The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(74)

“Griswold, can you get some rope?” Mercator asked. “We can—”

In the drama, nearly everyone had forgotten about Royce, who hadn’t said or done anything. Those holding him had relaxed their grip, likely believing they were in charge of the quiet one. They discovered their mistake when one cried out in pain and another doubled over as the thief twisted free of all the rest. In a flash, Alverstone appeared, followed by gasps and a sudden retreat of those closest to him. “Sorry, don’t like ropes.”

“Royce.” Hadrian spoke in a measured voice, the same one he would use when calming a spooked horse. “Don’t . . . don’t do anything that you’ll . . . I mean . . . that I’ll regret.”

“Would be more productive if you told them that.” Royce spun, blade out, and everyone took another step back.

“We aren’t going to hurt you,” Mercator said. She was one of the few moving toward him, but not quickly.

Smart woman, Hadrian thought.

“Not going to tie me up, either.”

“We can’t just let you walk out. If you were to tell the duke—”

“Who said anything about walking out?” Royce fanned the dagger as he moved closer to Hadrian. “We came for the duchess, Genny Winter. You’re going to give her to us.”

Mercator stopped and folded her arms, staring at him. “Or what? You’ll kill us all with your dagger?”

Royce frowned, glanced at Hadrian, and sighed. “Why does everyone jump to that conclusion with me?”

Polka dots, Royce, Hadrian thought. Polka dots.

“Look,” Royce told her, “I don’t care for being locked up or killed. Big surprise there, right? And I’m guessing you’d prefer that we don’t reduce your gathering’s population by even a single life, true? Given her story”—he indicated Seton—“I suspect you understand it’ll cost you at least that if you force the issue. So, let’s try something else. How about a trade?”

“We have the duchess, I get that,” Mercator said. “But what do you have that we could want?”

Royce smiled. “The duke.”





No one returned Hadrian’s swords, but neither did they attempt to tie the two up. Mercator left the crowd in the main meeting hall with a promise to update everyone before morning. Then she sent a runner to fetch someone named Selie, convinced Griswold to come along, tried in vain to discourage Seton from doing the same, and chose a dozen of the larger Calians and mir to act as guards. Then the entire entourage escorted Royce and Hadrian across the street.

They entered a small dilapidated building with a partial roof, broken windows, and a mostly intact wooden floor. A well-worn path had been cleared through the debris down the stairs to the cellar. Four stone walls without a single window, six wooden chairs surrounding a rickety table, and the stub of a candle melted onto an overturned cup made up what Hadrian suspected to be the headquarters of the revolution.

Mercator took a seat and gestured for Royce and Hadrian to join her.

Seton looked at the dozen men and mir who were trying to look as tough as possible. “You don’t need them.”

“Not all of us share your unwavering faith,” Mercator told her.

“It’s not faith. I’m just saying . . .” Seton smiled shyly at the guards. “No offense, but if Hadrian wanted to kill us, they wouldn’t be able to stop him.”

“He doesn’t have his swords,” Griswold said.

“I know.”

Mercator puzzled on this a moment. As she did, an older, dark-skinned woman entered in a rush. “Mercator? I was told you needed me.”

“We do.” Mercator motioned to the open chair. “This is Selie Nym, Erasmus’s widow. She will be acting in her husband’s stead as a representative to the Calians, agreed?” She looked to Griswold, who nodded. “I’m sorry to impose on you at a time like this, Selie, but we have an emergency.”

The widow shook her head. “Don’t go to worrying about me. This is bigger than an old widow’s problems. Erasmus would never forgive me iffen I didn’t pick up his part in this.”

Mercator folded her hands on the table and took a breath. “Okay, we’re listening.”

Royce straightened up and faced the three. “Hadrian was telling the truth. We were hired to find and, if possible, rescue Genevieve Winter, the Duchess of Rochelle. If she’s still alive, we can help each other.”

“She is, but it doesn’t matter; her husband doesn’t care what happens to her. Or he does, but not enough to meet our demands.”

“Or there’s a third explanation.”

“Which is?”

“That he doesn’t know anything about your requests, and he thinks his wife is dead.”

Mercator’s brows knitted, her eye shifting in thought. “That’s not possible . . . is it?” She looked to Griswold, who only shrugged.

“How were your demands relayed?” Royce asked.

“We wrote them down and left a note in the carriage the night she was taken.”

Royce shook his head. “Maybe it got lost in the debris, or it blew away, but in any case, the duke knows nothing about the note.”

“What makes you say that?”