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

“How nice. Now Royce, Hadrian, please shut up and let me handle this, will you?” She forced a smile. “The two of you will keep your weapons—that way, you won’t be at Villar’s mercy. Locked in a room, sure, but safely locked in a room.”

“That’s not a very—” Royce began.

“Shush, I don’t want to hear arguments or counterproposals. We have a deal on the table. Will you agree?”

Royce looked at the door, huffed, then said, “Fine.”

“Hadrian?”

“Yeah, sure, why not.”

“Villar? You want to live, and so do I. This is a fair trade, a better-than-equitable exchange. My life for yours. Will you take it?”

Villar didn’t reply.

“Lower the knife and let me move back while these two enter the cell. Then I’ll get in. You can lock the door and just walk out.”

He still didn’t answer, but slowly, the knife moved away from Genny’s throat. She waved for Royce and Hadrian to enter the cell. “Gentlemen, if you please?”

Royce looked disgusted but stepped in. Hadrian went so far as to sheath his swords before entering. Then Genny Winter followed the two of them. Villar shoved her forward into the room, slammed the door shut, and turned the key that he’d left in the lock.

The moment the door sealed, Genny threw her arms around Hadrian and kissed him. “I love you!”

After the embrace, she started toward Royce, whose dagger was still out.

Hadrian pulled her back. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Royce isn’t much of a hugger.”

“Well, gentlemen, you have my eternal gratitude, but who in Maribor’s name are you? And what are you doing here?”

“Your father sent us to rescue you,” Hadrian said.

“He hired us to discover what happened to you,” Royce corrected as he moved to the door. He knelt before the latch.

“And you did both! You’re my heroes. I’ll knight you, or make you earls or something.”

Hadrian smiled at her. “I think only kings can do that.”

“Kings!” the woman burst out. “Leo! I need to find my husband. I need to show the bishop I’m still alive so Leo can be crowned king.”

“Should have thought of that before locking us in a stone room,” Hadrian said.

“I did,” Genny replied. She pointed at Royce, who had just managed to pop the lock and open the door.

Royce immediately raced out like a dog released from a cage after being teased by an arrogant squirrel.

“You knew he could pick locks?” Hadrian asked the duchess.

“I knew he wasn’t the type to allow himself to be confined in a cell unless he was positive he could get out. Business is like a card game: You have to judge people quickly and play the odds.”

Hadrian looked out the open door. Royce was already so far away they could no longer hear him. At that moment, the only sound came from the breeze and birds.

“Look, I have to help Royce find Villar,” Hadrian said. “You need to stay here. Safest place, really. I know you want to go down to the feast, but right now that’s not such a good idea. We’ll be back after we find Villar. Then we’ll escort you back to town.”

“And if you don’t return, shall I stay here and starve? Or should I wander through the wilderness until I die of exposure?”

“Look, we will be back, I promise. But if it makes you feel better, town is straight that way.” He pointed at the door. “Just keep heading down the hill, and you’ll run right into Rochelle. Just don’t go until we get back.”

“Why not?”

“It could be dangerous.”

The duchess scoffed. “I’m not some fragile debutante. I’m sure I can manage a hike downhill to town.”

Hadrian glanced outside. I’m never going to catch up with Royce now. I didn’t even see which way he went. “Look, I’m wasting valuable time. You just have to trust me on this. If we can’t find Villar, if he gets away, there’s a chance he might create a monster and attack the feast.”

Genny Winter blinked.

Hadrian saw the confusion on her face. “It’s called a golem, a monster made of stone.” The explanation sounded absurd even to him. “Villar made one before. If he does it again, he’ll slaughter everyone at the feast. So you don’t want to go there, understand?”

Her hand went to her mouth. “Leo!” she whispered, and her eyes darted toward the door.

“Look, I know you’re worried, but there’s nothing you can do. Truly, you need to stay here. Don’t leave. Keep yourself safe.”

With that, he ran out in pursuit of Villar and Royce.





Chapter Twenty-Seven

The Spring Feast





Genny had never been in the best of shape, and being trapped for over two weeks in a small cell, eating next to nothing, had only made matters worse. The moment Hadrian left she bolted toward the city and was soon sweating rivers and heaving for breath. Blood pounded in her head; her chest burned; and she’d only run fifty feet.

Three times she stumbled; twice she nearly fell.

Run, feet! Run!

Her whole focus was on the ground before her.

Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Rock! Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Tree!

On and on she went, only vaguely registering the blur of green and brown and the warmth of a hot sun baking her skin, something she hadn’t felt in days. The heat was nice, but it made her perspire. By the time she hit pavement, she was soaked, struggling to see through sweat-filled eyes.

She had come down out of the trees and fields and entered the broken ruins of the Rookery. She’d seen the place before, but only from the window of a carriage and only the part of the destitute neighborhood that bordered Little Gur Em near the harbor. When she emerged from the forest, she was in the shattered heart of this neglected corner of the realm. Grass grew up through the cobblestones and the entrances to buildings. Last year’s leaves remained in corners where the wind had gathered them. The old buildings with their empty windows and missing doors looked hollow, cadaverous. Some were missing walls. Rotting plows and the rims of broken wheels rusted on the street or in the yards. Despite the neglect, Genny spotted yellow and purple wildflowers sprouting everywhere, even on the roofs of some buildings. She loved flowers, and seeing them again made her smile to the point of crying.

I’m alive.

Genny found she couldn’t get enough air, as if the world were suddenly in short supply, and her chest burned from the effort of trying. Blood flushed her face; she could feel it hot and full, and her heart continued to pound a loud beat. When did running become so difficult? When she was younger, and a whole lot thinner, she used to run everywhere. Never once had her head felt like a cork in a shaken bottle of sparkling wine.

When did that change?

The answer came quickly and in the form of another question. When was the last time I ran? When I was a child. When I was thin. Now I’m . . . little wonder Leo doesn’t love me. No one could possibly love this.

Tears added to her torment. She ought to hate Leo, but at that moment what she wanted most was to see his face and know he was safe. All she could remember were the laughs they shared. He was so comfortable to be with, never making her feel ugly or awkward, never hurting or belittling her. Even Genny’s father had a tendency to condescend, to trivialize her feelings. Leo actually listened, or did a damn fine impression of it. He never told her no. Never tried to rein her in or told her to behave. Thinking about it, she wondered if his refusal to protect her from ridicule was less evidence that he didn’t care and more a sign of respect that she could handle herself. And they agreed on so much; at times it felt as if they were the same person.

Genny slowed down. She was out of the Rookery, somewhere between Littleton and Little Gur Em. This was the trade and business district, filled with warehouses and workshops . . . and strangely few people.

Everyone is at the festival.