Michael Sullivan - Wintertide

"We located the heir."

"Did you now?"

"Yeah, and you said finding him would be difficult." Royce drew back his hood and tugged his gloves off one finger at a time. "After Hadrian discovered he was the Guardian of the Heir, he knew exactly what he wanted for a Wintertide present-his very own Heir of Novron."

"And where is this mythical chimera?"

"Right underfoot as it turns out. We're still pinpointing him, but best guess puts Gaunt in the palace dungeons. He is being held for execution on the Tide. We were planning to steal him before that."

"The heir is Degan Gaunt?"

"Ironic, huh? The Nationalist leader trying to overthrow the Empire is actually the one man destined to rule it."

"You said were…so, you're not planning to rescue him anymore?"

"No. Hadrian cut some deal with the regents. They've made him a knight, of all things. If he wins the joust, I think they promised to set Gaunt free. I'm not sure I trust them, though."

The carriage rolled through the streets and up a hill, causing the horse to slow its pace. One of Arcadius's open travel bundles fell to the floor, joining the rest of his clothes, a pile of books, his shoes, and a mound of blankets.

"Have you ever put anything away in your life?" Royce asked.

"Never saw the point. I'd just have to take it back out again. So, Hadrian's in the palace-but what are you doing here? I heard Medford was burned. Shouldn't you be checking on Gwen?"

"Already have. She's fine and staying at the Winds Abbey. That reminds me. You might want to stick around. If all goes well, you can come with us for the wedding."

"Whose?"

"Mine. I finally asked Gwen and she agreed, believe it or not."

"Did she?" Arcadius said, reaching out for one of the blankets to draw over his legs.

"Yeah, and here we both thought she had more sense than that. Can you picture me as a husband and a father?"

"Father? You've discussed children?"

"She wants them and even picked out names."

"Has she now? And how does that sit with you? Whining children and stagnation might be harder for you than all the challenges you've faced before. And this is one you can't walk out on if you decide it's not for you." The old man tilted his head to look over the tops of his glasses, his mouth slightly open. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"You've been after me to find a good woman for years, now you're second guessing Gwen? I know I won't find better."

"Oh no, it's not that. I just know your nature. I'm not sure you'll be content with the role of a family man."

"Are you trying to scare me off? I thought you wanted me to settle down. Besides, when you found me, I was a much different person."

"I remember," the wizard said thoughtfully. "You were like a rabid dog, snapping at everything and everyone. Clearly, my genius in matching you up with Hadrian worked wonders. I knew his noble heart would eventually soften yours."

"Yeah, well, travel with a guy long enough and you start picking up his bad habits. You have no idea how many times I almost killed him when we first started. I never bothered because I expected the jobs would take care of that for me, but somehow he kept surviving."

"Well, I'm glad to see things worked out for you both. Gwen is a fine woman, and you're right, you couldn't do better."

"So you'll wait?"

"I'm afraid not. I was ordered to return immediately."

"But you'll come out to the Winds Abbey afterward, right? If you were not there it would be like not having my fath-well an uncle, at least."

Arcadius smiled, but it looked strained. After a moment of silence the smile disappeared.

"What's wrong?" Royce asked.

"Hmm…oh, nothing."

"No, I've seen that look before. What is it, you old coot?"

"Oh-well, probably nothing," Arcadius said.

"Out with it."

"I was just in with the regents. With them was a sentinel named Luis Guy and another very quiet fellow. I've never seen him before, but the name was familiar. You used to speak of him often."

"Who?"

"They introduced him as Lord Merrick Marius."

The House on Heath Street

Mince was freezing.

The dawn's wind ripped through the coarse woven bag around his shoulders as if it were a fishnet. His nose ran. His ears were frozen. His once-numb fingers-now stuffed in his armpits-burned. He managed to escape most of the heavy gusts by standing in the recessed doorway of a millinery shop, but his feet were lost in a deep snowdrift, protected only by double wraps of cloth stuffed with straw. It would be worth it if he learned who lived in the house across the street, and if that name matched the one the hooded stranger had asked about.

Mr. Grim, or was it Mr. Baldwin, had promised five silver to the boy who found the man he was looking for. Given the flood of strangers in town, it was a tall order to find a single man, but Mince knew his city well. Mr. Grim-it had to be Mr. Grim-explained the fellow would be a smart guy who visited the palace a lot. That right there told Mince to head to the Hill District. Elbright was checking out the inns, and Brand was watching the palace gate, but Mince was sure Heath Street was the place for someone with palace connections.

Mince looked at the house across the street. Only two stories and quite narrow, it was tucked tight between two others. Not as fancy as the big homes but still a fine place. Built entirely of stone, it had several glass windows, the kind you could actually see through. Most of the houses on Heath Street were that way. The only distinguishing mark on this one was the dagger and oak leaf embossment above the door and the noticeable lack of any Wintertide decoration. While the rest of the homes were bedecked in streamers and ropes of garland, the little house was bare. It used to belong to Lord Dermont, who died in the Battle of Ratibor that past summer. Mince asked the kids who begged on the street if they knew who owned it now. All they could tell him was that the master of the house rode in a fine carriage with an imperial-uniformed driver and had three servants. Both the master and the servants kept to themselves, and all were new to Aquesta.

"This has to be the right house," Mince muttered, his words forming a little cloud. A lot was riding on him that morning. He had to be the one to win the money-for Kine's sake.

Mince had been on his own since he was six. At that age, handouts were easy to come by, but with each year, things got tougher. There was a lot of competition in the city, especially now with all the refugees. Elbright, Brand, and Kine were the ones that kept him alive. Elbright had a knife and Brand had killed another kid in a fight over a tunic-it made others think twice before messing with them-but it was Kine, their master pickpocket, who was his best friend.

Kine had taken sick a few weeks ago. He began throwing up and sweating like it was summer. They each gave him some of their food, but he was not getting better. For the last three days, he could not even leave The Nest. Each time Mince saw him, Kine looked worse: whiter, thinner, blotchier, and shivering-always shivering. Elbright had seen the sickness before and said not to waste any more food on Kine, as he was as good as dead. Mince still shared a bit of his bread, but his friend rarely ate it. He hardly ate anything anymore.

Mince crossed the street to the front of the house and, to escape the bitter wind, he slipped to the right of the porch stairs. His foot sank deeper than expected and his arms windmilled as he fell down a short flight of steps leading to a root cellar. Mince landed on his back, sending up a cloud of powder that blinded him. He reached around and felt a hinge. His frozen hands continued to search and found a large lock holding the door fast.