Wintertide (The Riyria Revelations #5)

“Leave me alone.”


The two made their way toward Myron, weaving between the other desks. There were two dozen in the room, but only Myron’s was used with any regularity.

“Oh, Royce, I’ve just finished. But you might want to wait for the ink to dry.”

Royce held the map to the light, scanning it critically for several minutes.

Myron became concerned. “Something wrong?”

“I can’t believe how things like this are just sitting in your head. It’s incredible. And you say this is a map of the palace?”

“The notation reads: ‘Warric Castle,’” Myron pointed out.

“That’s no map,” Magnus said with a scowl, looking at the parchment Royce held out of his reach.

“How would you know?” Royce asked.

“Because what you have there are construction plans. You can see the builder’s marks.”

Royce lowered the scroll and Magnus pointed. “See here, the builder jotted down the amount of stone needed.”

Royce looked at the dwarf and then at Myron. “Is that right?”

Myron shrugged. “Could be. I only know what I saw. I have no idea what it means.”

Royce turned back to Magnus. “So you understand these markings, these symbols.”

“Sure, it’s just basic engineering.”

“Can you tell me where the dungeon is by looking at this?”

The dwarf took the plans and laid them on the floor, as the desks were too high to reach. He motioned for a candle and Royce brought it over. Magnus studied the map for several minutes before declaring, “Nope. No dungeon.”

Royce frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. I’ve never heard of a palace or castle that didn’t have some kind of dungeon.”

“Well, that’s not the only strange thing about this place,” Magnus said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s nothing, and I mean nothing at all, below ground level. Not so much as a root cellar.”

“So?”

“So you can’t stack tons of stone on just dirt. It will sink. Rain will erode it. The walls will shift and collapse.”

“But it hasn’t,” Myron said. “The records I reproduced date back hundreds of years.”

“Which makes no sense. These plans show no supporting structure. No piles driven down to bedrock, no columns. There’s nothing holding this place up. At least nothing drawn here.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Not sure, but if I were to guess, it’s ’cuz it’s built on top of something else. They must have used an existing foundation.”

“Knowing that and looking at this…Could you give me an idea of where a dungeon is, if you were there?”

“Sure. Just need to see what it’s sitting on and give a good listen to the ground around it. I found you that tunnel to Avempartha, after all.”

“All right, get packed. You’re coming with me to Aquesta.”

“What about the dagger?”

“I promise to bequeath it to you when I die.”

“I can’t wait until then.”

“Don’t worry. At this rate, it won’t be too long.” Royce turned back to Myron. “Thanks for the help.”

“Royce?” Myron stopped the thief as they started to leave.

“Yeah?”

Myron waited until Magnus left. “Can I ask you something about Miss DeLancy?”

Royce raised an eyebrow. “Is something wrong? Is the abbot upset with her and the girls being here?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. They have been wonderful. It’s nice having sisters as well as brothers. And Miss DeLancy has a very nice voice.”

“Nice voice?”

“The abbot keeps us segregated from the women, so we don’t see them much. They eat at different times and sleep in separate dormitories, but the abbot invites the ladies to join in vespers. A few come, including Miss DeLancy. She always arrives with her head covered and face veiled. She’s quiet, but from time to time, I notice her whispering a prayer. Each service begins with a hymn and Miss DeLancy joins in. She sings softly but I can hear her. She has a wonderful voice, haunting, beautiful but also sad like the song of a nightingale.”

“Oh.” Royce nodded. “Well, good. I’m glad there isn’t a problem.”

“I wouldn’t call it a problem, but…”

“But?”

“I often see her in the mornings when I go to the Squirrel Tree to talk with Renian. Miss DeLancy sometimes takes walks in the cloister, and she always stops by to pay her respects to us when she does.” Myron paused.

“And?” Royce prompted.

“Well, it’s just that one morning she took my hand and looked at my palm for several minutes.”

“Uh-oh,” Royce muttered.

“Yes,” Myron said with wide eyes.

“What did she say?”

“She told me I would be taking two trips—both sudden and unexpected. She said I would not feel up to it, but I should not be afraid.”

“Of what?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Typical.”

“Then she told me something else and was sad like when she sings.”

“What was it?” Royce asked.

“She said she wanted to thank me in advance and tell me it wasn’t my fault.”

“She didn’t explain that either, did she?”

Myron shook his head. “But it was very disturbing—the way she said it—so serious and all. Do you know what I mean?”

“All too well.”

Myron sat up on his stool and took a breath. “You know her. Should I be concerned?”

“I always am.”





***

Royce walked the courtyard in the early-morning light. He had a habit of getting up before dawn. To avoid waking Gwen, he slipped out to wander the abbey’s grounds. Scaffolding remained here and there, but the majority of the monastery was finished. Alric had financed the reconstruction as a payment to Riyria for saving Arista when their Uncle Braga tried to kill her. Magnus oversaw its construction and seemed genuinely happy to be restoring the buildings to their former splendor, even though working with Myron frustrated the dwarf. Myron provided detailed, although unorthodox, specifications describing dimensions in the height of several butter churns, the width of a specific book, or the length of a spoon. Despite this, the buildings went up and Royce had to admit the monk and the dwarf had done an excellent job.

That day, the ground was covered in a thick frost and the sky lightened to a bright, clear blue as Royce made his morning rounds. Myron had finished the map, and he knew he should be leaving soon, but Royce was stalling. He enjoyed lingering in bed with Gwen and taking walks with her in the courtyard. Noticing the sun rising above the buildings, he headed back inside. Gwen would be up and having breakfast together was always the best part of their day. When he reached their room, Gwen was still in bed, her back to the door.

“Gwen? Are you feeling all right?”

She rolled over to face him and he saw the tears in her eyes.

Royce rushed to her side. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

She reached out and hugged him. “Royce, I’m sorry. I wish there was more time. I wish…”

“Gwen? What—”