Michael Sullivan: The emerald storm

Hadrian smiled. "Listen, I can't think of anything Alric could say that would get me to go, but if he does, I'll do the job on my own-as a wedding present. We don't even have to tell Royce the courier was here."

"No!" she burst out. "He has to go. If he doesn't, you'll die."

Hadrian's first impulse was to laugh, but that thought evaporated when he saw her face. Nevertheless, he tried to lighten the strain he found there. "I'm not as easy to kill as all that, you know?" He winked at her.

"I'm from Calis, Hadrian, and I know what I'm talking about." Her gaze drifted off toward the windows, but her eyes were unfocused, as if seeing another place. "I can't be the one responsible for your death. The life we would have after…" She shook her head. "No, he must go with you," she repeated firmly.

Hadrian was not convinced but knew there was no reason to argue further. Gwen was not the type for debate. Most women he knew invited discussion and even enjoyed arguments, but not Gwen. There was clarity to her thinking that let you know she had already made her own journey to the inevitable conclusion and was just politely waiting there for you to join her. In her own way, she was much like Royce-except for the polite waiting.

"With you two gone, I'll have time to organize a first-rate wedding," she said, her voice strained and she blinked frequently. "It will take that long just to decide what color dress a former prostitute should wear."

"You know something, Gwen," Hadrian began, as he reached out and took her hand. "I've known a lot of women, but I've met only two I admire. Royce is a very lucky man."

"Royce is a man on the edge," she replied thoughtfully. "He's seen too much cruelty and betrayal. He's never known mercy." She gave his hand a squeeze. "You have to do this, Hadrian. You have to be the one to show him mercy. If you can do that, I know it will save him."

Royce and Hadrian entered Essendon Castle's courtyard, once the site of Princess Arista's witch trial. Nothing remained of that unfortunate day except a slightly raised patch of ground where the stake and woodpile had stood. It had been just three years ago, and the weather had been turning cold then too. It was a different time. Amrath Essendon was king, and the New Empire was little more than a dream of the Imperialists.

The guards at the gate nodded and smiled at them.

"I hate that," Royce muttered as they passed.

"What?"

"They didn't even think to stop us, and they actually smiled. They know us by sight now-by sight. Alric used to have the decency to send word discreetly and receive us unannounced. Now, uniformed soldiers knock on the door in daylight waving and saying, 'Hello, we have a job for you.'"

"He didn't wave."

"Give it time, he will be-waving and grinning. One day Jeremy will be buying drinks for his soldier buddies at The Rose and Thorn. They'll all be there, the entire sentry squad, laughing, smiling, throwing their arms over our shoulders and asking us to sing Calide Portmore with them-'once more with gusto!' And at some point one particularly sweaty ox will give me a hug and say how honored he is to be in our company."

"Jeremy?"

"What? That's his name."

"You know the name of the soldier at the gate?"

Royce scowled. "You see my point? Yes, I know his name and they know ours. We might as well wear uniforms and move into Arista's old room."

They climbed the stone steps to the main entrance, where a soldier quickly opened a door for them and gave a slight bow. "Master Melborn, Master Blackwater."

"Hey, Digby." Hadrian waved as he passed and caught Royce scowling. "Sorry."

"It's a good thing we're both retired. You know, there's a reason there are no famous living thieves."

Hadrian's heels echoed on the polished floor of the corridor as they walked. Royce's footsteps made no sound at all. They crossed the west gallery past the suits of armor and the ballroom. The castle appeared as empty as the rest of the city. As they approached the reception hall, Hadrian spotted Mauvin Pickering heading their way. The young noble looked thinner than Hadrian remembered. There was a hollow cast to his cheeks, a shadow beneath his eyes, but his hair was the same wild mess.

"About time," Mauvin greeted them. "Alric just sent me to look for you."

Two years had passed since his brother Fanen's death, and Mauvin still wore black. The haunted look in his eyes would be unnoticeable to most. Only those who had known him before the contest in Dahlgren would see the difference. That was where Sentinel Luis Guy had attacked Hadrian with a force of Seret Knights, and Mauvin and Fanen took up arms with him. The brothers had fought masterfully, as was the nature of Pickerings. Yet Mauvin had been unable to save his brother from the killing stroke. Before that day, Mauvin Pickering had been bright, loud, and joyful with a permanent smile and a wink that challenged the world. Now, he stood with his shoulders slumped and his chin dipped.

"You're wearing it again?" Hadrian gestured toward Mauvin's sword.

"They insisted."

"Have you drawn it?"

Mauvin looked at his feet. "Dad says it doesn't matter. If the need arises, he's certain I won't hesitate."

"And what do you think?"

"Mostly I try not to." Mauvin opened the doors to the hall and let them swing wide. He led them past the clerk and the door guards into the reception hall. Tall windows let in the late morning light, casting bright spears on the parquet floor. The great tapestries still laid rolled in bundles against the wall, stacked in hope of a better day. In their places, maps with red lines covered by blue arrows pointing south, plastered the walls.

Alone, Alric paced near the windows, his crowned head bowed and his mantle trailing behind him like-like a king, Hadrian thought. Alric looked up as they entered and pushed the rim of the royal diadem back with his thumb.

"What took you so long?"

"We ate breakfast, Your Majesty," Royce replied.

"You ate break-never mind." The king held out a rolled parchment. "I'm told you delivered this dispatch to the castle this morning?"

"Not me," Royce said. Unrolling it, he found two parchments and began reading.

"I did," Hadrian admitted. "I just arrived from Ratibor. Your sister has matters well in hand, Your Majesty."

Alric scowled. "Who sent this?"

"I'm not sure," Hadrian replied. "I got it from a man named Price in Colnora."

Royce finished reading and looked up. "I think you're about to lose this war," he said, without bothering to add the expected Your Majesty.

"Don't be absurd. This is likely a hoax. Ecton is probably behind it. He enjoys seeing me make a fool of myself. Even if it is authentic, it's simply someone making wild claims to extort a bit of gold from the New Empire."

"I don't think so." Royce handed the letter to Hadrian.

King Alric,

Found this on a courier traveling from Calis to Aquesta. Sweepers bumped him in Alburn but he was more than he seemed. Three Diamonds dead. Bucketmen caught him and found this letter addressed to the Regents. The Jewel thought you'd like to know.

Esteemed Regents,

The fall of Ratibor was unexpected and unfortunate, but as you know, not fatal. Thus far, I have delivered Degan Gaunt and eliminated the wizard Esrahaddon. This completes two-thirds of our contract, but the best is yet to come.

The Emerald Storm rests anchored in Aquesta Harbor, ready to sail. When you receive this message, place the payment on board along with the sealed orders I left. Once loaded, the ship will depart, the fortunes of war will shift, and your victory will be assured. With the Nationalists eliminated, Melengar is yours for the taking.

While I have all the time in the world, you, on the other hand, might wish to make haste, lest the flame you call the New Empire be snuffed out.