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

“Just before the bridge to the Estate, on the far side of Central Plaza. That’s the big one with the cathedral.”

“Seems like a pretty public setting for a murder,” Royce noted.

“Usually is, but that night it was deserted.”

“Deserted? A little odd, isn’t it?”

“Not really. The town is filled with folk right now because of the festival. Two weeks ago, things were quieter. And Rochelle residents are a superstitious lot, tend to stay in at night.”

“So, no talk, no rumors?”

“Plenty. Always are. But that’s just gossip and ghost stories. No mysterious monster killed the duchess, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Hadrian glanced at Royce, puzzled. “Okay . . . I wasn’t, but I guess that’s good to know. Do you usually suspect monsters?”

“No, but that doesn’t stop the tongues from wagging. De Luda was stabbed, plain and simple. His heart was in his chest, and he still had a face.”

Hadrian opened his mouth but didn’t quite know what to say.

Roland sighed. “I’m just saying it wasn’t a monster, okay?”

Hadrian nodded. He glanced at Royce, who stared at Roland with a concerned look.

“Okay, so lately we’ve been finding mutilated children, most of them mir. Kids with their chests torn open and hearts ripped out. But their faces have been fine. No one’s lost a face in years—if they ever really did.”

“What a quaint city you have here,” Royce quietly remarked.

“Yeah, well, no place is perfect. I think all the talk about the carriage being attacked by a monster is just people finding what they expect to see. Like I said, De Luda’s body wasn’t like the other corpses. My personal theory—about the duchess, I mean—is that she was dragged into the shadows, her throat slit, and her body dumped in the river.”

“Why?” Royce asked.

“You’ve probably heard about what’s going on during the Spring Feast, right?”

“Yeah, Alburn’s going to get a new king.”

“Well, a lot of people think there’s some significance to the anointing ceremony being held here in Rochelle rather than in Caren. Folks think Leopold is the front-runner. They also believe it’s why the forty-year-old duke suddenly took a wife. The theory is the bishop offered him the crown on the condition he got married first. If that’s true, I bet there are plenty of nobles who would like to spoil that plan and make the bishop pick someone else.”

“So, why not just kill Leopold?” Royce asked.

“Duke doesn’t leave the Estate often; the duchess is always running around town. And it’s easier to kill a strange, imported merchant’s daughter than a man who you know, possibly like, and could even be related to. You might not want him dead, just don’t want him to be king.”

“Okay, but why wasn’t her body next to that De Luda guy? Why go to the trouble of dragging her away before killing her?” Hadrian asked.

“I wondered about that, too.” Roland grinned like the boy who knew the answer to the riddle. “But I realized if she were dead, the duke could just pick another wife, marry her quick, and nothing would change. But with her missing . . . well, he can’t remarry. Not for a while. Not if there’s a chance she’s still alive. It’s the not-knowing that lowered his chances. The bishop will pick a less risky candidate. Unfortunately, that means it could be any of a hundred or so nobles.”

“But you have a favorite?”

Roland nodded. “I’d lay money on Floret Killian, Duke of Quarters. He’s popular and powerful and the sort to do whatever it takes. But I can’t make any accusation without proof, and I don’t have any.”

“You mentioned the duchess was coming back from a meeting with the merchant guild. Do you know what that was about?” Royce asked.

“Stirring up trouble is what I hear. She’d been sticking her nose in stuff a woman shouldn’t be involved in. But I guess things are different in Colnora. That’s where she came from. I suppose you already know that. She didn’t fit in all that well around here. Rochelle has particular ways of doing things. People have roles, and I guess she didn’t like hers much.” Roland put another log on the fire.

“What about the driver?” Royce asked. “Was he killed, too?”

Roland hesitated. “Driver?”

“You mentioned that the duchess and De Luda were in a carriage. So what happened to their driver?”

Roland’s eyes shifted back and forth. “Only De Luda’s body was found. Guess the driver ran off.”

“Where’s the carriage now? Is it back at the duke’s estate?”

Roland shook his head. “Just down the street. They took it to Woffington’s shop to be cleaned. Everything was covered in blood.”

He took another sip. “I’m sorry, but it looks like the two of you came a long way for nothing. Still, I hope you’ll stick around a few days. I’ve been busy as a hummingbird on the last day of summer, but we could have a drink when I’m off duty. Maybe I can lure Hadrian back to Alburn now that we aren’t at odds with Warric anymore.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be staying awhile,” Royce said with a friendly smile that sent chills up Hadrian’s back.





Woffington & Sons was located not far from the river, in an area where everything, even the carriage shop, was built of old stone, a material normally reserved for castles or churches. Royce felt certain it hadn’t always been used for building coaches. The architecture was too sophisticated, too decorative for a business, even one that catered to nobles. Fluted pillars held up an arched, engraved transom, and over the big door crouched one of the town’s many stone gargoyles. This one was endowed with a barbed tail curled around its feet as it perched vulture-like, peering down menacingly on all who entered.

Hadrian had followed Royce without a word, hanging back a step, and Royce was still deciding whether to admonish him. The problem stemmed from the fact that Hadrian might not have made a mistake. On a purely objective level, his partner had committed a monumental blunder. They were there to commit murder, probably more than one, and he’d just declared their association with the events to come—to a high-ranking officer of the city guard, no less. As ridiculous as that was, though, Royce had to admit Hadrian’s direct approach had resulted in a bounty of information that might have required weeks to obtain by less direct methods, and Royce was starting to suspect that time might be a factor. And there was also one more restraint on Royce’s rebuke, one more reason to suspect that Hadrian’s knack for dumb luck might have turned out okay, but he needed more information to be sure.

The shop wasn’t far from the plaza, so it was obvious why the carriage had been brought there. From the shop’s entrance, Royce could see the cathedral. The massive edifice with its soaring bell towers dominated the eastern bank. Central Plaza itself hosted numerous shops, statues, and fountains. The river’s early-morning fog had yet to burn off, but the square was already filling with pedestrians and hawkers.

That’s where it happened.

Despite Captain Wyberg’s assurances about the habits of Rochelle’s residents, Royce found it an odd locale for a murder. Killing in a place so conspicuous generally meant the perpetrator was trying to send a message.

That’s what I would do. He caught himself. Have done. He thought again. More than once.

This realization was both intriguing and disturbing, leaving Royce as curious as he was concerned.

Who are we dealing with?

A kid that Royce guessed to be about thirteen spotted the pair lingering at the shop’s open doors. Brushing himself free of sawdust, he trotted over. A wide belt with tools hanging from loops, most of them chisels and wooden mallets, hung from his waist. “Can I help you, gentlemen?” Over the boy’s shoulder, Royce spotted four men working in a large open space held up by old stacked-stone pillars. Suspended from the ceiling or piled on shelves was a plethora of wheels, raw lumber, and metal poles. Royce counted eight carriages in various states of production.