“Did I say something wrong?” Mince asked.
She turned back. “No. Not at all. It’s just that…” Modina paused. She moved to the mirror and ran her fingertips along the glass. “There are still ten days to Wintertide, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Well, because you gave me a gift, I’d like to give you something in return, and it looks like I still have time.”
She crossed to the door and opened it. Gerald stood waiting outside, as always. “Gerald,” she said, “could you please do me a favor?”
CHAPTER 15
THE HUNT
Merry Eve’s Eve, Sir Hadrian,” a girl said brightly when he poked his head outside his room. She was just one of the giggling chambermaids who had been extending smiles and curtsies to him since the day of the first joust. After his second tilt, pages bowed and guards nodded in his direction. His third win, although as clean as the others, had been the worst, as it brought the attention of every knight and noble in the palace. After each joust, he had his choice of sitting in his dormitory or going to the great hall. Preferring to be alone, Hadrian usually chose his room.
That morning, like most days, Hadrian found himself wandering the palace hallways. He had seen Albert from a distance on a few occasions, but neither attempted to speak with the other, and there had been no sign of Royce. Crossing through the grand foyer, he paused. The staircase spiraled upward, adorned in fanciful candles and painted wood ornaments. Somewhere four flights up, the girl he had known as Thrace was probably still asleep in her bed. He put his foot on the first step.
“Sir Hadrian?” a man he did not recognize asked. “Great joust yesterday. You really gave Louden a hit he’ll not soon forget. I heard the crack even in the high stands. They say Louden will need a new breastplate, and you gave him two broken ribs to boot! What a hit. What a hit, I say. You know, I lost a bundle betting against you the first three jousts, but since then I’ve won everything back. I’m sticking with you for the final. You’ve made a believer out of me. Say, where you headed?”
Hadrian quickly drew back his foot. “Nowhere. Just stretching my legs a bit.”
“Well, just wanted to tell you to keep up the good work and let you know I’ll be rooting for you.”
The man exited the palace through the grand entrance, leaving Hadrian at the bottom of the stairs.
What am I going to do, walk into her chambers unannounced? It’s been over a year since I spoke with her. Will she hate me for not trying to see her earlier? Will she remember me at all?
He looked up the staircase once more.
It’s possible she’s all right, isn’t it? Just because no one ever sees her doesn’t necessarily mean anything, does it?
Modina was the empress. They could not be treating her too badly. When she lived in Dahlgren, she had been happy, and that had been a squalid little village where people were killed nightly by a giant monster.
How much worse can living in a palace be?
He took one last look around and spotted the two shadows leaning casually near the archway to the throne room. With a sigh, Hadrian turned toward the service wing, leaving the stairway behind.
The sun was not fully up, but the kitchen was already bustling. Huge pots billowed clouds of steam so thick that the walls cried tears. Butchers hammered on cutting blocks, shouting orders. Boys ran with buckets, shouting back. Girls scrubbed cutlery, pans, and bowls. The smells were strong and varied. Some, such as that of baked bread, were wonderful, but others were sulfurous and vile. Unlike in the rest of the palace, no holiday decoration adorned the walls or tables. Here, behind the scenes, the signs of Wintertide were reduced to cooling trays of candied apples and snowflake-shaped cookies.
Hadrian stepped into the scullery, fascinated by the activity. As soon as he entered, heads turned, work slowed, and then everything came to a stop. The room grew so quiet that the only sounds came from the bubbling pots, the crackling fires, and water dripping from a wet ladle. All the staff stared at him, as if he had two heads or three arms.
Hadrian took a seat on one of the stools surrounding an open table. The modest area appeared to be the place where the kitchen staff ate their own meals. He tried to look casual and relaxed, but it was impossible with all the attention.
“What’s all this now?” boomed a voice belonging to a large, beefy cook with a thick beard and eyes wreathed in cheerful wrinkles. Spotting Hadrian, those eyes narrowed abruptly. He revealed—if only for a moment—that he had another side, the same way a playful dog might suddenly growl at an intruder.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked, approaching Hadrian with a meat cleaver in one hand.
“I don’t mean any harm. I was just hoping to find some food.”
The cook looked him over closely. “Are you a knight, sir?”
Hadrian nodded.