“It’s the Teshlor,” one warned in a whisper.
The soldier who blocked the door stood his ground. Hadrian sensed the tension, the fear, the lack of confidence, but he also felt the courage and loyalty that refused to let him waver. He usually respected such qualities in a man, but not this time. This man was merely in his way.
Behind him, a latch lifted and a door creaked. “What’s going on?” a befuddled woman’s voice asked.
Hadrian glanced. It was Amilia. She shuffled forward, wiping her eyes and fumbling with the tie of her robe.
“I need to speak to the empress,” he growled. “Tell them to stand down.”
“It’s the middle of the night!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “You can’t see her. If you want, I’ll try to arrange an appointment in the morning, but I must tell you, Her Eminence is very busy. The news—”
Hadrian’s hands rose and he took hold of his sword grips. The three soldiers tensed and all but the door guard took a step back. The man before him let his own hand settle slowly on his weapon but he did not pull it.
This guard is a cool one, Hadrian thought, and took another half step closer, until their noses nearly touched. “Get out of my way.”
“Hadrian? What are you doing?” This time it was Arista’s voice echoing down the hallway.
“I’m seeking an audience with the empress,” he said through gritted teeth. He broke his stare to turn and see the princess trotting up the fifth-floor corridor. As always these days, she was dressed in Esrahaddon’s robe, which was a dull blue and, at the moment, only reflected the fire of the torches hanging in the wall sconces.
“They have him locked up. They won’t even let me see him,” Hadrian told her.
“Royce?”
“He didn’t want to kidnap the empress, but he would have done anything to get Gwen back. They should give him a medal for killing Saldur and Merrick.” Hadrian sighed. “Gwen died in his arms and he wasn’t thinking straight. He never meant to harm Modina. I found out he’s being held in the north tower. I don’t think Modina even knows. So I’m going to tell her. Don’t try and stop me.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I have to see her as well.”
“What for?”
The princess looked uncomfortable. “I had a bad dream.”
“What?”
“No one is seeing the empress tonight!” Amilia declared. Six more guards arrived, trotting toward them. “I’ll turn out the whole castle regiment if I have to!”
Hadrian glanced at the imperial secretary. “Do you think they’ll stop me?”
“The door has a bolt on the inside,” the door guard said. “Even if you got past us, there’s half a foot of solid oak in your way.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Arista assured them. “But I should warn you, I can’t be responsible for wounds from flying splinters.” Her robe began to glow. It gave off a hazy gray light that slowly brightened, bleaching their faces and weakening the torch-fed shadows. Hadrian noticed a faint breeze in the corridor. A warm wind was rising, swirling around Arista like a tiny cyclone, fluttering the hem of her robe and the ends of her hair.
Amilia stared, horrified.
“Open the door, Amilia, or I’ll remove it.”
Amilia looked as if she might scream.
“Let them in, Gerald.” The voice emanated from the other side of the door.
“Your Eminence?”
“Yes, Gerald. It isn’t locked. Let them in.”
The door guard lifted the latch and gave a push. The door swung inward, revealing the darkness of the imperial bedroom. Amilia said nothing. She was breathing faster than normal, her fists clenched at her sides. Hadrian entered first, with Arista behind, both followed by Amilia and Gerald.
It was cold in the bedroom. The fireplace was dark and the only light came in through the open window in the far wall. To either side, sheer white curtains billowed inward, dancing in the faint moonlight like a pair of ghosts. Dressed in only her nightgown, Empress Modina rested on the floor, looking out at the stars. She sat on her knees, hands in her lap, her shoulders drawn up against the cold. Bare toes poked out from within the pool of white linen that gathered around her. Blonde hair fell down her back in tangles. She appeared much like the girl Hadrian had seen under the Tradesmen’s Arch in Colnora so long ago.
“They arrested Royce,” Hadrian told her. “They’ve locked him in a cell in the tower.”
“I know.”
“You know?” he said incredulously. “How long have—”
“I ordered it.”
Hadrian stared at her, stunned. “Thrace—I mean, Modina,” he said softly. “You don’t understand. He never meant to harm you. He only did what he had to. He was trying to save the person he loved most in the world. How could you do this to him?”
At last she turned. “Have you ever lost the one person in the world that meant everything to you? Did you watch them die, knowing it was your fault?”