There was no way to track the passage of time in the dark. Arista tried counting meals, but her hunger suggested they came less than once per day. Still, weeks must have passed since her capture. In all that time, she had never heard Gaunt, despite having called out to him. The only time she had heard his voice was the night she and Hilfred had failed to rescue him.
Since then, she had been confined to her cell, which contained only a pail for waste and a few handfuls of straw. The room was so small that she could touch all four walls at once, making it feel like a cage or a grave. Arista knew that Modina, the girl once known as Thrace, had been kept somewhere just like that. Perhaps even in that very cell. After she had lost everyone and everything that mattered to her, it would have been a nightmare to wake alone in the dark without explanation, cause, or reason. Not knowing where she was or how she had gotten there must have driven the girl mad.
Despite her own tragedies, at least Arista knew she was not alone in the world. Once the news of her disappearance reached him, her brother, Alric, would move the world to save her. The two had grown closer in the years since their father’s death. He was no longer the privileged boy, and she was no longer the jealous, reclusive sister. They still had their arguments, but nothing would stop him from finding her. Alric would enlist the help of the Pickerings—her extended family. He might even call on Royce and Hadrian, whom Alric affectionately referred to as the royal protectors. It would not be long now.
Arista pictured Hadrian’s lopsided smile. The image stung but her mind refused to let it go. Memories of the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, and that tiny scar on his chin pulled at her heart. There had been moments of warmth, but only kindness on his part, only sympathy—compassion for a person in pain or need. To him, Arista was just the princess, his employer, his job, just one more desperate noble.
How empty an existence I’ve led that those few I count among my best friends are two people I paid to work for me.
She wanted to believe that Hadrian saw her as something special, that the time they had spent on the road together had endeared her to him—that it meant as much to Hadrian as it did to her. Arista hoped he considered her smarter or more capable than most. But even if he did, men did not want smart or capable. They wanted pretty. Arista was not pretty like Alenda Lanaklin or Lenare Pickering. If only Hadrian saw her the way Emery and Hilfred had.
Then he would be dead too.
The deep rumble of stone against stone echoed through the corridors. Footsteps sounded in the hall. Someone was coming.
Now was not the time for food. While Arista could not count the days in the darkness, she knew food never came until she feared it might never come. They fed her so little that she welcomed the thin, putrid soup, which smelled of rotten eggs.
The approaching footfalls came from two sets of shoes. The first she recognized as a guard who wore metal and made a pronounced tink-tink. The other wore hard heels and soles that created a distinct click-clack. That was not a guard, nor was it a servant. Servants wore soft shoes that made a swish-swish sound or no shoes at all—slap-slap. Only someone wealthy could afford shoes that clacked on stone. The steps were slow but not hesitant. There was confidence in the long, measured strides.
A key rattled against the assembly of her lock and then clicked.
A visitor?
The door to her cell opened, and a bright light made Arista wince.
A guard entered, jerked her roughly to one side, and attached a pair of iron bracelets, chaining her wrists to the wall. Leaving her sitting with her arms above her head, the guard exited but left the door open.
A moment later, Regent Saldur entered holding a lantern. “How are you this evening, Princess?” The old man shook his head sadly, making tsking noises. “Look at you, my dear. You are so thin and filthy, and where in Maribor’s name did you get that dress? Not that there’s much of it left, is there? Those look like new bruises too. Have the guards been raping you? No, I suppose not.” Saldur lowered his voice to a whisper. “They had extremely strict orders not to touch Modina when she was here. I accused an innocent jailor of improperly touching her and then had him pulled apart by oxen as an example. There were no problems after that. It might seem extreme, but I couldn’t have a pregnant empress, now could I? Of course, in your case I really don’t care, but the guards don’t know that.”
“Why are you here?” she asked. Her low raspy voice sounded strange, even to her.
“I thought I would bring you some news, my dear. Kilnar and Vernes have fallen. Rhenydd is now a happy member of the empire. The farmlands of Maranon on the Delgos peninsula had a nice harvest, so we’ll have plenty of supplies to feed our troops all winter. We’ve retaken Ratibor but had to execute quite a few traitors as examples. The peasants must learn the consequences of rebellion. They were cursing your name before we had finished.”