Wintertide (The Riyria Revelations #5)

The voice sounded so real.

“Ha—Hadrian?” she whispered in a voice so faint she feared he would not hear.

“Yes!”

“What are you doing here?” Her words came out as little more than puffs of air.

“I came to save you. Only I’m not doing very well.”

There was the sound of tearing cloth.

Nothing made sense. Like all dreams, this one was both silly and wonderful.

“I messed up. I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be…” she said to the dream, her voice cracking. “It means a lot…that you…that anyone tried.”

“Don’t cry,” he said.

“How long until…my execution?”

There was a long pause.

“Please…” she begged. “I don’t think I can stand this much longer. I want to die.”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” The dungeon boomed with his voice. The sudden outburst sent Jasper skittering away. “Don’t you ever say that.”

There was a long pause. The prison grew silent once more, but Jasper did not return.

The tower was swaying. She looked under the bed, but still she couldn’t find the brush. How was that possible? They were all there except the first one. It was the most important. She had to have it.

Standing up, she accidently caught sight of her reflection in the swan mirror. She was thin, very thin. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets like marbles in pie dough. Her cheeks were hollow, and her lips stretched tight over bone, revealing rotted teeth. Her hair was brittle and falling out, leaving large, bald areas on her pale white skull. Her mother stood behind her with a sad face, shaking her head.

“Mother, I can’t find the brush!” she cried.

“It won’t matter soon,” her mother replied gently. “It’s almost over.”

“But the tower is falling. Everything is breaking and I have to find it. It was just here. I know it was. Esrahaddon told me I needed to get it. He said it was under the bed, but it’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere and time is running out. Oh, Mother, I’m not going to find it in time, am I? It’s too late. It’s too late!”

Arista woke. She opened her eyes, but there was no light to indicate a difference. She still lay on the stone. There was no tower, no brushes, and her mother was long dead. It was all just a dream.

“Hadrian…I’m so scared,” she said to the darkness. There was no answer. He was part of the dream, too. Her heart sank in the silence.

“Arista, it will be all right.” She heard his voice again.

“You’re a dream.”

“No. I’m here.”

His voice sounded strained.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Just tired. I was up late and—” He grunted painfully.

“Wrap the wounds tight,” another man said. Arista did not recognize him. This voice was strong, deep, and commanding. “Use your foot as leverage.”

“Wounds?” she asked.

“It’s nothing. The guards just got a bit playful,” Hadrian told her.

“Are you bleeding badly?” the other voice asked.

“I’m getting it under control…I think…hard to tell in the dark. I’m…feeling a bit dizzy.”

The dungeon’s entrance opened again and once more there was the sound of feet.

“Put her in eight,” a guard said.

The door to Arista’s cell opened and the light of the guard’s torch blinded her. She could barely make out Lady Amilia’s face.

“Eight’s taken,” the guard shouted down the corridor.

“Oh yeah, number eight gets emptied tomorrow. Don’t worry about it, for one night they can share.”

The guard shoved the secretary inside and slammed the door closed, casting them into darkness.

“Oh dear Novron!” Amilia cried.

Arista could feel her kneeling beside her, stroking her hair.

“Dear Maribor, Ella! What have they done to you?”

“Amilia?” the deep voice called out.

“Sir Breckton! Yes, it’s me!”

“But—why?” the knight asked.

“They wanted me to make Modina denounce you. I refused.”

“Then the empress knew nothing? This is not her will?”

“Of course not. Modina would never agree to such a thing. It was all Saldur’s and Ethelred’s doing. Oh, poor Ella, you’re so thin and hurt. I’m so sorry.”

Arista felt fingers brushing her cheek gently and realized she had not heard Hadrian in a long time. “Hadrian?”

She waited. There was no response.

“Hadrian?” she called again, fearful this time.

“Ella—er—Arista, calm down.”

Arista felt her stomach tighten as she realized just how important it was to hear his voice, to know he was still alive. She was terrified he would not speak again. “Had—”

“I’m…here,” he said. His voice was weak and labored.

“Are you all right?” Arista asked.

“Mostly, but drifting in and out.”

“Has the bleeding stopped?” Breckton asked.

“Yeah…I think.”





***

As the night wore on, Modina could still hear them—voices shouting in anger and crying out in rage. There must be hundreds, perhaps thousands, by now. Merchants, farmers, sailors, butchers, and road menders all shouted with one voice. They beat on the gate. She could hear the pounding. Earlier, Modina saw smoke rising from just outside the walls. In the darkness she could see the flicker of torches and bonfires.

What is burning? An effigy of the regents? The gate itself? Maybe it is just cook fires to feed all of them while they camp.

Modina sat at the window and listened to the wails the cold wind brought her.

The door to her bedroom burst open. She knew who was there before turning around.

“Get up, you little idiot! You’re going to make a speech to calm the people.”

Regent Saldur crossed the dim chamber with Nimbus in tow. He held out a parchment toward Nimbus.

“Take this and have her read it.”

Nimbus slowly approached the regent and bowed. “Your Grace, I—”

“We don’t have time for foolishness!” Saldur exploded. “Just make her read it.”

The regent paced with intensity while Nimbus hurriedly lit a candle.

“Why is there no guard at this door?” Saldur asked. “Do you have any idea what could happen if someone else had waltzed up here? Have soldiers stationed as soon as we leave or I’ll find someone else to replace Amilia.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Nimbus brought over the candle and said, “His grace respectfully requests that—”

“Damn you.” Saldur took the parchment from Nimbus. He brought it over and held it so close to Modina’s face that she could not have read it even if she knew how. “Read it!”

Modina did not respond.

“You spoke well enough for Amilia. You always speak for her. You even opened your mouth when I threatened her for letting you play with that damn dog. Well, how’s this, my little empress. You get out there and read this—clearly and accurately—or I will have your sweet little Amilia executed tomorrow along with the rest. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve already sent her to the dungeon.”