No longer being scratched, Red opened his eyes and looked at Myron with a decidedly disappointed expression.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” Myron declared. “I’ve never seen a dog this big. I didn’t know what he was at first. I thought he might be a shaggy breed of deer that they housed in the kitchen, much like we used to keep pigs and chickens at the abbey. I was so happy to discover he was not a future meal. His name is Red. He’s an elkhound. Although, I think his days of hunting wolves and boar are over. Did you know that in times of war, they can take knights down off horses? They kill their prey by biting the neck and crushing the spine, but really he’s not vicious at all. I come down here every day to see him.”
“Do you always get up this early?”
“Oh, this isn’t early. At the abbey this would be lazy.”
“You must go to sleep early, then.”
“Actually, I don’t sleep much,” he said as he resumed petting the dog.
“Me neither,” she admitted. “Bad dreams.”
Myron looked surprised. Again, he stopped stroking Red, who nosed his hand in protest. She thought he was about to say something, but then he returned his attention to the dog.
“Myron, I’m wondering if you can help me?” she asked.
“Of course. What are the nightmares about?”
“Oh no. I wasn’t speaking of that. It’s just that my brother mentioned you read quite a bit.”
He shrugged. “I found a little library on the third floor, but there are only about twenty books there. I’m on my third time through.”
“You’ve read all the books in the library three times?”
“Almost. I always have trouble with Hartenford’s Genealogy of Warric Monarchs. It’s almost all names and I have to sound most of them out. What do you need to know?”
“I was actually thinking about information you might have read about while at the Winds Abbey. Have you ever heard of the city of Percepliquis?”
He nodded. “It’s the capital city of the original empire of Novron.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “Do you know where it is?”
He thought a moment and smiled to himself. “In every text, they always refer to everything else by way of it. Hashton was twenty-five leagues southeast of Percepliquis. Fairington, a hundred leagues due north. No one ever mentioned where Percepliquis was, I presume because everyone already knew.”
“If I got you a map, would it be possible to find it based on the references to other places?”
“Maybe. I’m pretty sure that’s how Edmund Hall found it. Although, all you really need is his journal. I’ve always wanted to read that one.”
“I thought reading his journal is considered heresy. Isn’t that why they locked Hall and his journal in the top of the Crown Tower?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you would still read it? Alric never mentioned what a rebel you are.”
Myron looked puzzled, then smiled. “It is heresy for a member of the Nyphron Church to read it.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re a Monk of Maribor.”
“And blessedly, we have no such restrictions on our reading material.”
“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Arista said. “All the things that might be hidden at the top of the Crown Tower.”
“Makes you wish you could get inside, doesn’t it?”
“Yes—yes, it does.”
They arrived late that evening, the whole castle buzzing with the news. Trumpets blared, servants rushed, and before she could get dressed, two servants, as well as Alric and Mauvin, had stopped by to tell Arista of the caravan that had just arrived from the north bearing the falcon crest and the banners of gold and green.
She hoisted the hem of the robe and raced down the steps with the rest. A crowd formed on the front steps. Servants, artisans, bureaucrats, and nobles mingled and pushed to see the sight. Guards formed an aisle allowing her to pass to the front, where she stood next to Mauvin and Alric. To her left, she spotted Nimbus draping Amilia’s shoulders with his cloak, leaving the skinny man looking like a twig in the wind. She did not see the empress.
Wind-whipped torches and a milky moon illuminated the courtyard as the caravan entered. There were no soldiers, just elderly men who walked behind carriages. Toward the rear of the procession came wagons bearing a shivering cargo. Women and children, crammed tightly together, huddled for warmth beneath communal blankets. The first carriage reached the bottom of the steps and Belinda and Lenare Pickering stepped out, followed by Alenda Lanaklin. The three women looked up at the crowd before them hesitantly.
Mauvin ran forward to embrace his mother.
“What are you all doing here?” he exclaimed excitedly. “Where’s Father, or didn’t he—” Arista saw Mauvin stiffen and pull back.
There was no joy at this meeting. The women’s faces were sorrowful. They were pale, drawn, and gray, and only their eyes and noses held color—red and sore from crying and the bitter wind. Belinda held her son, wringing his clothes with her fists.