The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(25)

“They’re called “mir”—part human, part elven.”

“Is mir an elven term? In Calis, they’re called kaz.”

Royce nodded. “I think so, but don’t know what kaz means, besides ‘universally hated,’ that is.”

They reached the crest of a little hill. The street veered right, and, trying to stay on track, Royce took a side lane to the left. He didn’t know for certain, but hoped it went through to something bigger. If nothing else, it afforded a quieter, darker path, and he felt the need to disappear. They hadn’t been in town a full night and already he felt they’d made a misstep, one he couldn’t even blame on Hadrian.

“How about you?” Hadrian asked. “Any luck?”

“Some. I know why it’s so crowded. Apparently, you have to be at the Spring Feast to be chosen king. Every noble in Alburn must be here, and the lowborn have come to see who gets picked. Oh, and maybe Leo didn’t marry Genny for just her money.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Candidates need to produce an heir.”

Hadrian smiled. “Which means . . .”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess it’s doubtful the duke killed her, but that doesn’t mean she’s alive. She could have been murdered by a rival.”

Hadrian nodded. “But she could be alive. She doesn’t have to be dead to prevent the bishop from picking her husband. Maybe she’s being held captive until after the new king is crowned.”

The two skirted a puddle. The present road, which was so narrow it felt more like an alley, lacked the precision engineering of Mill Street. Sewers were still in use—Royce saw the grates at regular intervals—but the water didn’t drain into them. Instead, the runoff chose to gather in low pockets and holes that the road menders had neglected.

“Hmm,” Hadrian mused.

“What?”

“Don’t you find it suspicious?”

“I find everything suspicious. Can you be more specific?”

“Well, Gabriel Winter said Reinhold and his whole family were dead. I saw him once when he reviewed the troops. That old guy had enough children to be an honorary rabbit. And none of his heirs are alive? Seems odd. His death and Genny’s disappearance might be related. Could be we’ve stumbled into something more than the disappearance of a wealthy woman. We should find out what happened to the previous king. I suppose we could ask Evelyn Hemsworth. She might know.”

Royce made a face.

“Did you just shudder?” Hadrian began to chuckle. “You shuddered, didn’t you? The infamous Mister Grim quivers at the thought of talking to an old woman?”

“Oh, and I suppose you’re eager to have breakfast with her in the morning? Won’t that be grand! Assuming the shriveled shut-in biddy eats food. I’m betting she gets by on blood she sucks from goats.”

“She’s not that bad.”

Royce stopped walking and faced Hadrian straight-on.

Hadrian’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, so she’s as irritating as rough wool to a sunburn, but she has to have the finest—”

From behind them, a loud noise cut through the drumming rain.

The two spun.

They were alone on a dark street. A moment before, Royce had considered the lack of light as a bonus, but now he had cause to reconsider. Seedier neighborhoods settled for oil lanterns; some got by with torches, and many made do with nothing at all. But even in the worst areas, there was light from windows, except where they now stood. This street had none. No doors, either. Three-story brick walls hemmed them in.

The clatter was unmistakable: horses running, headed their way.

“Is that what I think it is?” Hadrian asked.

From behind, a wagon—one of the big ones with high sides used to haul livestock—came thundering their way, pulled by a pair of black draft horses racing at full tilt. The street was so narrow the wheels scraped the walls, first one side, then the other. Even in the dark, Royce could see the lathered sweat on the animals, their ears back, eyes wide and wild. The steeds were in a panic.

“Run!” Royce shouted.

Together, they sprinted up the street, but Royce knew they wouldn’t reach the end of the block.

“Here!” He led Hadrian to a sewer grate.

The two dropped to their knees and together wrenched the square of iron bars free, revealing an uninviting hole. Sparks flared and illuminated the dark alley as the left wheel of the wild wagon scraped the end of its metal axle across the face of one brick wall. Royce didn’t search for a ladder. No time to even look below. Anything was better than death by trampling. This was a lie, of course. He admitted it to himself even as he leapt in. There were many things worse, Royce just didn’t think he’d find any on that list at the bottom of a sewer. For the most part, Royce liked sewers. He’d grown up in one.





The fall wasn’t far, and the water at the bottom was deeper than he expected, which initially seemed like a good thing. Royce always believed it was better to hit water than rock when leaping into a dark hole of unknown depth. After the inaugural splash and obligatory gasp for air, he had a second to realize the water was chest high. A second after that, he discovered the amount of water wasn’t insignificant when combined with the rainwater surge. A powerful current dragged him and Hadrian off their feet and hurtled the two through a lightless tunnel that scraped their legs and elbows across stone walls too slick from slime to grasp.