Michael Sullivan: Wintertide

"No!" Modina suddenly said. "I can't do that. You're right in that his situation is unique, but we must settle the matter one way or another. Even though he's in the tower and not the dungeon, I won't let anyone stay locked up forever. Even with adequate food, water, and light, the knowledge that you'll never be free has a way of destroying you from the inside. I'll not do that to anyone, not even him."

"Well, the Patriarch hasn't left for Ervanon, yet. He's taken up residence in the cathedral. If we could convince him to denounce Saldur, that would make it possible to execute the ex-regent without fear of reprisal. Shall I set up a meeting?"

Modina nodded.

"Is that it?" Amilia asked. "Can we go to bed?"

"Yes, I think that will do for now," Modina told them. "Thank you both for all of your assistance. I couldn't hope to do any of this without you."

"You're most welcome, Your Eminence," Nimbus replied.

"You know, Nimbus, you don't have to be so formal. We are alone after all. You can call me Modina."

"Don't bother," Amilia said. "You can't stop him. Trust me. I've tried. I've badgered him for nearly a year, yet he still calls me 'milady.'"

"My respect for you both prevents me from doing otherwise."

"Honestly, Nimbus," Modina told him. "You should be Chancellor permanently. You are already doing the job behind the scenes. I don't know why you won't officially take the position."

"I am happy to serve now, in your time of need, but who is to say what the future might bring?"

Modina frowned.

"Oh, one more thing," Nimbus said. "There have been some strange rumors from the north. The information is sketchy, but there appears to be some kind of trouble."

"Like what?"

"I don't know exactly. All I've heard is that the roads from Dunmore are choked with refugees fleeing south."

"You might want to send someone to find out what's happening," Modina told him.

"I already did. I asked Supreme General Breckton to investigate, and he has sent three separate patrols. Quite some time ago, in fact."

"And?" the empress inquired.

"None of them have returned," Nimbus replied.

"What do you make of it?"

Nimbus shrugged. "Perhaps they are delayed by bad weather or flooding. Although, to be honest, the most likely answer would point toward pestilence. If the patrols visited a plague-ridden city, they would remain rather than risk bringing the disease back with them. Even so, illnesses have a way of traveling on their own. It might be best to brace for an epidemic."

Modina sighed. "Will it never end?"

"Wishing you were back at your window now, aren't you?" Amilia asked.

Hadrian had found himself in the infirmary along with Arista Essendon and Degan Gaunt. For the first three days, he did little more than sleep and was only marginally aware that his wounds had been stitched and wrapped. Whenever he woke, Royce was beside the bed, enveloped in a cloak with the hood covering his face. With his feet propped up on a chair, the thief appeared to be sleeping, but Hadrian knew better.

As he regained enough strength to focus, Royce entertained him with current events. The good news was that Modina seemed to have matters concerning the Empire well in hand. The bad news was that Merrick Marius and Luis Guy managed to escape and had not been seen since Wintertide.

By the seventh day, Hadrian felt strong enough to try walking, and he had been moved out of the infirmary and into a bedroom on the third floor. Each day he walked down the corridor holding on to Royce, Albert, or Renwick. The squire and viscount were frequent visitors, but Hadrian did not have the opportunity to thank the Duke and Duchess of Rochelle for their help before they returned for home. Like the other nobles gathered for the wedding, they swore fealty to Modina before departing. Albert continued to stay in Genny and Leo's suite, as the viscount was in no hurry to trade the luxurious palatial accommodations for his austere cell at the monastery. From time to time, Mauvin and Alric stopped by, usually on their way to visit Arista. Even Nimbus peeked in once or twice, but Royce and Renwick, who took turns as his steadfast sentries, tended to Hadrian day and night.

The princess rested two doors down. Though still thin and weak, Arista was recovering faster than Hadrian based on the pace of her strides past his door. At first Alric or Mauvin escorted her, but recently she started passing by unaided. Hadrian was disappointed that she never came to his room, and likewise he never visited hers.

Degan Gaunt had been at death's door when first pulled from the dungeon, and few expected him to survive. At Hadrian's insistence, Royce checked in on him and relayed updates on his condition. Even when given thin chicken broth, Gaunt had choked and vomited. One night the doctors had called in a priest of Nyphron, but somehow Gaunt pulled through. The latest reports indicated Degan was now eating solid foods and starting to regain weight.

"Ready for another walk?" Royce asked, handing Hadrian a cloak.

Recently woken, Hadrian was still rubbing his eyes. "Geez, you're in a hurry. Mind if I relieve myself first? Is somebody getting a bit anxious to get back to Gwen?"

"Yes, and you're milking all the attention. Now get up."

Royce helped Hadrian to his feet. Feeling the tug on his stitches, Hadrian grimaced as he slowly stood.

"How's the head today?" Royce asked.

"Much better. Not dizzy at all. I think I can walk on my own."

"Maybe so, but lean on me anyway. I don't want you falling down the stairs and ripping your side open. If you do, I'll be stuck here playing nursemaid another week."

"Your compassion is overwhelming," Hadrian said, wincing as he slipped on a tunic.

"Let's just start by getting you down to the courtyard. If you're still feeling okay after that, then you can try going on your own."

"Oh, may I?" Hadrian replied.

Using Royce as a crutch, Hadrian limped out to the hallway.

He let his friend lead him toward the main landing. He expected pain but only felt a modest twinge.

"You know, I meant what I said in the dungeon. I appreciate you coming for me," Hadrian said.

Royce laughed. "You do realize that I really didn't do anything. Everything would have turned out exactly the same if I had stayed at Windermere with Gwen. She keeps insisting I'm needed to save you, but you seem pretty self-sufficient these days. Well, not right now, but you know what I mean."

They reached the courtyard and Royce helped Hadrian down the stairs. A warm spell had moved in and the weather was unusually pleasant. He heard the sound of dripping water everywhere as the snow melted.

"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?"