Theft of Swords (The Riyria Revelations #1-2)

“How much farther is it?” she asked, replacing the pot and bowls in the sack.

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been to Dahlgren, but we made good time today, so maybe only another four days.”

“I hope my father is all right. Mr. Haddon said he would try to convince him to wait until I returned before hunting the beast. I hope he did. As I said, my father is a very stubborn man and I can’t imagine anyone changing his mind.”

“Well, if anyone can, I suspect that Mr. Haddon could,” Royce remarked, prodding the coals of the fire with a long stick. “How did you meet him?”

Thrace found the bed Hadrian had laid out for her near the fire and sat down on her blanket. “It was right after my family’s funeral. It was very beautiful. The whole village turned out. Maria and Jessie Caswell hung wreaths of wild salifan on the markers. Mae Drundel and Rose and Verna McDern sang the ‘Fields of Lilies,’ and Deacon Tomas said a few prayers. Lena and Russell Bothwick held a reception at their house. Lena and my mother were very close.”

“I don’t remember you mentioning your mother; was she—”

“My mother died two years ago.”

“I’m sorry. Sickness?”

Thrace shook her head.

No one spoke for a while, then Hadrian said, “You were telling us how you met Mr. Haddon—”

“Oh yeah, well, I don’t know how many funerals you’ve been to, but it starts to feel … smothering. All the weeping and old stories. I snuck out. I was just wandering, really. I ended up at the village well and there he was … a stranger. We don’t get many of those, but that wasn’t all. He had on this robe that shimmered and kinda seemed to change colors from time to time, but the big thing was he had no hands. The poor man was trying to get himself a drink of water, struggling with the bucket and rope.

“I asked his name and then, oh, I don’t know, I did something stupid like starting to cry and he asked me what was wrong. The thing was, at that moment, I wasn’t crying because my brother and his wife just died. I was crying because I was terrified my father would be next. I don’t know why I told him. Maybe because he was a stranger. It was easy to talk to him. It all just spilled out. I felt stupid afterward, but he was very patient. That’s when he told me about the weapon in the tower and about you two.”

“How did he know where we were?”

Thrace shrugged. “Don’t you live there?”

“No … we were visiting an old friend. Did he talk oddly? Did he use thee and thou a lot?”

“No, but he spoke a bit more educated than most. He said his name was Mr. Esra Haddon. Is he a friend of yours?”

“We only met him briefly,” Hadrian explained. “Like you, we helped him with a little problem he was having.”

“The question is, why is he keeping tabs on us?” Royce asked. “And how, since I don’t recall dropping our names and he couldn’t have known we would be going to Colnora.”

“All he told me is that you were needed to open the tower and if I left right away, I could find you there. Then he arranged for me to ride with the peddler. He’s been very helpful.”

“Rather amazing, isn’t it, for a man who can’t even get himself a cup of water,” Royce muttered.





CHAPTER 3





THE AMBASSADOR





Arista stood at the tower window, looking down at the world below. She could see the roofs of shops and houses. They appeared as squares and triangles of gray, brown, and red pierced by chimneys left dormant on the warm spring day. The rain had washed through, leaving the world below fresh and vibrant. She watched the people walking along the streets, gathering in squares, moving in and out of doorways. Occasionally a shout reached her ears, soft and faint. Most of the noise came from directly below in the courtyard, where a train of seven coaches had just arrived and servants were loading trunks.

“No. No. No. Not the red dress!” Bernice shouted at Melissa. “Novron, protect us. Look at that neckline. Her Highness has a reputation to protect. Put that in storage, or better yet—burn it. Why, you might as well salt her, put a garnish behind her ear, and hand her over to a pack of starving wolves. No, not the dark one either; it’s nearly black—it’s spring, for Maribor’s sake. Where’s your head? The sky blue gown, yes, that one can stay. Honestly, it’s a good thing I’m here.”

Bernice was an old plump woman with a doughlike face that sagged at the cheeks and doubled at the chin. The color of her hair was unknown, as she always wrapped it in a barbette veil that looped her head from crown to neck. To this she added a tall cloth filet that made it seem like the top of her head was flat. She stood in the center of Arista’s bedroom, flailing her arms and shouting amidst the chaotic maelstrom that she had created.

Piles of clothes lay everywhere except in Arista’s wardrobes. Those stood empty, waiting with doors wide, as Bernice sorted each gown, boxing the winter dresses for storage. In addition to Melissa, Bernice had drafted two other girls from downstairs to assist in the packing. Bernice had filled one chest but still her bedroom remained carpeted in gowns, and Arista already had a headache from all the shouting.

Bernice had been one of her mother’s handmaids. Queen Ann had kept several. Drundiline, a beautiful woman, had been her secretary and close friend. Harriet ran the residence, organizing the cleaning staff, seamstresses, and laundry. Nora, whose lazy eye always made it impossible to tell who she was actually looking at, handled the children. Arista remembered how she would tell her fairy tales at bedtime about greedy dwarves who kidnapped spoiled princesses, but a dashing prince always saved them in the end. In all, Arista could remember no fewer than eight maids, but she could not remember Bernice.

She had come to Essendon Castle nearly two years earlier, only a month after Arista’s father, King Amrath, had been murdered. Bishop Saldur explained that she had served the queen and was the only maid to survive the fire that had killed her mother so many years earlier. He mentioned Bernice had been away for years, suffering from melancholy and sickness, but after Amrath’s death, she insisted on returning to care for her beloved queen’s daughter.

“Oh, Your Highness,” Bernice said, holding two separate pairs of Arista’s shoes, “I do wish you would come away from that window. The weather may look pleasant, but drafts are not something to toy with. Trust me, I know all about it—intimately. Pray you never have to go through what I did—the aches, the pains, the coughing. Not that I’m complaining, of course; I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m blessed with the gift of seeing you grow into a lady, and Maribor willing, I will see you as a bride. What a fine bride you’ll make! I hope King Alric picks a husband for you soon. Who knows how long I have left, and we don’t want people gossiping about you any more than they already are.”