The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(71)

Villar’s voice showed disgust and an end of patience. “You have all heard Mercator’s words before. And as I said, I tried things her way, and at great personal risk. I was the one who kidnapped the duchess. And what did the duke do? Nothing. He has ignored our demands. So many of you have suffered, so many have asked why we don’t stand up for ourselves, why we don’t fight. Tomorrow we will. On the first day of spring, the nobles from every corner of Alburn will be at the feast. It’s our best chance, a perfect opportunity. They’re not expecting a revolution, and they won’t be protected by thick breastplates, nor will they be carrying swords. But we will! The dwarves have secretly prepared nearly a hundred weapons, ready to be handed out. The Calian soothsayers have confirmed that tomorrow is a turning point for this city, and it will be if the mir, the Belgriclungreians, and the Calians all join forces and attack the Feast of Nobles tomorrow at midday. Listen to me now, and we won’t ever have to listen to the nobles again. I ask for your support, by a show of—”

Villar finally lifted his head high enough that the light splashed his features, and both Hadrian and Royce got a good look at the person beneath the hood. A triangular face, black hair, angled brows—a mir, and an angry one. There was a cold hate in the pull of his lips and an intensity in his dark eyes as he scanned the crowd, seeking to speak directly to everyone gathered. Royce had also tilted his head to get a better look, and in that same moment the two recognized each other.

Lowering his head, Royce whispered, “It’s him. The guy I chased last night.”

Villar shouted, “Grab that man!” and pointed at Royce.

“Time to go,” Royce said. They struggled to retreat but ran into a mass of bodies.

Villar continued to shout. “Get him! Both of them! They’re spies for the duke!”

The phrase spies for the duke did the trick, and instantly Hadrian felt uncountable hands.

Royce reached under his cloak.

“No, Royce, don’t!” Hadrian yelled.

His partner hesitated and in that moment was equally besieged by a dozen men who swarmed until they had him in a firm grip. Royce glared.

The crowd was filled with innocent people, the elderly, women, and children. Any hope they had to get free would require killing—lots of killing, and even then they might not get away. That sweet old couple Hadrian had seen on the way to the rally stood four rows back, still arm in arm, looking upon them with fear. Beside them, a beautiful blond girl, a mir, stared at him wide-eyed in shock. The rest of the crowd was confused and frightened. These people weren’t soldiers. They were a host of Griswolds. People who came home from a long day with nothing more than a miserable excuse for a chicken. And even so, their meager offering garnered a kiss from a grateful wife. None of this would matter to Royce.

“There’s too many,” Hadrian said.

“What are you talking about, Villar?” Mercator asked, “Who are these men?”

“They have been searching for the duchess. Asking questions and hanging out with the captain of the duke’s guard. Just last night I came upon them spying on Griswold and Erasmus. I chased the little one. And the large one murdered Erasmus Nym.”

“Nym’s dead?” someone asked, but was ignored.

Hadrian tried to pull free, but it was hopeless with so many pressing in from all sides. Someone put an arm around his neck, tilting Hadrian backward and off balance. He felt them take his swords.

Hadrian and Royce had been turned to face the front of the room. Mercator, whose arms were two-toned as if she were wearing black gloves to her elbows, stepped forward. “Is what Villar says true?” Hadrian was encouraged by the sincerity of the question. She, at least, hadn’t made up her mind.

He looked to Royce, who refused to answer. Hadrian offered as charming a smile as the chokehold allowed and focused on her. “Yes and no.”

Mercator wasn’t amused.

“No, I didn’t kill anyone. Yes, we have been looking for the duchess. No, we aren’t spies of the duke; we’ve never even met the man. Yes, I know the captain of the guard, we served together years ago.”

“I was there,” Griswold said, “I saw you chase Nym last night, and now my friend is dead.”

“Well, yes, I did chase him, but we got separated, and when I found him again, he was dead. But I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“He’s lying, of course,” Villar said. “I’d lie, too, if I were in his place. He’s only trying to save his own skin.”

“And why are you looking for the duchess?” Mercator asked.

“My friend and I were hired by her father, Gabriel Winter, who’s worried about the disappearance of his only daughter; he feared for her life.”

“See! He admits it,” Villar said. “They know we kidnapped her. They know what happens tomorrow. Let them live and we die. We need to kill them; throw their bodies in the Roche; let it take their stink to the sea.”

“No!” a voice in the crowd yelled, the girl with blond hair and blue eyes. “Leave him alone.” She pushed through the crowd to face Hadrian. “I know this man, and I won’t let anyone hurt him.”

Royce looked at Hadrian and Hadrian looked back, his face mirroring the confusion.

“Seton?” Mercator asked, pushing forward toward the girl. “What are you talking about?”