The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(117)

A knock at the door ended the one-sided debate as Evelyn stood up and, with an exasperated huff, marched to her home’s entrance.

“Hullo!” a loud voice bellowed.

“Oh good gracious.” Evelyn gasped. “Your Ladyship!”

Royce and Hadrian abruptly stood. Leaving the dining room, they entered the foyer at the same time as the Duchess of Rochelle who was dressed in a long black gown, black shawl, and a matching wide-brimmed hat, the sort that demanded special care when moving in tight spaces. Large though she was, her presence was twice as big. She commanded attention like a loud bee in a small room. Her face, round and happy, beamed a smile that made crescent-moons of her eyes.

Evelyn smoothed a lace doily that was already perfectly placed. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were coming. Please forgive this terrible mess!”

“Oh, nonsense, my good lady!” the duchess said. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. Dropping in unannounced at this hour and after such a tragedy. I wouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised if you turned me away. Kicked me to the gutter. A fine woman such as yourself would expect that I know better than to act so abominably.”

“I . . . I . . . ah . . .” Evelyn stammered, lost.

“She’s met her match,” Royce whispered to Hadrian.

“But you see, I do have a reason, and while it might not be readily apparent, nor may you find it entirely important, I assure you that to me it most certainly is. And being the duchess of this city, that counts for something, doesn’t it? Of course it does. So, I do hope you’ll pardon this intrusion.”

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?”