“Bodyguard.”
“Whatever.” Gaunt waved at him as if shooing away a pesky fly. “I’m going back to bed. You can wait outside my door and do your guard thing if you like.”
Gaunt returned to his room and Hadrian waited outside, feeling decidedly foolish. That had not gone as well as he had hoped. He failed to impress Gaunt, and he had to admit, Gaunt did nothing to impress him. He did not know what exactly he had expected. Maybe he thought Gaunt would be the embodiment of the noble poor. A man of staggering integrity, a beacon of enlightenment, who had grown out of the earth’s salt and struggled to the pinnacle. Sure, his standards were high, but after all, Degan was supposed to be part god. Instead, just being near him made Hadrian want to go bathe.
He leaned against the wall outside the door, looking up and down the quiet hallway.
This is ridiculous. What am I doing?
The answer was obvious—nothing. But there was nothing to do. He had missed his opportunity and was now useless.
From somewhere inside, he heard Gaunt begin to snore.
The next morning Hadrian found Royce sitting on the floor of the cell, his back resting against the wall, one knee up, cocked like a tent pole. His right arm rested on it, his hand hanging limp. He wore only his black tunic and pants. His belt and boots were missing, his feet bare, the soles blackened with dirt. He hung his head back, tilted upward resting against the wall and revealing a week’s worth of dark stubble that covered his chin, cheeks, and neck. Lengths of straw littered his hair and clothing, but on his lap lay a neatly folded, meticulously clean scarf.
He did not look up when Hadrian entered the cell. He was not sleeping—no one could get this close to Royce without his waking, but more obviously, his eyes were open. He stared at the ceiling, not seeing it.
“Hey, buddy,” Hadrian said, entering the cell.
The guard closed the door behind him. He heard the lock slide in place. “Call me when you want out,” he told Hadrian.
The cell had a small window near the ceiling, which cast a square of light where the wall and floor met. Through its shaft, he could see straw dust lingering in the air. A cup of water, a glass of wine, and a plate of potato and carrot stew sat beside the door. All untouched, the stew having dried into a solid brick.
“Am I interrupting breakfast?”
“That was dinner,” Royce said.
“That bad, huh?” Hadrian sat across from him on the bed. It had a thick mattress, a half dozen warm blankets, three soft pillows, and fine linen sheets. It had not been slept in. “Not too bad in here,” he said, making a show of looking around. “We’ve been in much worse, but you know, this was pretty much the last place I was thinking you’d be. I sort of thought the idea was for you to disappear and give me time to explain why you kidnapped the empress. What happened?”
“I turned myself in.”
Hadrian smirked. “Obviously.”
“Why are you here?” Royce replied, his eyes dull and empty.
“Well, now that I know you’re here, I thought you could use some company. You know, someone to talk to, someone who can smuggle you fig pudding and the occasional drumstick. I could bring up a deck of cards. You know how much you love beating me at… Well, you just like beating me.”
Royce made an expression that was almost like a smile. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed up a handful of straw. He crushed it in his fist letting the bits fall through his fingers and watching them in the shaft of light. When the last of it fell, he opened his hand palm-up, stared at it, turning it over and back as if he had never really seen it before.
“I want to thank you, Hadrian,” he said, still looking at his hand, his voice soft, lingering, disconnected.
“Awfully formal, aren’t you? It’s just a card game,” Hadrian said, and smiled.
Royce lowered his hand, laying it on the floor like a forgotten toy. His attention turned vaguely toward the ceiling again. “I hated you when we first met, did you know that? I thought Arcadius was crazy making me take you along on that heist.”
“So why did you?”
“Honestly? I expected you’d be killed; then I could go to the nutty wizard, laugh, and say, See? What did I tell you? The clumsy fool died. Only you didn’t. You made it all the way to the top of the Crown Tower, no complaining, no whining.”
“Did you respect me then?”
“No. I figured you suffered from beginner’s luck. I expected you’d die on the return trip that next night when he made us put it back.”