The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)

“Is that what I think it is?” Hadrian asked.

From behind, a wagon—one of the big ones with high sides used to haul livestock—came thundering their way, pulled by a pair of black draft horses racing at full tilt. The street was so narrow the wheels scraped the walls, first one side, then the other. Even in the dark, Royce could see the lathered sweat on the animals, their ears back, eyes wide and wild. The steeds were in a panic.

“Run!” Royce shouted.

Together, they sprinted up the street, but Royce knew they wouldn’t reach the end of the block.

“Here!” He led Hadrian to a sewer grate.

The two dropped to their knees and together wrenched the square of iron bars free, revealing an uninviting hole. Sparks flared and illuminated the dark alley as the left wheel of the wild wagon scraped the end of its metal axle across the face of one brick wall. Royce didn’t search for a ladder. No time to even look below. Anything was better than death by trampling. This was a lie, of course. He admitted it to himself even as he leapt in. There were many things worse, Royce just didn’t think he’d find any on that list at the bottom of a sewer. For the most part, Royce liked sewers. He’d grown up in one.





The fall wasn’t far, and the water at the bottom was deeper than he expected, which initially seemed like a good thing. Royce always believed it was better to hit water than rock when leaping into a dark hole of unknown depth. After the inaugural splash and obligatory gasp for air, he had a second to realize the water was chest high. A second after that, he discovered the amount of water wasn’t insignificant when combined with the rainwater surge. A powerful current dragged him and Hadrian off their feet and hurtled the two through a lightless tunnel that scraped their legs and elbows across stone walls too slick from slime to grasp.

The darkness was broken by intermittent columns of light entering through other sewer grates. The flashes gave Royce a sense of how fast they were going. Slower than a trotting horse, but not by much. The sensation was odd and eerie. Bobbing weightless in the dark, the patches of pale light—set at near-regular intervals—rushed by, the only marker of time and distance. The hard stone walls echoed every noise, magnifying drips, splashes, and the water’s rush.

“This isn’t good!” Hadrian shouted.

His voice bounced around the tunnel, making it impossible for Royce to tell his partner’s location—behind, maybe? “What was your first clue?”

“Where do you think this goes?”

“Best guess? The bay.”

They swept around a sharp curve that had Royce reaching for a handhold as he skidded along another wall. His fingers came up with fists of muck.

“How much you wanna bet this doesn’t pour out on a nice soft beach?” Hadrian yelled.

They passed more lighted grates. In the flash, Royce looked behind him. Hadrian was there, just back and off to the left. The current held the two in near-perfect synchronicity. Kicking and stroking as best he could, Royce broke the distance, moving closer until he latched on to Hadrian’s foot. When he did, Hadrian kicked.

“Stop it, you fool!” Royce yelled.

“Was that you?”

“Yes, it’s me. Hold still!”

Royce caught Hadrian’s foot again and pulled, docking them together. He grabbed hold of Hadrian’s belt to ensure they stayed that way.

“I thought . . .” Hadrian paused. “I don’t know. I mean, we’re in a big sewer, aren’t we? Could be anything down here.”

“Use your sword,” Royce said. “The big one. See if you can catch it on anything.”

He felt Hadrian twist, then heard the sound of metal scraping, but he sensed no noticeable decrease in speed.

They came near the wall again. Hadrian stretched and twisted. More scraping. A series of jerks, and there it was, the force of water surging against them. The force was too much for whatever grip Hadrian had managed, and they were off again.

“Wall and ground are too smooth,” Hadrian reported. “Need something to catch the blade on.”

“There!” Royce pointed at the next grating. “See the light.”

“Too high. I can’t—”

“Not the grate, next to it! Stairs!”

In the dim light, Royce could see a set of stone steps descending into the sewer. He realized it was likely too dark for Hadrian to see. “Trust me. Right in front of that next shaft of light. On the left. Kick!”

They both swam as hard as they could, which did little to alter their course. The current liked to keep them and everything else trapped in the center.

Not going to make it, Royce realized as once more the light revealed their speed and the lack of sideways movement.

“Hang on!” Hadrian shouted as they came close to the grating. His head dipped below the water. A moment later Royce nearly lost his grip on Hadrian’s belt as the bigger man shoved off the bottom of the sewer, propelling himself toward the steps. Holding the long blade with one hand on the pommel and another on the flange, Hadrian caught the corner where passing sewage frothed against the wall. Grunting loudly, Hadrian drew them to the side. The current grew weaker the farther away from the center they moved; still, Hadrian’s arms shook with the strain to keep them stationary as water frothed in his face.

“Go! Go! Go!” Hadrian shouted.

Royce clawed up Hadrian’s body, and caught the edge of the steps. Then reaching back, he pulled Hadrian to the stairs. The two scrambled onto the bottom step and collapsed, panting in the dark, listening to the rush of water. A loud clank echoed as Hadrian set the big spadone blade down on the stone. Unable to lie down, Hadrian pushed his back against the wall and stretched out his legs along the step’s length. His head was back, and he groaned while laboring to breathe. Royce crouched, head between his knees, spitting sewer swill from his mouth and swiping his hair back.

“That was refreshing,” Hadrian said between breaths. His voice quavered.

A faint light spilled down from an opening at the top of the stairs, providing just enough illumination for Royce to see his partner’s face. Hadrian’s breath was misting, his body shaking. The night had always been cold, but walking in the rain had been one thing; being soaked to the bone was another. No wind at least, but that would change the moment they went topside. Royce gritted his teeth in anticipation.

“What just happened?” Hadrian asked. “I’d like to believe a horse was accidentally spooked and ran in our direction.”

“Down an otherwise deserted street?” Royce said, sounding skeptical. “A street that lacks windows and doors?”

“I said I’d like to believe that.”

Together they pushed to their feet and climbed up a few steps, where they paused to wring out the worst of the wet.

“Someone just tried to kill us, didn’t they?” Hadrian asked.

“Sure seems like it.”

Hadrian returned the spadone to its place on his back. “But we just got here.”

“I know. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Royce squeezed his cloak, letting the water drizzle down the steps. “You might be right. I think we got ourselves into something bigger than a simple case of a man killing his wife for her money.”

“But why would anyone—I mean, how could anyone even know what we’re doing here? Or do you think they treat all visitors this way. Hey, welcome to town. Here, have a scalding-hot mouthful of lamb, some incredibly weak beer, and don’t forget your free runaway cart!”

“We asked about the duchess.”

“We asked about . . . wait . . . are you serious? This is because of that?”

Royce nodded. He looked up at the damp, dripping walls of the sewer. “This city reminds me a lot of Ratibor—a lot more crowded, far more embellished, and no brothels, but it harbors the same mentality. Bald dockworker and company didn’t run away from us, they ran to someone, maybe several someones.”

“But why did those someones try to kill us? All we did was—”

“I’m guessing they don’t want people inquiring about the duchess.”