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

The large woman pushed deeper into the home, sweeping the hem of her gown to make certain it wasn’t stepped on. As she moved clear of the doorway, Hadrian spotted an elegant carriage waiting on the street and a surprisingly large contingent of armed soldiers, including Roland Wyberg, working as the woman’s security detail.

“I’m looking for two—” The duchess spotted them and smiled. “There you are, aren’t you?”

She said this as if she expected some sort of answer, but neither Royce nor Hadrian had any clue how to respond. The pause took only a single beat as her smile widened. She spread her hands toward them. “My saviors.”

She crossed the room and enveloped Hadrian in a hearty embrace; no bear could do better. Apparently, she didn’t remember his comment about Royce and hugging, for she took hold of him as well. Royce went rigid, enduring the embrace as best he could.

“Our pleasure, Your Ladyship,” Hadrian replied.

“To you, dear boys, I’m Genny, your most grateful damsel in distress. I thought you would like to know. My husband sent men up the eastern slope to look for any signs of Villar. They found the ruins, burned and destroyed, along with two bodies.”

“Two?” Royce asked.

“Villar and the original inhabitant, Falkirk de Roche, a first-century monk after whom the river and city were named. De Roche was in a tomb under the dome. Villar, on the other hand . . . well, I’m guessing it was Villar . . . was burned beyond recognition. They also found the inanimate statue of Novron. That monster killed nearly every noble in the city. Armand Calder and I came within a heartbeat of becoming two more Spring Day casualties.”

Evelyn, who still hadn’t found her tongue, continued to stare.

“Now then, if I know my father, my rescue wasn’t his only request. I’m sure your remuneration is contingent upon returning me to his side. Well, that’s not going to happen. My husband loves me and I him, and I’m not going anywhere.” She held out a sealed parchment, and Hadrian took it. “So, here is a letter for my father, explaining that I’m safe and couldn’t be happier, and that he should pay you the full amount he promised. But just in case he doesn’t see it that way . . .” She turned and bellowed, “Wentworth!”

A little man with his hair in a ponytail rushed forward and held out a purse. Royce took it.

“Inside, you’ll find seventy-five gold tenents to hold you over and pay for expenses. I’d give more, but it’s no longer just my money, you understand. My husband and I are going to get the city’s finances in shape, and we have to watch our expenses. Still, I wanted to make sure you weren’t left empty-handed. So please accept this along with my undying gratitude.”

“Thank you,” Hadrian said.

“Oh no, dear boy, thank you! If not for your intervention, I’d be dead, my husband would be heartbroken, and Alburn wouldn’t have such a fine new king!”

“Has the bishop crowned your husband?” Evelyn asked.

“Ha-ha! No, no. Rochelle will just have to be content with us here. My husband took himself out of the running when he didn’t show up at the feast. Apparently, finding me was more important than a crown. No, the bishop chose Armand Calder, the only noble to attend the feast and live. He might walk with a limp for the rest of his life, but it looks like he will make a complete recovery. He seems like a decent sort, which is good, and he likes me, which is better. Alburn is in need of many changes, and I think King Armand will listen to my ideas about reform. Did you know Mercator Sikara?”

They both nodded.

“Remarkable lady. She died trying to get my letter to Leo, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” Royce said.

The duchess nodded. “That poor woman. All she wanted was a better life for her people.” The duchess raised her hand and shook a finger. “I’m going to ensure the mir are treated better—in Rochelle if no place else. Leo and I are going to make this city a beacon for the rest of the world. A safe haven for the mir, the Calians, and the little bearded folk. When people see the prosperity that harnessing so many talents can produce, they’ll surely want to emulate our success. Well, I really must be going. So, thank you again, Hadrian Blackwater and Royce . . . Royce. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your last name. What is it?”

Royce sighed. “Melborn.”

Evelyn glared. “I thought your names were Baldwin and Grim!”





Returning from the stable that had quartered their animals, Hadrian led their horses down Mill Street. He’d felt guilty about not checking in on Dancer all week. The stable hand had complained, saying he should have been warned if they were going to abandon their horses for so long. In truth, the man was probably more disappointed when Hadrian showed up. Any hopes he might have had of selling a set of orphaned animals had vanished, and now he would have to settle for the ridiculously steep caretaking fee that he imposed. Dancer showed no signs of ill treatment or ill will, nuzzling Hadrian’s shoulder as they walked.

Returning to Hemsworth House, Hadrian found Royce waiting on the stoop out front, surrounded by their gear like a man washed up on a deserted island.

“What did you do now?” Hadrian asked.

“Nothing,” Royce said, standing up and throwing Hadrian’s saddlebag at him. Royce hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “The new occupant is here, and Evelyn wanted me and our things out so we didn’t upset her.”

“Her?”

“Yep.” He wore an odd smirk, part surprised, part amused. “The new guest is that mir mother who told us about the place.”

Hadrian put his little finger in his ear and made a show of wiggling it before pulling it out and saying, “Sorry, sounded like you said Evelyn let the room to a mir.”

Royce nodded. “Don’t know how she did it, either. Tracked the mir down somehow. I suppose she’s lived here her entire life and knows this city pretty well. Old woman is full of surprises.”

Royce tossed his own bag on his horse, but before tying it, he lifted and hooked the stirrup on the horn, double-checking the cinch.

“Seriously?” Hadrian leaned on Dancer, shaking his head in disgust. “You had to check? You don’t think I know how to cinch a saddle?”

Royce didn’t even look up as he ran fingers along the strap, checking its tension. “No, I don’t.”

“Trust. You have to learn to trust people, Royce.”

He dropped the stirrup without making any changes. “No. I don’t.”

They finished lashing bags to their mounts. The animals stood impatiently, stomping hooves to express their desire to be on the road. Along the street the milkman was back to delivering his jugs, and a flower girl was going door-to-door with a basket of fresh-cut purple pansies. Only a day later and the city was back to old routines.

Hadrian pulled himself up onto Dancer and grasped his reins, but Royce hesitated. He had his things secured but remained staring up at the window of what had been their room.

“Forget something?”

“The rug.”

“What rug? Oh, wait . . . you’re not serious!”

“It’s just that it would definitely fit nicely through that window and hit the street with hardly a sound.” Royce looked up and down the thoroughfare. “There are never any constables on this street. I bet we could sell it in Little Gur Em for five gold, maybe six.”

“I’m leaving.” Hadrian started to urge Dancer into the traffic, then stopped.

“What?” Royce asked. “You’re having second thoughts about the rug, aren’t you?”

Hadrian gave him a sharp look. “No.” He pointed across the street at a little pug-nosed dog sitting on a patch of recently turned earth. “Must be a stray. I’ve seen that dog around here a lot. I wish I had some food.”

“It’s not a stray; it has a collar,” Royce said and continued to stare. Then his eyes narrowed and a stunned looked filled his face. “That’s not possible.”

“What’s not?”

Royce abandoned his horse and crossed the street.

Royce famously hated dogs, and, thinking he might harm the animal, Hadrian leapt off his mount and raced over, catching up just as Royce bent down to study the little mangy pup’s collar.

“I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Hadrian asked.

“It’s Mister Hipple.”