The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(91)
“Doesn’t matter,” the duke said, and then chuckled. “And you can relax. Right now, you’re my best friend, and I owe you.” Leo shivered. “Why is it so cold in here? Did they leave you so ill attended? Idiots.” The man scowled, then lifted the parchment in his hand, grasping it as gently as if it were a newborn. “My Genny is alive.”
“She won’t be if you don’t—”
“I know,” Leo said. “It was all in the letter. Grant the dwarves the right to work. Give the Calians the right to trade. Bestow on the mir the right to exist. Not something I can simply change overnight. Guilds are powerful things but Genny . . .” He shook the letter again. “Never a dull moment with her around and never a moment’s peace. The woman was already working toward those ends. She was fixing the problem that is Rochelle. She’s a businesswoman, you see. Rochelle is a horrible tangle. This city is choked with regulations and procedures, layers upon layers of protocol, and ages steeped in narrow-minded intolerance. She doesn’t know anything about such things. Had no idea of the impossibility of the task. That’s the way with her, you know. Don’t ever tell that woman she can’t do something. She’ll take it as a challenge. In this case, she came up with a plan where the existing members of the merchant and trade guilds will receive a percentage of the money earned by the Calians and dwarves. She also indicated that if they refused, I should raise taxes on trade goods. Nothing speaks to businessmen like money, or someone threatening theirs. And as it turns out, the daughter of a Colnora merchant baron is fluent in such matters. She was getting close to an agreement, but then she disappeared.”
“I need to get back,” Royce said. “I need to bring proof you’re planning to do something.”
“Yes, I know. Genny mentioned an uprising. Lovely handwriting.” He grinned. “She has these pudgy little hands, but her penmanship is beautiful. Years of keeping books, she told me.”
“What proof can we provide?” Royce pressed.
The duke gestured at his companions. “These gentlemen are leaders of the city’s merchant and trade guilds, the ones Genny met with. They are quite eager to assist, especially after I explained that if my wife dies, I’ll charge them as complicit in the murder and execute every last one of them.” Leo focused on the sleepy men and glared.
“The king will condemn the murder of prominent merchants,” one of the men said.
“What king?”
The man looked uncomfortable.
“Don’t worry,” Leo smiled. “I will definitely hold a trial immediately following your deaths in order to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. And while we are doing that, you can voice your concern to his late majesty King Reinhold when you see him.”
I like this guy, Royce thought. “Guess we’d better get going.”
“Captain Wyberg will go with you. Good luck . . . Royce, is it?”
He sighed and nodded.
“Royce,” the duke said to himself as a curious, thoughtful look came over him. “I’ve heard that name before.”
“Let’s go,” Royce told Roland and quickly headed for the door. He didn’t want to discover what revelations the duke had uncovered.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Morning After
With nothing else to do, Hadrian had fallen asleep. He woke to the first light of dawn spilling down the wooden steps from the shack above. The three of them were still huddled in the stone cellar. Griswold sat where he’d always been, hunched up with knees high, his long beard pooling on his lap, demonstrating the patience and unruffled composure of a rock. He still had the dagger, out and ready. Seton had curled up beside Hadrian using him as a pillow, her hair creating a pool of blond across his lap. He guessed she’d done it for warmth, or perhaps as a precaution against treachery while she slept.
No one can steal me away without waking my protector.
For Hadrian, who was cold, cramped, and couldn’t feel his hands, the beautiful mir was a wonderful comfort. In the newborn light that gave everything a spotless purity, she was something more than beautiful, more than a woman. In the same way, the first snowfall of the year was more than snow; both were transcendent.
She’s so light, like having a cat sleep on me. Hadrian had always felt that cats were picky, untrusting things. Being fragile, they had to be. Whenever a cat sat on him, Hadrian felt special, as if the animal approved, and their acceptance was some sort of gift. Makes a body feel worthy of something to have a cat trust you that much.
Hadrian didn’t feel worthy. I did one good thing. How quickly does a pure drop of rain disappear in a muddy lake? How many did I kill that night? I don’t even remember. In her story, he was a monster who came to slaughter and maim. Hadrian had few illusions about those days, and his memories only got worse the farther he traveled east where civilization was little more than an inconvenient philosophy. Still, he’d never really seen himself as evil.
But I was. Maybe I still am.
He looked down. Her eyes were closed, her body rising and falling gently, silently. Maybe she was a hundred years old and had witnessed and even participated in atrocities of her own. Maybe she had closets full of horrible regrets. Who didn’t? But in that forgiving light, she was as innocent as a newly budded flower, and she was his savior.