The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(12)

No cup or mug—he hadn’t ordered a drink.

The Diamond Room was quiet. Not part of the original inn, the room had been recently built to accommodate the tavern’s growing popularity. The addition filled the oblong space between The Rose and the Thorn and Medford House and gave the place its diamond shape. The only sounds came from two barmaids cleaning mugs in the other room.

“What do you want?” Royce asked as his fingers entered the front fold of his cloak and slipped around the handle of Alverstone.

“I want to hire you.”

It shouldn’t have surprised Royce. Albert had described the man as a potential client. But so much about the meeting was worrisome. “Hire me?”

“Yes,” the man replied with curt candor, a hint of a smile on his lips, as if he knew a secret or the punch line to a joke that had yet to be revealed.

“To do what?”

“Exactly what you did in Colnora. Only this time I want you to make the city of Rochelle bleed.”

Hadrian shifted in his seat, his feet coming off poised footings. “Why?”

The man pushed back from the table, folding his arms across his chest as if contemplating what to say next, or maybe just working himself up to say it. Some things didn’t come easy. Royce understood that well enough, and from the miserable expression on the man’s face, he guessed that whatever he was about to say, this might be the first time he’d put it into words.

“My wife died ten years ago. Just been me and my daughter since then. Good girl, my Genny, faithful, loyal, a hard worker, quick as a whip, and tough as leather. We did well together, the two of us. She got me through the tough times, and there were plenty of those. But less than four months back she went off with a nobleman from Rochelle. Fella named Leo Hargrave.”

Hadrian leaned forward. “Leopold Hargrave?”

“That’s him.”

Royce raised a questioning brow at Hadrian.

“He’s the Duke of Rochelle. It’s in Alburn, southeast of here. I was in King Reinhold’s army down that way before I shipped off to Calis.”

“Reinhold is dead,” Winter said.

“The king of Alburn has died?”

“Him and his whole family. Bishop Tynewell is going to crown a new king come the Spring Festival. Genny wrote me all about it. She wrote me three days a week ever since the wedding, then nothing.” The man frowned, his sight falling to the surface of the table where he scraped at a worn spot with his thumbnail, trying to tear back a splinter.

Royce nodded. “So, what? You think she’s dead?”

“I know she is.”

“Because she’s late in sending letters?” Hadrian said. “The woman just got married; she’s in a new city, a very different city, and she’s a duchess now. Might be a tad busy. Or maybe she sent letters and the courier was lost in the snows. It’s not spring yet, and those mountain passes can be treacherous. You’re jumping to conclusions.”

Gabriel Winter looked into Hadrian’s eyes. “I did receive a letter, but not from my Genny. Hargrave wrote to say she’s disappeared.”

“Oh, well, disappeared is . . . it’s not good, but it doesn’t mean she’s dead.”

“Yes, it does.” His stare was cold and harder than granite. “I told her what would happen. She just wouldn’t listen. The only reason Hargrave married Genny was for her dowry. He doesn’t love her. Never did. But Genny, she loves him, see. From the top of her head to the tip of her toes she does. Don’t know why. She’s always been so sensible in the past, and this Hargrave . . . well, the man is noble, that should have told her everything right there. I tried to stop her, but how could I? He’s all she ever wanted. That’s what she told me. My Genny, she’s not what you would call pretty. Even as wealthy as we are, no one ever came knocking on her door. She was getting up there in age, will be thirty-three in the fall, and, well, when the duke asked for her hand it was like offering the gift of flight to a chicken. She couldn’t see past the dream. Hargrave killed her all right, him and his ilk. That was his plan from the start. I saw it in the man’s eyes. He was using her.” Gabriel turned to Royce. “I’d go there myself, but—” He spread his arms. “I’m old and fat, and never was that good with a knife. What could I do to avenge my darling daughter? Nothing. As a father, I’m incapable of doing the deed myself, but as a businessman”—he pointed at Royce—“I have the means to pay others to be my hands.”

Businessman! That clicked the tumbler, and Royce finally knew who he was talking to, and how the man knew where to find him. “Winter’s Whiskey.”

“That’s me.”

It was Hadrian’s turn to raise a questioning brow.

Royce clarified, “One of the business barons of Colnora, the ones who actually run the city. Nobles appointed by the king of Warric are supposed to administrate, but they rule like a barnacle commands a ship. The real control resides in the hands of the magnates who live in the Hill District: men like the DeLurs, the Bocants, and Gabriel Winter, purveyor of fine liquors and quality spirits.”

“My neighbor is Cosmos DeLur. He was kind enough to provide me with your change of address.”

“I guessed as much.”

“My money has bought me all manner of comforts, but right now the only thing I want is revenge.”