Michael Sullivan: Wintertide

They walked together to a bench. Clear of snow, the warm sun had dried it clean. The two of them sat down and Hadrian was grateful for the rest.

"Alric did well," he said. "I'm sure it was difficult for him to leave Medford and go to Drondil Fields. Royce tells me he took quite a few of the citizenry with him."

She nodded. "Yes, and doing so made the siege difficult. Hundreds of people were jammed into the corridors, halls, and all around the courtyard. Food was scarce after only a month because there were so many mouths to feed. Alric's advisors told him he had to deny food to the sick to save others, but he refused to listen. Some of the weak actually died. Count Pickering said Alric needed to surrender in order to save those he could. I heard from Mauvin that Alric was planning to do just that. He was just waiting until after Wintertide. I'm proud of my brother. He knew they would kill him, but he was willing to sacrifice himself for his people."

"How are things now at Drondil Fields?"

"Oh, fine. Supplies are flowing again and Count Pickering is administrating from there. I'm not sure if you know, but Medford was destroyed. Drondil Fields will need to function as the capital until Alric can rebuild. That's funny, as it served just such a purpose in the beginning."

Hadrian nodded and the pair continued to sit while quietly looking around the courtyard. Arista unexpectedly took his hand and squeezed. Glancing down, he saw her looking back with a warm smile.

"I want to thank you for trying to rescue me," Arista said. "You have no idea how much it meant. When I was in the…" She paused and looked away, staring at some distant, unseen point. A shadow crossed her face and lingered long enough to make her lip quiver. When she spoke again, her voice was softer and less confident. "I felt very alone. More so than I imagined a person could be."

Arista chuckled softly. "I was so naive. When I was first captured, I believed I could face death bravely-like Alric was going to." Arista paused again, studying the fallow garden and wetting her lips. "I'm ashamed to say that I'd completely given up by the end. I didn't care about anything. I just wanted the fear to stop. I was terrified, so terrified that… and then…then I heard your voice." She gave another sad, little smile. "I couldn't believe what I heard at first. You sounded like a birdsong in the dead of winter…so warm, so friendly, so very out of place. I was falling into an abyss, and at the very last moment, you reached out and caught me. Just your voice. Just your words. I don't think I can ever express how much they meant."

He nodded and squeezed her hand back. "I'm pleased to have been of service, My Lady." Hadrian gave a reverent little bow of his head.

They sat quietly again for some time. When the silence was nearly uncomfortable, Hadrian asked, "What are you going to do now? Go with Alric to Drondil Fields?"

"Actually, that's something I need to talk to you about-but not today. We both have healing yet to do. It will wait until we are stronger. Did you know Esrahaddon is dead?"

"Yeah, we found that out."

"He came to me the night he was killed and told me something. Something involving Degan Gaunt…" Her voice faded as she glanced toward the main gate, a look of curiosity crossing her face. "Who is that…?" She pointed.

Hadrian followed her gaze and saw a lone figure entering on horseback. The rider was thin, small, and wearing a monk's frock. The man rode slumped over the horse's neck. Once inside the palace's gate, he fell face first into the slush. Royce was the farthest away, but he was still able to reach the man first. Several servants were right behind him. Hadrian and Arista approached, and by the time they arrived, Royce had already rolled the man over and pulled back his hood.

"Myron?" Hadrian said in disbelief. He stared down at the familiar face of their friend from the Winds Abbey. The monk was unconscious, but there was no sign of a wound.

"Myron?" Arista asked, puzzled. "Myron Lanaklin of Windermere? I thought he never left the abbey."

Hadrian shook his head. "He doesn't."

The little monk lay on a cot in the infirmary. Two chambermaids and the palace physician busied themselves tending to him. They brought water and cleaned the mud from his face, arms, and legs, looking for wounds. Myron woke with a startled expression, looked around in a panic, and collapsed again. A miserable moan escaped his lips followed by, "Royce?"

"What's wrong with him?" Hadrian asked.

"Just exhausted, as far as I can tell," the doctor replied. "He needs food and drink." Just as he said this, a maid entered with a steaming bowl.

"I'm so sorry," Myron said, opening his eyes again and focusing on Royce. "I'm so sorry. I'm sure it was my fault. I should have done something…I don't know what to say."

"Slow down," Royce snapped. "Start at the beginning and tell me everything."

"Everything?" Hadrian asked. "Remember who you're talking to."

"It was four days ago and me and Miss DeLancy were out talking with Renian. I was telling him about a book I had just finished. It was early and no one was in the garden but us. Everything was so quiet. I didn't hear anything. Maybe if I had heard…"

"Get to the point, Myron." Royce's irritation increased.

"He just appeared out of nowhere. I was talking with Renian when I heard her gasp. When I turned, he was behind her with a knife to her throat. I was so scared. I didn't want to do anything that might get Miss DeLancy hurt."

"What did he look like? Who put a knife to her throat?" Royce asked intently.

"I don't know. He didn't say his name. He looked a little like you, only larger. Pale skin, like new vellum-and dark eyes-very dark. He told me, 'Listen carefully. I've been told you can remember exactly what you hear or read. I hope that is true for her sake. You will travel to the palace in Aquesta, find Royce Melborn, and deliver him a message. Any delay or mistake may cost her life, so pay attention.'"

"What's the message?" Royce asked.

"It was very strange, but this is what he told me, 'Black queen takes king. White rooks retreat. Black queen captures bishop. White rook to bishop's four, threatening. Check. White's pawn takes queen and bishop. Jade's tomb, full face.'"

Royce looked devastated. He stepped back and actually stumbled. Breathing hard, he sat on a vacant bed.

"What is it?" Hadrian asked anxiously. "Royce?"

His friend did not answer. He did not look at him or at anyone. He merely stared. Hadrian had seen the look before. Royce was calculating, and from his intense expression, he was doing so in earnest.

"Royce, talk to me. What did that mean? I know it's a code but for what?"

Royce got up. "Gwen's in danger. I have to go."

"Let me get my swords."

"No," he said bluntly. "I want you to stay out of this."

"Stay out of it? Stay out of what? Royce since when do-"

Royce's face turned to a mask of calm. "Look at you-you're hobbling around. I can handle this. You get some rest. It's not that bad."

"Don't do that. Don't try to manage me. Something terrible is happening. It's Merrick, isn't it? He likes chess. What did that message mean? I was the one who got you to help me find Gaunt, and if there is a price to be paid, I want to help. What's Merrick up to?"

Royce's face changed again. The calm faded, and what lay behind it was a look Hadrian had never seen on his partner's face before-terror. When he spoke, his voice quavered. "I have to go, and I need you to stay out of it."

Hadrian noticed Royce's hands were shaking. When Royce saw them, too, he pulled them under his cloak.

"Don't follow me. Get well and take your own path. We won't be seeing each other again. Goodbye."

Royce bolted from the room.