The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“That’s—why, that’s wonderful!” Hadrian burst out as he leaped to his feet and hugged her. “Congratulations! He didn’t even say anything. We’ll be like family! It’s about time he got around to this. I would have asked for your hand myself years ago, except I knew if I did I’d wake up dead the next morning.”


“When he asked me it was as if—well, as if a wish I never dared ask had come true. So many problems solved, so much pain eased. Honestly, I didn’t think he ever would.”

Hadrian nodded. “That’s only because he’s not only an idiot, he’s blind as well.”

“No. I mean, well—he’s Royce.”

“Isn’t that what I just said? But I know what you’re saying. He’s really not the marrying type, is he? Clearly, you’ve had tremendous influence on him.”

“You have, too,” she said, reaching out and taking hold of his hand. “There are times I hear him say things I know come from you. Things like responsibility and regret, words that were never part of his vocabulary before. I wonder if he even knows where he found them. When I first met you two he was so withdrawn, so guarded.”

Hadrian nodded. “He has trust issues.”

“But he’s learning. His life has been so hard. I know it has. Abandoned and betrayed by those who should have loved him. He doesn’t talk about it, at least not to me. But I know.”

Hadrian shook his head. “Me either. Occasionally something might come up, but he usually avoids mentioning anything about his past. I think he’s trying to forget.”

“He’s built so many defenses, but every year it’s as if another wall has fallen. He even summoned the courage to tell me he’s part elven. His fortress is dissolving, and I can see him peering out of it at me. He wants to be free. This is the next step—and I am so proud of him.”

“When will the wedding be?”

“We were thinking in a couple of weeks at the monastery, so Myron can preside. But we’ll have to postpone, won’t we?”

“Why do you say that? Alric just wants to see us, it doesn’t mean—”

“He needs the two of you for a job,” Gwen interrupted.

“No. He might want us, but we’re retired. I have other things to do and Royce…well, Royce needs to start a new life—with you.”

“You’ll take it, and you must take Royce with you,” her voice was filled with sadness and a sense of regret, emotions so unlike her.

Hadrian smiled. “Listen, I can’t think of anything Alric could say that would get me to go, but if he does, I’ll do the job on my own—as a wedding present. We don’t even have to tell Royce the courier was here.”

“No!” she burst out. “He has to go. If he doesn’t, you’ll die.”

Hadrian’s first impulse was to laugh, but that thought evaporated when he saw her face. Nevertheless, he tried to lighten the strain he found there. “I’m not as easy to kill as all that, you know?” He winked at her.

“I’m from Calis, Hadrian, and I know what I’m talking about.” Her gaze drifted off toward the windows, but her eyes were unfocused, as if seeing another place. “I can’t be the one responsible for your death. The life we would have after…” She shook her head. “No, he must go with you,” she repeated firmly.

Hadrian was not convinced but knew there was no reason to argue further. Gwen was not the type for debate. Most women he knew invited discussion and even enjoyed arguments, but not Gwen. There was clarity to her thinking that let you know she had already made her own journey to the inevitable conclusion and was just politely waiting there for you to join her. In her own way, she was much like Royce—except for the polite waiting.

“With you two gone, I’ll have time to organize a first-rate wedding,” she said, her voice strained and she blinked frequently. “It will take that long just to decide what color dress a former prostitute should wear.”

“You know something, Gwen,” Hadrian began, as he reached out and took her hand. “I’ve known a lot of women, but I’ve met only two I admire. Royce is a very lucky man.”

“Royce is a man on the edge,” she replied thoughtfully. “He’s seen too much cruelty and betrayal. He’s never known mercy.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “You have to do this, Hadrian. You have to be the one to show him mercy. If you can do that, I know it will save him.”





***


Royce and Hadrian entered Essendon Castle’s courtyard, once the site of Princess Arista’s witch trial. Nothing remained of that unfortunate day except a slightly raised patch of ground where the stake and woodpile had stood. It had been just three years ago, and the weather had been turning cold then too. It was a different time. Amrath Essendon was king, and the New Empire was little more than a dream of the Imperialists.

The guards at the gate nodded and smiled at them.

“I hate that,” Royce muttered as they passed.

“What?”

“They didn’t even think to stop us, and they actually smiled. They know us by sight now—by sight. Alric used to have the decency to send word discreetly and receive us unannounced. Now, uniformed soldiers knock on the door in daylight waving and saying, ‘Hello, we have a job for you.’”

“He didn’t wave.”

“Give it time, he will be—waving and grinning. One day Jeremy will be buying drinks for his soldier buddies at The Rose and Thorn. They’ll all be there, the entire sentry squad, laughing, smiling, throwing their arms over our shoulders and asking us to sing Calide Portmore with them—‘once more with gusto!’ And at some point one particularly sweaty ox will give me a hug and say how honored he is to be in our company.”

“Jeremy?”

“What? That’s his name.”

“You know the name of the soldier at the gate?”

Royce scowled. “You see my point? Yes, I know his name and they know ours. We might as well wear uniforms and move into Arista’s old room.”

They climbed the stone steps to the main entrance, where a soldier quickly opened a door for them and gave a slight bow. “Master Melborn, Master Blackwater.”

“Hey, Digby.” Hadrian waved as he passed and caught Royce scowling. “Sorry.”

“It’s a good thing we’re both retired. You know, there’s a reason there are no famous living thieves.”

Hadrian’s heels echoed on the polished floor of the corridor as they walked. Royce’s footsteps made no sound at all. They crossed the west gallery past the suits of armor and the ballroom. The castle appeared as empty as the rest of the city. As they approached the reception hall, Hadrian spotted Mauvin Pickering heading their way. The young noble looked thinner than Hadrian remembered. There was a hollow cast to his cheeks, a shadow beneath his eyes, but his hair was the same wild mess.