“As is Empress Modina.”
“Are you saying you would refuse to tutor another child? One of our choosing?” Saldur asked.
“Yes.” Arcadius said the word with the stern conviction of an ultimatum. He hoped the value of knowledge that only he could bestow would be enough to win them over, but he could see the answer before it was spoken.
Saldur was respectful at least and politely thanked him for bringing the subject to their attention. They did not invite him to stay for Wintertide, and Arcadius was uncomfortable about the way Luis Guy watched him as he left.
He had failed.
Royce waited patiently.
He had been in Imperial Square that morning, speaking with vendors who regularly delivered supplies to the palace, when the old battered coach passed by and entered the imperial gates. Recognizing it immediately, Royce wondered what it was doing there.
The palace courtyard had insufficient space for all the visitors’ carriages during Wintertide and soon the coach returned and parked along the outer wall. The old buggy, with its paint-chipped wheels, weathered sides, and tattered drapes, looked out of place amidst the line of noble vehicles.
He waited for what must have been hours before he spotted the old man leaving the palace and approaching the carriage.
“What the—” Arcadius began. He was startled by Royce, who sat inside.
The thief placed a finger to his lips.
“What are you doing here?” Arcadius whispered, pulling himself in and closing the door behind him.
“Waiting to ask you that same question,” Royce said quietly.
“Where to, Professor?” the driver called as he climbed aboard. The coach bounced with his weight.
“Ah—just circle the city once, will you, Justin?”
“The city, sir?”
“Yes. I’d like to see it before we leave.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Well?” Royce pressed as the carriage jerked forward.
“Chancellor Lambert took sick on the day he was to leave for the celebrations here. Because he could not attend, he thought a personal apology was required and asked me—of all people—to deliver his regrets. Now, what about you?”
“We located the heir.”
“Did you now?”
“Yeah, and you said finding him would be difficult.” Royce drew back his hood and tugged his gloves off one finger at a time. “After Hadrian discovered he was the Guardian of the Heir, he knew exactly what he wanted for a Wintertide present—his very own Heir of Novron.”
“And where is this mythical chimera?”
“Right underfoot, as it turns out. We’re still pinpointing him, but best guess puts Gaunt in the palace dungeons. He is being held for execution on the ’Tide. We were planning to steal him before that.”
“The heir is Degan Gaunt?”
“Ironic, huh? The Nationalist leader trying to overthrow the empire is actually the one man destined to rule it.”
“You said were… so you’re not planning to rescue him anymore?”
“No. Hadrian cut some deal with the regents. They’ve made him a knight, of all things. If he wins the joust, I think they promised to set Gaunt free. I’m not sure I trust them, though.”
The carriage rolled through the streets and up a hill, causing the horse to slow its pace. One of Arcadius’s open travel bundles fell to the floor, joining the rest of his clothes, a pile of books, his shoes, and a mound of blankets.
“Have you ever put anything away in your life?” Royce asked.
“Never saw the point. I’d just have to take it back out again. So, Hadrian’s in the palace—but what are you doing here? I heard Medford was burned. Shouldn’t you be checking on Gwen?”
“Already have. She’s fine and staying at the Winds Abbey. That reminds me. You might want to stick around. If all goes well, you can come with us for the wedding.”
“Whose?”
“Mine. I finally asked Gwen and she agreed, believe it or not.”
“Did she?” Arcadius said, reaching out for one of the blankets to draw over his legs.
“Yeah, and here we both thought she had more sense than that. Can you picture me as a husband and a father?”
“Father? You’ve discussed children?”
“She wants them and even picked out names.”
“Has she now? And how does that sit with you? Whining children and stagnation might be harder for you than all the challenges you’ve faced before. And this is one you can’t walk out on if you decide it’s not for you.” The old man tilted his head to look over the tops of his glasses, his mouth slightly open. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“You’ve been after me to find a good woman for years; now you’re second-guessing Gwen? I know I won’t find better.”
“Oh no, it’s not that. I just know your nature. I’m not sure you’ll be content with the role of a family man.”