The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(16)
“Good to hear you don’t have fond memories, given the nature of this job.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not here for a social call. None of this helping to save people or advising nobles. We’re here to hunt. Been a while since I did wet work. There’s a certain . . . clarity that comes with executions.”
“We’re not here to kill anyone,” Hadrian said. “We’ve come to rescue the duchess.”
Royce drew back his hood to look at Hadrian, or maybe it was merely so Hadrian could see the mocking smile. “You understand Winter’s daughter is dead, right?”
Hadrian shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
Royce’s eyes widened. “The Duke of Rochelle married her for her money, then arranged a convenient accident to rid himself of the excess baggage. He’s probably done it before, and he’ll likely do it again with another rich daughter or perhaps an elderly widow.”
“You don’t know that.”
They reached a ridge where the trail twisted down a narrow pass, which was steep enough that the rocks kicked by the horses’ hooves started a tiny cascade. Seabirds cried overhead, and the wind coming off the water howled.
“Of course I do. Gabriel Winter was right. Dukes don’t marry middle-aged, ugly merchant’s daughters for love. He wanted the money. That’s how the world works. People are motivated by money, power, security, and . . . well, that’s pretty much it. Actually, when you think about it, they’re all variations on the same theme.”
“So, you don’t believe in love?”
“Love is another word for lust or dependence. People confuse it with all sorts of other things, fantasies and wishful thinking, mostly.”
“Oh really?” Hadrian urged his horse to catch up, as Royce’s mare had a tendency to inch ahead. “Then tell me, O wise one, was it lust or dependence that caused you to risk your life to rescue Gwen from prison? And what fantasy or wishful thinking drove Gwen to hide and nurse us back to health despite the danger?”
Royce urged his horse ahead.
“Oh, and tell me, Sir Genius, why is it you can’t remember your own name when she’s around, but you haven’t dared to kiss her?”
The hood came up again.
“That’s still not an answer.”
The city of Rochelle proved to be a congested hive of activity. Carts, wagons, and carriages packed cobblestone streets trapped between tall buildings. The soaring stone architecture, with its pointed arches and ornate fa?ades, made Hadrian feel small, and not merely in size. Like the cathedral in Medford, the grandeur here left him feeling unworthy and unwanted, which was one of the reasons Hadrian never had much interest in religion.
The sun hadn’t quite set, and yet the shadows of the buildings created a premature night on the streets below. Crowds moved through pools of radiance cast by illuminated shop windows. Among the men with walking sticks and ladies in gowns strolling the sidewalks, Hadrian spotted dark-skinned laborers in eastern garb and dwarven crafters bustling along the gutters. A man on stilts and a boy with a spitting torch cut through the mob, lighting streetlamps. A lady in a lavish cloak walked a tiny pug-nosed dog on a leash, making Hadrian think of Lady Martel and Mister Hipple. A pair of men in red-and-blue military uniforms moved casually up the street while a matching pair moved down the other side, eyes watchful and suspicious.
The smell of woodsmoke, roasting meats, and baked pies filled the air. Throngs stopped to peer into the bright shop windows or surrounded peddlers’ carts, waving hands over their heads to catch the merchants’ attention. Horses’ tacks jingled; hooves clapped stone; bells rang; fiddlers played jaunty tunes; and barkers shouted about cheap shoes and shows about to start. “Come see the lizard-man shed his skin on stage!” Conversations poured over one another such that words were lost in the exchange, and yet Hadrian still managed to notice the accent. More lyrical and sophisticated than western dialects, the sound of the east was one of music and mystery. All of it served to remind him of a time he’d rather forget. He’d found such sights and sounds intoxicating as a youth, back when he was arrogant and stupid. Royce would argue he still was stupid, but his partner didn’t know the pre-Calian Haddy, the boy-soldier with the skill of a man. What a cruel and absurd joke: The more ignorant you realize you are, the smarter you become.
He glanced at Royce, whose hood panned left and right as he struggled to take everything in. Being overwhelmed was a common reaction for those who hadn’t traveled in these parts. When it came to the east, there was always too much—too much and yet never enough.
A light rain began to fall as they entered the city—more a nuisance than a problem, but Hadrian suspected that might change as the drops multiplied, the sun set, and the air turned colder. This was something else he remembered: The weather was as unpredictable as the people. According to the stars, spring was less than a week away, but the cool air had a different opinion. Pulling his own hood up, Hadrian tightened the collar as he and Royce waited atop their horses, caught in the traffic of a busy street.
“Any idea where we should go?” Royce asked as the two waited side by side just to the rear of a carriage, which was stopped behind a wagon being unloaded.
“I’m thinking an inn or at least a tavern of some sort. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”