The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(24)

“Moral and pure as the season’s first snowflake,” Tom added through a mouthful of meat.

Then both men snickered. Hearing each other, the two grease-stained geniuses laughed harder until the bald guy nearly choked to death on a chunk of lamb. He coughed, spit some gristle into his hand, looked at it doubtfully, and stuffed it back into his mouth.

Royce took a swig from his mug and discovered it was small. The term didn’t refer to its size, which in this case was far more than Royce was willing to consume, but rather the amount of alcohol. Small beer was a poor man’s brew, similar to the watered-down wine used in church services. The drink was designed to quench rather than intoxicate. Royce wasn’t thirsty, but he wanted to keep up appearances. “You’re both from around here then, is that right?”

“Born on the docks,” the baldheaded one said. “Took over my father’s job unloading the fish trawlers. Which is why I run all the way here on my break. By bloody Mar, I can’t stand fish.”

“I’m originally from Blycourt,” the other said. “That’s down east, closer to Blythin Castle. You probably heard of it. But my family moved here when I was young. Spent most of my life in Little Gur Em.” He pointed out the door as if this held some meaning.

“Glad to meet some locals.” Royce forced himself to talk with his mouth full and let grease drip to his chin. “Maybe you can tell me a bit about the city. What to look out for, where not to go.”

The swarthy gent jumped to answer so quickly that he nearly lost the food in his mouth, and he had to pop a hand to his face to trap it. “You in town for the Spring Festival?”

“Yep, though it doesn’t feel much like spring. More crowded than I would have thought.”

The local man nodded. “Bishop proclaimed anybody seeking the crown has to be here for the feast, else they ain’t eligible to be king. It’s bringing noble folk from all over. Some, a lot actually, think he plans to hold a contest, and the winner gets the crown.”

“That explains a lot. Had trouble finding a place to stay. Any clue who’s going to be picked?”

“Most likely it will be Floret Killian, the Duke of Quarters,” Tom put in.

“What about Leopold Hargrave? He’s the duke here, right?” Royce asked.

“Old Leo’s got no children. A king needs heirs.”

“Just got married, didn’t he?’” Royce asked. “He could still have kids, although . . . I heard something about his wife going missing, is that true?”

Like candles blown out by Royce’s words, the gleeful smiles on both men’s faces vanished.

They shot nervous looks at each other, then scanned the shack as the fire flared and shadows hit the walls.

“I got to get back. Trawler is likely in by now.” The bald man chugged his remaining beer and wiped his face with his sleeve. Before pushing his way out, he fixed Royce with a suspicious glare.

The swarthy man continued to stare from across the gap that was left behind by the bald man’s hasty departure. He studied Royce from boots to hood. “You looking for the duchess?” His words reached out slowly like fingers in the dark.

“I didn’t say that. Just making conversation.”

“Why are you here . . . Mister . . . ah . . . what did you say your name was?”

“His name is Grim, and I’m Baldwin,” Hadrian jumped in, shoving his extended palm past Royce. “And you would be?”

The man looked at Hadrian’s hand as if it were a hissing snake. “Leaving, I think.” He backed away, pulling a blue kerchief from his neck and wiping his hands. Without another word, he shoved past and headed out the door.

Royce and Hadrian shared a puzzled look.

“Curious,” Royce muttered.

“I told the fella I was talking to that my name was Baldwin,” Hadrian whispered. “Didn’t want you picking the same name.”

Royce looked for the guy in the gray hood. “Where is the fellow you were talking to?”

“I mentioned the duchess, and he remembered he had to feed his cat.”

Royce looked around the Meat House. Smoke filled the space where a row of men leaned on the shelf, guzzling beer and tearing seared flesh. Too many eyes looked their way. More than before?

“Maybe we should—”

“Not be here?” Hadrian smiled. “Was thinking the same thing.” He swallowed the last of his beer, and together they moved back to the street.





The Meat House was in a run-down section a few blocks from the city’s harbor. Royce led the way uphill, heading back toward their rented room while steering away from the crowds. The route threaded them through ever-narrower streets lined with walls of brick, places where rodents darted in the shadows. Rain was still falling, drizzling down walls, pouring off roofs, and creating a stream that threatened to back up the open-grate sewers.

“I take it you didn’t learn anything useful?” Royce asked.

“You mean beside the fact that a monster stalks the city streets and rips people’s hearts out?”

“Cute, but—”

“I’m not joking. That’s what he actually told me.”

“The one with the cat?”

Hadrian nodded. “Had the same kind of ears as the mother who told us about the room for rent. He was trying to hide them, but you could see the points when he turned.”