista spun to see Modina standing behind her. She wore a simple kirtle dress. Her arms folded across her chest, fending off the cold. She looked more like the girl Arista had first met in Dahlgren than an empress.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Modina said.

  Arista gathered herself and curtseyed as best she could. “Not at all, Your Eminence.”

  Modina sighed. “Please don’t. I have enough people kissing the floor. I refuse to take it from you. And I’m sorry for taking so long to visit.”

  “You are the empress—the real empress. I’m sure your time is limited. And because I am still the Ambassador of Melengar, I really should greet and address you properly.”

  Modina frowned. “Perhaps, but can’t we skip the formalities when in private?”

  “If that is your wish.”

  “I wanted to let you know that we are officially allies now. I signed a preferred trade agreement and defense pact this morning with Alric.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Arista smiled. “Although you’re putting me out of a job, by going over my head like that.”

  “Can we go inside? It’s freezing out here.” Modina led the way back into Arista’s room.

  In the dim light, Arista noticed something lying folded neatly on the bed.

  “I was so worried about you,” Modina whispered as she unexpectedly hugged the princess, squeezing her tight. “And just so you know, I did visit you—nearly every night, you’ve just been asleep.”

  “You saved my life, my brother, and my kingdom,” Arista replied, returning the embrace. “Do you really think I can feel slighted by you?”

  Modina let go. “I’m sorry it took so long. I’m sorry that you had to stay in that…that…place. I didn’t save Deacon Thomas, and I didn’t save Hilfred. Perhaps if I had acted sooner…”

  “Don’t,” Arista said, seeing the empress’s eyes watering. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

  Modina wiped the tears and nodded. “I wanted to give you something…something special.” She walked to the bed and held up a familiar robe, which unfolded in shimmering cascades.

  “Do you recognize it?”

  Arista nodded.

  “I can’t imagine there are two such robes in all the world. I think he would want you to have it, and so do I.”

  ***

  Modina had just left Arista’s room and was passing Degan’s half-open door when he called out, “Hang on there!”

  She pushed the door open and stood in the threshold, looking at him.

  Tall and still very thin, he sat in bed propped against a bank of pillows. “My chamber pot needs emptying, and the room is starting to stink. Wanna get in here and take care of it?”

  “I’m not the chambermaid,” Modina replied.

  “Oh? Are you a nurse? Cause I’m still not feeling well. I could use some more food. Some beef would be nice—steak perhaps?”

  “I’m not a nurse or scullery maid, either.”

  Degan looked irritated. “What good are you, then? Listen, I just got out of the dungeon, and they literally starved me. I deserve some sympathy. I need more food.”

  “If you want, I can walk you down to the kitchen and we can find something there.”

  “You’re joking, right? Didn’t you
just hear what I said? I’m sick, I’m weak. I’m not about to go rummaging around like a rodent.”

  “You won’t regain your strength by sitting in bed.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t the nurse. Listen, if you won’t bring it to me, find someone who will. Don’t you realize who I am?”

  “You’re Degan Gaunt.”

  “Yes, but do you know who I am?”

  She looked at him, puzzled. “I’m sorry…I don’t kn—”

  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked, leaning forward and speaking in a conspiratorial tone.

  Modina nodded.

  “As it turns out, I’m the Heir of Novron.” Modina feigned surprise and Gaunt grinned in reply. “I know—I was shocked, too. I only recently learned myself.”

  “But I thought Empress Modina was the heir.”

  “From what I heard, that’s just what the old regents wanted everyone to believe.”

  “So, do you plan to overthrow the empress?”

  “Don’t need to,” he said with a wink. “I heard she’s young and beautiful, so I figure I’ll just marry her. I also hear she’s popular too, so I can benefit from the goodwill she already has. See how smart that is?”

  “What if she won’t marry you?”

  “Hah! Why wouldn’t she? I’m the Heir of Novron. You can’t do no better than that.”

  Modina noticed Gaunt looking her over more intently. His tongue licked his upper lip, sliding back and forth. “Say, you’re kinda pretty, you know that?” He glanced past her, into the hallway. “What do ya say you shut the door and slip on over here?” He patted the covers.

  “I thought you were sick and feeble.”

  “I said I was weak not feeble, and I’m not that weak. If you won’t get me something to eat, the least you can do is help warm my bed.”

  “I don’t think that is the least I can do. Yes, I can definitely think of less.”

  He furrowed his brow at her. “You know, I’m gonna be the emperor just as soon as I get well enough. You might want to be nicer to me. We can keep this thing going, even after the wedding. I expect I’ll have several ladies in waiting, if you know what I mean. I’ll be taking good care of them, too. This is your chance to get in early and be the first.”