Inside the office, Renwick was shocked to see Empress Modina herself. She sat on the window ledge, her knees bent, her body curled up so that her gown sprayed out. Her hair was down, lying on her shoulders, and she appeared so oddly human—so strangely girlish. Captain Everton stood to one side, straight as an elm, his helm under one arm, water droplets from melted snow still visible on the steel of his armor. Another man in lighter, rougher dress stood in the opposite corner. He was tall, slender, and unkempt. This man wore leather, wool, and a thick ratty beard.
Lord Nimbus took a seat at the desk and motioned to Renwick. “You are a hard man to find,” he said. “Please, tell us exactly what happened?”
“Well, like I told Captain Everton here, Mince—that’s one of the boys with me—he saw a troop of elves crossing the Bernum.”
“Yes, Captain Everton told us that, but—”
“Tell us everything,” the empress said. Her voice was beautiful and Renwick was astounded that she had actually spoken to him. He felt flustered, his tongue stiff. He could not think, much less talk. He opened his mouth and words fell out. “I—ah—every—um…”
“Start at the beginning, from the moment you left here,” she said. “Tell us everything that has happened.”
“We must know the progress of the mission,” Nimbus clarified.
“Oh—ah—okay, well, we rode south to Ratibor,” he began, trying to think of as much detail as he could, but it was difficult to concentrate under her gaze. Somehow, he managed to recount the trip to Amberton Lee, the descent of the party into the shaft, and the days he and the boys had spent in the snow. He told them of Mince and the sighting, and of his long, hard trip north, racing to stay ahead of the elven vanguard. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay at my post. I have no excuse for abandoning it and willingly accept whatever punishment you see fit to deliver.”
“Punishment?” the empress said with a tone of humor in her voice as she climbed down from her perch. “You will be rewarded. The news your daring ride has brought is the hope I’ve looked for.”
“Indeed, my boy,” Nimbus added. “This news of the mission’s progress is very reassuring.”
“Very reassuring,” the empress repeated, then let out a sigh of relief, as if it allowed her to take one more breath. “At least we know they made it in safely.”
She crossed the room to him. He stood locked in place, every muscle frozen, as she reached out. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, first on one cheek, and then the other. “Thank you,” she whispered, and he thought he saw her eyes glisten.
He could not breathe or look away and thought he might die. The very idea that he would collapse right there at her feet and pass away did not trouble him in the least.
“The lad is going to fall,” Everton said.
“I—I just—I haven’t—”
“He hasn’t had a chance to rest,” Nimbus said, saving him.
Renwick shut his mouth and nodded.
“Then see to his needs,” she said. “For today he is my hero.”
Modina left the office feeling better than she had in days. They found the way in! Nimbus was right—there was still hope. It was a mere sliver, a tiny drop, but that was the way with hope. She had lived without it for so long that she was unaccustomed to the feeling, which made her giddy. It was the first time in what felt a century that she looked to the future without dread. Yes, the elves were coming. Yes, they were not in winter quarters. Yes, they would attack the city within the week—but the party was safe and she knew where the enemy would strike. There was hope.
She reached the stair and sighed. People filled the entire length of the steps. Families clustered together along the sides, gathering like twigs on a riverbank until they created a dam. They had to stop doing that.
“Sergeant,” she called down to a castle guard on the main floor who was having a dispute with a man holding a goat. Apparently the man insisted on keeping it in the palace.
“Your Eminence?” he replied, looking up.
Upon hearing this, the crowd went silent and heads turned. There were whispers, gasps, and fingers pointed toward her. Modina did not roam the castle. Since her edict to grant shelter to the refugees—to quarter them anywhere possible—she had returned to her old habit of being a recluse. She lived in her chambers, visiting the fourth-floor offices and the throne room only once a day, and even then by back stairways. Her appearance in the halls was an uncommon sight.
“Keep these stairs clear,” she told him, her voice sounding loud in the open chamber. “I don’t want people falling down them. Find these good people room somewhere else. Surely there are more suitable quarters than here.”
“Yes, Your Eminence. I’m trying, but they—well, they are afraid of getting lost in the palace, so they gather within sight of the doors.”
“And why is that goat in here? All livestock was to be turned over to the quartermaster and recorded by the minister of city defense. We can’t afford to have families keeping pigs and cows in the palace courtyard.”
“Yes, Your Eminence, but this fellow, he says this goat is part of his family.”
The man looked up at her, terrified, clutching the goat around its neck. “She’s all the family I ’ave, Yer Greatness. Please don’t take ’er.”
“Of course not, but you and… your family… will have to stay in the stable. Find him room there.”
“Right away, Your Eminence.”