Wintertide (The Riyria Revelations #5)

Royce entered the hallway. The darkness was nearly absolute, the only illumination coming from Magnus’s green stone.

He made a quick sweep of the corridors—no guards. Most of the cells were empty but he could hear faint movement and breathing from behind four doors. The only other sound was the drip, drip, drip of the well echoing off the stone walls. After he was sure it was safe, Royce lit the lantern but kept the flame low. He picked the lock on one of the cells and found a blond man lying motionless on the floor. He was dangerously thin but still breathing. Royce shook him, but the man did not wake. Royce left the door open and moved on.

He unlocked the next cell, and a man sitting on the floor looked up. The resemblance was unmistakable and Royce recognized him immediately.

“Who’s there?” Breckton Belstrad asked, holding up a hand to block the glare of the lantern.

“No time to chat. Just wait here for a minute. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Royce moved to the next cell. Inside, two women slept. One he did not know, and the other he almost did not recognize. Princess Arista was ghastly thin, dressed in a rag, and covered with what looked to be bite marks. He left them and moved to the last cell.

“Fourth time’s the charm,” he whispered under his breath as he opened the final door.

Hadrian sat leaning against the wall. He was shirtless. His tunic had been torn into strips and tied around his leg, arm, and midsection. His shirt was fashioned into a pad pressed tight to his side. Each piece of material was soaked dark, but Royce’s partner was still breathing.

“Wake up, buddy,” Royce whispered, nudging him. Hadrian was damp with sweat.

“About time you got here. I was starting to think you ran off and left me.”

“I considered it, but the thought of Magnus as my best man kinda forced the issue. Nice haircut, by the way. It looks good on you—very knightly.”

Hadrian started a laugh that turned to grunts of pain.

“They skewered you good, didn’t they?” Royce asked, adjusting the cloth strips. He pulled the midsection one tighter.

Hadrian winced. “The prison guards don’t like me much. They lost money betting against me five jousts in a row.”

“Oh, well, that’s understandable. I would have stuck you, too.”

“You got Arista, right? And Gaunt? Is he alive?”

“Yeah, she’s sleeping next door. As for Gaunt, he’s in pretty bad shape. I’ll have to drag him out. Can you walk?”

“I don’t know.”

Royce gripped Hadrian around the waist and slowly helped him up. Together they struggled down the corridor to the end cell with the well breach. Royce pushed on the door but it did not budge. He tried harder, but still nothing happened.

“Magnus, open the door,” Royce whispered.

There was no answer.

“Magnus, come on. Hadrian is hurt and I’m gonna need your help. Open up.”

Silence.





Chapter 18

Wintertide





In the darkness of the prison, Amilia lay cradled in Breckton’s arms, pondering the incomprehensible—how it was possible to simultaneously drown in both bliss and fear.

“Look,” Sir Breckton whispered.

Amilia raised her head and saw a weak light leaking around the last cell’s door. In the pale glow, the figures in the prison appeared ghostly faint, devoid of all color. Princess Arista, Sir Hadrian, and Degan Gaunt lay in the corridor, upon a communal bed built from straw gathered from all the cells. The three looked like corpses awaiting graves. Sir Hadrian’s torso was wrapped in makeshift bandages stained frighteningly red. The princess was so thin that she no longer looked like herself, but Degan Gaunt was the worst of all. He appeared to be little more than skin stretched over bone. If not for his shallow breathing, he could have been a cadaver, several days dead.

During the night, a man had broken into the prison in an attempt to free them. He opened the doors to the cells, but the plan to escape had failed. Now the man prowled around the prison.

“It’s morning,” Sir Breckton said. “It’s Wintertide.”

Realizing the light indicated a new day, Amilia began to cry. Breckton did not ask why. He simply pulled her close. From time to time the knight patted her arm and stroked her hair in a manner she could hardly have thought possible less than a day before.

“You’ll be all right,” he reassured her with surprising conviction. “As soon as the empress discovers the treachery of the regents, I am certain nothing will stop her from saving you.”

Amilia pressed her quivering lips tightly together. She gripped the knight’s arm and squeezed it.

“Modina is also a prisoner,” Arista stated.

Amilia had thought the princess was sleeping. Looking over, she saw Arista’s eyes were open and her head was tilted just enough to see them.

“They use her as a puppet. Saldur and Ethelred run everything.”

“So she’s a complete fabrication? It was all just a ruse? Even that story about slaying Rufus’s Bane?” Breckton asked her.

“That was real,” Arista replied. “I was there.”

“You were there?” Amilia asked.

Arista started to speak, then coughed. She took a moment then drew in a wavering breath. “Yes. She was different then—strong, unwavering. Just a girl, but one determined to save her father and daunted by nothing. I watched her pick up a bit of broken glass to use as a weapon against an invincible monster the size of a house.”

“There now, My Lady,” Breckton said. “If the empress can do that I am certain—”

“She can’t save us!” Amilia sobbed. “She’s dead!”

Breckton looked at her, stunned.

She pointed at the light under the door. “It’s Wintertide. Modina killed herself at sunrise.” She wiped her face. “The empress died in her room, in front of her window, watching the sun rise.”

“But…why?” he asked.

“She didn’t want to marry Ethelred. She didn’t want to live. She didn’t have a reason to go on. She…she…” Overcome with emotion, Amilia rose and moved down the corridor. Breckton followed after.





***

Hadrian woke to the sound of Arista coughing. He struggled to sit up, surprised at his weakness and wincing at the pain. He inched close enough to lift the princess’s head and rest it on his thigh.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Scared. How about you?”

“I’m great. Care to dance?”

“Maybe later.”Arista said. Her body was bruised and covered with ugly red marks. “This sounds terrible,” she said, “but I’m glad you’re here.”

“This sounds stupid,” he replied, “but I’m glad I am.”

“That is stupid.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a run of stupidity as of late.”

“I think we all have.”

Hadrian shook his head. “Not like mine. I actually trusted Saldur. I made a deal with him—and Luis Guy of all people. You and Royce wouldn’t have made that mistake. Royce would have used the time between jousts to break you out. And you—you would’ve probably figured some way to take over the whole empire. No, you two are the smart ones.”