The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)

Over the last three years, they’d gone through various conversational stages. Initially, Hadrian sought to draw Royce out, mistaking silence for social awkwardness. This served only to irritate Royce, who refused to be manipulated into doing anything, even talking. Hadrian then tried pretending Royce was a normal person who simply couldn’t speak. Thus, Hadrian took it upon himself to fill the many hours of slow travel with his own meanderings, and, when needed, he would supply both sides of a conversation. Royce had silently endured this. Given that Hadrian felt some of his musings were insightful, even entertaining, his companion’s muted reaction irked him. Once, Hadrian had performed an improvisational debate between a work-obsessed honeybee and a flighty dandelion that ought to have resulted in a stirrup-standing ovation, but Royce had ignored it completely, which caused Hadrian to wonder: Why am I doing all the work?

Several hours after setting out for Rochelle, Hadrian finally concluded that it wasn’t his job to entertain Royce. If the thief was too self-absorbed to participate in a simple conversation, then fine. They would ride in silence. Hadrian hung back, nibbling bread, waving to the milkmaids, and making silly faces at the boys herding sheep. He sewed up a hole in the thumb of his glove, and after he spotted a hawk that failed to catch a field mouse on its third attempt, he managed to stop himself from commenting on the bird’s need for spectacles. And so it was that they rode the entire day without a word between them.

For the most part, they followed the Old South Road, which was also called the Colnora or Medford Road, depending on where one lived. As far as roads went, this was one of the best. Wide, firm, and mostly straight, it ran through a dignified countryside of respectable forests and friendly fields. Farms and small villages appeared, with names like Windham and Fallon Mire, places not unlike where Hadrian was born.

Just before sunset, Royce led them off the road and into a small stand of trees without saying a word. Silently, he tied his horse, unsaddled her, and removed his gear. Hadrian waited for the thief to say something, anything, but once his gear was in place, Royce went off on his usual security-patrol-and-wood-gathering ritual.

“It’s like he’s forgotten we’re here,” Hadrian whispered to Dancer as he tethered her to a branch. “Do you think he’s mad at me?”

Hadrian shook out his bedroll and laid it on what looked to be a soft patch of grass, still matted from winter’s recent retreat. While the surface looked dry, he discovered the ground was actually quite wet, so he went back for the tar-covered canvas to lay beneath his blankets. “Do you know anything I might have done?” he whispered to Dancer as he scanned the trees, looking for Royce. “Quiet is one thing, but it’s like we’re on our way to the Crown Tower again.” He clapped the horse on the neck. “We left you tethered in a field, and Royce was unconscious while I floated down an ice-cold river. Not a good time for any of us, was it?”

When Royce returned with an armful of wood, he sported his usual miserable expression. The light was nearly gone, the camp set, and Royce still hadn’t said a word. Hadrian wondered just how long the silence would last. He’s going to have to say something eventually. Maybe he’ll ask where the bread is. While Hadrian had saved half the loaf for Royce, he planned to respond that he’d eaten it all because Royce hadn’t said he wanted any.

After lighting the fire, Royce sat down on his blankets and watched the flames.

I’m not making a meal until he says something. He’s going to have to ask. He’s going to have to open his mouth and say, ‘Well, are you going to make something or what?’

He didn’t. Royce continued to sit and stare as if he’d never seen fire before.

Oh, for the love of Maribor! Hadrian got up and dug through the food bag. I can’t believe he’s— “I’m not mad at you,” Royce said.

Hadrian glanced at Dancer, showing her a guilty expression. He heard that? Royce’s hearing was unusually acute, but Hadrian hadn’t known it was that good.

“Why so quiet then?”

Royce shrugged, which Hadrian knew was a lie.

“Is it the job?”

Royce shook his head. “Best we’ve had in ages.”

“Are you upset this Cosmos person knows you’re in Medford?”

“No. I would have been shocked if he didn’t know.”

“So, what is it?”

Another lying shoulder roll was followed by an unnecessary adjustment of his blanket.

Hadrian gave up and set the pot on the fire. Then he searched for the lump of lard, which always managed to find its way to the bottom of the pack.

“Do you think she likes me?” Royce asked.

“Gwen?”

“Yeah.”

His arm still in the pack, Hadrian looked over. “Is this a trick question? Is there more than one Gwen?”

“I know she likes us, but she likes everyone, doesn’t she? Even Roy the Sewer.” Royce got to his feet and threw a stick at the fire with enough force to burst forth a cloud of sparks. “Roy traded the trousers she’d given him for a bottle, then nearly froze in the street, but she still smiles at him, still gives him free food. She’s a nice person, obviously, but—”

“She likes you, Royce. And yes, more than Roy the Sewer.” Hadrian rolled his eyes at the absurdity.

Royce stared back, his brow knitted tighter than a miser’s purse.

“Are you serious?” Hadrian asked.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Hadrian had to admit his friend did appear grave, even more than usual.

“She’s always so nice, makes me feel . . .”

Hadrian waited, shocked that Royce might finish such a sentence. He didn’t.

“It’s just that most people consider me . . . well, you know. If Medford took a vote for the person to avoid the most, it’d be a toss-up between me and old Roy the Pantless Wonder.”

“Wait.” Hadrian forgot the lard and walked back around the fire. “I always assumed . . . but . . . what are you saying? I mean, you two have kissed, haven’t you?”

“Kissed?” Royce glared. “No! By Mar, are you insane? What kind of question is that? Gwen is . . . she’s . . .”

“She’s a woman who’d probably like you to kiss her.”

Royce sat back down on his bedding, his eyes tense, angry. His hands clenched with unconscious energy.

“So, you two haven’t done anything?”

“What do you mean by anything?”

“I mean—”

“I’ve hugged her,” Royce declared proudly.

“That wasn’t what I meant, but have you? Have you really? Or did she hug you, and you didn’t cringe? Because that’s not the same thing, you know.”

“Look, just because you’re quick to—”

“This isn’t about me, and it isn’t about Roy the Sewer, either. The woman’s in love with you, Royce. And don’t tell me you don’t feel the same.” Hadrian shook his head. “You can’t stand leaving her and can’t wait to get back. The two of you act as if you’re already married—still in that honeymoon phase, too. I just don’t understand it. You’re normally so—” He paused. “Oh! That’s why you’re so quiet. You’re not mad at me; you’re angry with her.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re angry at Gwen because she ruined your perfect little world. Everything was so neat and orderly, all painted the same color of black. Now she’s gone and made a mess by spilling hope and sunshine all over the place. You’re in love with her and it’s killing you, isn’t it?”

Royce didn’t answer.

“Admit it, you love Gwen, and it scares you. You’re terrified because you’ve never loved anyone before.”

The hood came up, as it always did.

“That’s not an answer, you know.”

“Yes, it is.”





Chapter Four

Rochelle