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

“It’s not the crickets . . . it’s definitely not the crickets.”

Hadrian smirked. “I would think that this job would have convinced you of the virtues of being a decent human being. Look at Roland. My friendship with him has helped us, not just once but twice. Being respectful to Evelyn has reaped huge rewards. And we lived last night because a long time ago I acted honorably.”

“Was that the same night you helped slaughter a town?” Royce asked. “And it wasn’t that long ago, was it? You’re not that old.”

“Because of nights like that, I feel old.”

“So, which was it?” Royce asked. “Were you saved because of a kindness extended to a girl? Or were you in jeopardy in the first place because you and your compatriots killed most, but not all, of the people during that battle?”

“It’s because I protected Seton.”

“Are you sure? What would you have protected her from if the town hadn’t been sacked? And if you hadn’t been so proficient with your sword, the other soldiers might not have granted her to you. Which makes me wonder, what actually made the difference, your kindness or your cruelty?”

“Why is it you choose to see the darkness in everything?”

“Because it’s there, and ignoring that fact invites peril.”

“But light is also there, and recognizing it allows happiness.”

“What good is being happy if you’re dead?”

“What good is being alive if you’re miserable?”

Royce paused, and for a moment Hadrian was certain he had won. Royce was stumped, but then he tilted his head.

“What’s up, boy?” Hadrian asked. “You hear something?”

“Wasn’t funny the first time,” Royce said.

A moment later a woman’s scream came from up the hill.





I’m not just going to kill her. Villar realized this with the perfect clarity that accompanied every mistake he had made while the noble cow hid to the side of the door. She had plotted to lock him in. He imagined her literally as a bovine with black and white spots. In his mind’s eye, he saw her standing on her back legs; a massive tongue licking the broad pink nostrils of her nose, waiting with hooves up and together, like a begging dog, hoping he would fall for the bait. The moment he opened the door, the second he rushed in so blindly, focused on her decoy of blankets and straw, was the same second she slipped out.

He almost fell for it.

The hair and the chain.

His mind had registered those two things as incontrovertible evidence that she lay on the floor near the back wall. How could he conclude anything else? If her neck wore a collar attached to a chain secured to a wall, the odds were strong the rest of her was there as well. His eyes and his mind had joined together in a conspiracy to betray him. If the room was bigger or the cow smaller, the ruse might have worked. The realization of how close he’d come to a fatal mistake was frightening.

As she lay on the floor screaming, Villar felt his heart pound from the near miss. He took a second to breathe, to calm down. Then he adjusted the grip on his knife.

She scuttled away, kicking out with her legs like a crab. When she rolled to her knees and started to stand, he grabbed her.

The duchess was no dainty woman, no slender flower. She equaled his height and outweighed him by twenty pounds. With a sharp lurch, she slammed her body against his, knocking him back against the wall, nearly throwing him to the floor. The assault also knocked the duchess off balance, and she went down to one knee.

He was after her an instant later, but the old cow threw everything she could find at him, including two of the heavy urns. One hit his hand, knocking the knife free. He grabbed it up just in time to see the duchess making for the door.

He was on her then, catching her in the middle of the room. One hand latched on to her butchered hair, pulling her head back, while the other brought up the knife. She continued to twist and kick until the knife reached her neck.

“Stop!”

Villar looked up as the two foreigners burst into the temple.

The smaller one had that white knife, the one that had stabbed the golem and somehow cut his chest. The other—the big one Seton had called the rasa—held two blades, one in each hand.





“Kill her and you die,” Royce shouted.

A portly woman whom Hadrian assumed to be the Duchess of Rochelle was on her knees, panting, sweating, her head pulled back. Villar stood behind her, his left hand holding a fist of the woman’s hair, his right holding a dagger near her throat.

“Help me,” Genny Winter cried.

Irritated by the outburst, Villar pulled her head further back, causing the duchess to cry out once more.

“Drop your weapons,” Villar said.

Royce made a sound like he was clearing his nose. “Why?”

“Do it or I’ll kill her!”

Royce glanced at Hadrian. “Didn’t I already explain that if he kills her, I’ll kill him?”

“You did.”

“So, what is this idiot doing? Threatening us with suicide?” Royce asked.

“He’s under the impression you care about her life.”

“Really?” Royce chuckled.

“It’s an easy mistake. You did order him not to kill her, and, besides, he doesn’t know you.”

“Okay, sure, but even if I were someone else—I mean, why would anyone surrender? Would you? Even if that person cared if she lives, Villar is still at a disadvantage. It’s like trading pieces in chess. Sure, we would lose her, but then he loses the entire game. On the other hand, if we surrender, he’ll kill all of us and we get nothing. No one would take that deal. It’s stupid. Not to mention I’m going to get paid whether she’s dead or not.”

Hadrian focused on Villar. “That’s his way of saying we aren’t going to put our weapons down, but if you kill her . . . well, I’m sure you got the rest.”

Villar hesitated, the knife unsteady at the woman’s throat.

“You need to make a deal, boys,” Genny said, her voice steady. “Villar made you an offer, so now you counter. That’s how haggling works. So, now it’s your turn. What do you propose?”

Royce shook his head. “Don’t have to counter.”

“Yes, you do!” the duchess cried. “You want me to live, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation, right? Of course, right. But we’re at an impasse. So, you need to deal. Got it?”

“Whose side are you on?” Royce asked.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “My own, obviously. I want to live. Now listen.” She allowed herself to swallow; in the small room it made a sound they all heard. “I don’t want to die, but that’s beside the point because bizarrely this has nothing to do with me. It’s between the three of you. You don’t want him to kill me, and Villar doesn’t want you to kill him. That’s good because you both have something the other wants. Everyone can win here—even me.”

No one said anything as all three waited.

“Okay, good. How about this. Villar lets me go, and you let him go? How does that sound?”

Royce smiled. “Fine with me. Go ahead. Let her go.”

“There, you see?” Genny said.

Villar shook his head. “You think I’m an idiot? The moment I let you go, they’ll rush me. This won’t work! It’s stupid. We can’t make a deal. And if I’m going to die then I’m taking—”

“It’s not stupid!” Genny shouted as the blade pressed against her skin. “I can make any deal work. It’s what I do. Now shut up and listen to me.”

“I’m not letting you go so long as they can chase after me the moment I do.”

“Fine, fine. No problem. This will be easy.”

“It will?” Hadrian asked.

“Absolutely,” the duchess replied. “Villar? How would it be if these nice gentlemen and I got into the cell and you locked us in. That way, you’re free and no one can harm you.”

“What’s to stop him from—” Royce started.

“Shut up!” Genny shouted. “Whoever you are, please just be quiet.”

“His name’s Royce, and I’m Hadrian Blackwater.”