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

Royce followed a dirt path outside the ruin, looking for clues. He wasn’t certain what he hoped to find; a dropped note penned by Villar saying I went this way would have been helpful. Hadrian had eventually exited the ruins and circled them twice before wading into where the hawthorn bushes were thick. Royce had no idea where the duchess was—still in the cell if she was smart.

Villar might have returned to the city or gone deeper into the forest. Both plans had advantages and drawbacks. The city was downhill, but the terrain was mainly open. The forest was closer and offered cover. Which way did he go?

Hadrian emerged from the brambles. “Find anything?”

“Nope,” Royce replied.

The two met back at the ruins.

The search was extra credit, and it wouldn’t result in any higher payment. Royce was only looking because Villar had nearly killed him on not just one but two occasions. He didn’t like loose ends, and Royce made a point of not letting those that opposed him live.

He scanned the domed building. Such an odd place.

The roof was the most striking feature, forty feet high and massive. Royce was no engineer, but he couldn’t imagine that creating a dome out of stone was an easy task. The only other one he’d seen was on the top of Grom Galimus, and he wasn’t certain what that was made of—looked like gold but probably was just painted that color. This roof was assembled from solid, hand-cut rock—no mortar—each stone precisely fashioned.

What is this place? Too small for a cathedral, monastery, or church, too elaborate for a house. It appeared to be a temple of some sort, like an overgrown chapel.

“You want to give up, don’t you?” Hadrian asked.

“Not giving up. We found Genny Winter, even saved her life. I bet Gabriel will pay us extra for that. Job is done. Besides, Villar could be anywhere.”

“Pretty good bet he went to Grom Galimus,” Hadrian said as the two entered the temple. “Villar doesn’t seem like the type to just give up.”

“Not our problem, we did—”

They both halted abruptly only a few steps inside the ruined temple.

The first thing Royce noticed was the smell. The interior had an awful odor akin to—

“Smells like someone roasted a dog in here,” Hadrian whispered. The whisper said more than the words. Hadrian had come to the same conclusion Royce had.

Royce took another step and peered into the cell. The room, the whole temple, was deserted, but if that was true . . . “Where’s the duchess?” he whispered back.

“I’m guessing on her way back to Rochelle,” Hadrian replied. He had one hand on the handle of his short sword as he carefully moved toward the fire.

What had been a nearly extinguished pile of faintly smoking ash had come back to life. Flames continued to lick a mostly consumed stack of wood. Royce glanced behind him at the doorway they had entered. He looked at the floor near the wall and found it bare.

“There was a box here,” Royce said. “I saw it when I came out of the cell.”

Hadrian nodded. “Like the one Griswold gave Erasmus. I think that’s what’s burning.”

Royce stared at the fire. “Villar didn’t run away . . . he doubled back.”

“That’s crazy. We were just outside, looking for him. That’s a huge gamble.”

“All his stuff is here. He had to come back. He waited for us to leave; probably figured we would go back to Rochelle and look for him at the cathedral, just like you said. When we ran out, he rushed back in. Not a bad idea, considering it’s the one place we knew he couldn’t be.”

Royce and Hadrian began a systematic search of the debris but found nothing. “So, where is he now?”





Genny expected to be crushed.

She thought the stone Novron would stomp her like a bag of grapes, but instead, the god emperor’s head cocked to one side as if listening; then it abruptly turned and charged east between the gallery and the cathedral. It didn’t quite run—Genny wasn’t certain something that big and heavy could—but the long legs gave it the speed of a horse. She watched it leave, dumbfounded.

Where’s it going?

“Genevieve?” the man she had pulled clear called out from the mouth of the drainpipe, looking like a groundhog peering out of its hole.

Genny rolled to one side. She wasn’t getting up. That was way too much effort. Instead, she crawled over the cobblestones. She recognized the blood-smeared face of Armand Calder, Earl of Someplace. She didn’t know him well, had only seen him once, during her wedding. She seemed to recall he might have kissed her hand. He was a lesser lord, no one of great account in the world of Alburn politics.

“Hullo, Army, how you doing?” she responded with a ridiculous smile. “Hanging in there, right? You’re gonna be fine. Might not be dancing for a while, but you’ll be up and about in no time; trust me, I’m going to see to that.”

Armand shook his head. Either it was the pain—which looked considerable given the condition of his leg that had been facing the wrong way when she’d found him—or the terror had finally caught up, but she saw tears in the Earl of Someplace’s eyes.

“It just came to life and started killing everyone . . . everyone.” He shuddered as he spoke.

Everyone. The word hurt to hear, yet hope, like a wisp of smoke in the temporary absence of a breeze, lingered.

“What about . . .” Genny stopped herself. She needed to know. “Have you seen my—”

“Leo wasn’t here,” Armand stated.

Luckily, Genny was already on her hands and knees. Even so, she nearly collapsed. “Are you saying . . . I mean . . . are you sure?”

The news was too wonderful to accept. Genny so desperately desired to believe Armand that her need made her hesitate. I’m only hearing what I want to hear.

“His spot, the chair next to Floret’s, was empty all morning,” the earl told her.

“Are you sure?” Genny replied. “We’re talking about Leopold Hargrave, Duke of Rochelle.”

“Yes,” Armand nodded. “Your husband.”

“But Leo—he . . .”

“He never showed up,” Armand said. “Guess he didn’t want to be king as much as the rest of us. Lucky him.”

Genny’s body was still begging for air from all her exertion, but at that moment she held her breath. “Do you know where Leo is?”

“He was out looking for you. Everyone was talking about it.”

Genny breathed. “Army,” she said, crawling the rest of the way to the Earl of Someplace. “Army, you sweet, sweet man.” She helped pull him out on the cobblestones and covered him with a discarded cloak, tucking the edges around his neck. “You hang on. I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to see you get through this. I swear by every god there is that I will.”

She meant it—every word. Genny decided then and there that she would defend Armand Calder with the last beat of her heart, for he had given her a gift beyond value, beyond imagining, beyond her wildest dreams.

Leo wasn’t just alive. Leo loved her.





They were beneath the dome in a generally round room with the fire pit in the middle. The interior was a mess of overturned crates, urns, and scattered piles of wool, of which there was a surprising amount. Royce and Hadrian had dug through the clutter: several tall clay pots stained with tears of blue dye, an overturned wooden tub, mounds and mounds of raw wool. But no Villar.

Royce heard something outside, a distant thumping sound like someone running. He darted out, certain that Villar had broken from cover and was making a dash for it, but the sound was louder than the pounding of hooves. It sounded like—

“Royce?” Hadrian poked his head out of the doorway and then joined him. “Royce, what is that?”

Peering between the oak tree and a spruce, Royce saw the sun glint off something brilliantly white, something moving toward them at the speed of a galloping horse. As it cleared a gully, Royce got a good look.

“Royce, is that . . . ?”