She nodded. “I assure you I’ll be fine.”
The guard hesitated briefly before relenting and drew back the bar. Putting his back against the giant oak doors, he slowly pushed one open.
“You need to be careful, milady. There is a stranger about.”
“A stranger?”
“A fellow came to the gate just a few hours after sunset, wanting in—a masked man in a hood. I could see he was up to no good, so I turned him away. Likely as not, he’s out there somewhere waiting for me to open at sunrise. Please be careful, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said while slipping past him. Once she was through, the gate closed behind her.
Arista stayed to the road, walking as quickly and quietly as she could. Now on her way, she felt exhilarated despite the dangers that lay ahead. Leaving Ratibor without farewells was for the best. They would have insisted she appoint a successor and remain for a time to counsel whoever was selected. While she did not feel enough urgency for a horse, she worried that too long of a delay would be a mistake. Besides, she could not risk an imperial spy discovering her plan and placing sentries to capture her.
In one way she felt safer on the road than in her office—she was confident no one knew where she was or where she was going. This thought was as comforting as the old wizard’s robe. In the days following Esrahaddon’s death, she had been concerned that she too might be a target. His assassin had escaped capture, the only trace was an unusually small crossbow discovered in an East End Square rain barrel. She felt certain that the killer was an agent of the New Empire, sent to eliminate a lingering threat. She was Esrahaddon’s apprentice, who had helped defeat the church’s attempt to take Melengar, and led the revolt in Ratibor. Surely those in power wanted her dead as well.
Before long, she spotted the flicker of a light not far off the road—a simple campfire burning low.
The man turned away at the gate? Could he be the assassin?
She kept her eyes on the fire while carefully walking past. She soon cleared a hill and the light disappeared behind it. After a few hours, the excitement of the adventure waned and she found herself yawning. With several hours until dawn, she pulled a blanket from her bag and found a soft place to lie.
Is this what each night was like for Esrahaddon?
She had never felt so alone. In the past, Hilfred had been her ever-present shadow, but her bodyguard had disappeared more than two years earlier after having suffered burns in her service. Most of all, she missed Royce and Hadrian, a common thief and an ex-mercenary. To them, she was nothing more than a wealthy patron, but to her, they were nothing less than her closest friends. She imagined Royce disappearing into the trees to search the area as he had at every camp. Even more, she wanted Hadrian there by her side. She pictured him with a lopsided grin, making that awful stew of his. He always made her feel safe. She remembered how he had held her on the hill of Amberton Lee and at the armory after the Battle of Ratibor. She had been soaked in rain, mud, and Emery’s blood, and his arms had held her up. She had never felt so horrible and no one’s embrace had ever felt so good.
“I wish you were here now,” she whispered.
Lying on her back, she looked up at the stars, scattered like dust over the immense heavens. Seeing them, she felt even more alone. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 2
THE EMPTY CASTLE
Above Hadrian’s head the wooden sign displaying a thorny branch and a faded bloom rocked in the morning breeze. It was weathered and worn, and it took imagination to determine that the flower depicted was a rose. The tavern it announced displayed the same haphazard charm of necessity as the other buildings along Wayward Street. The crooked length of the narrow road was empty. Autumn leaves scattering in the wind and the rocking sign marked the only movement.
The lack of activity surprised Hadrian. At this time of year, Medford’s Lower Quarter usually bustled with vendors selling apples, cider, pumpkins, and hardwood. The air should be scented with wood smoke. Chimney sweeps should be dancing across rooftops as children watched in awe. Instead, the doors of several stores were nailed shut—and to his dismay, even The Rose and Thorn Tavern lay dormant.
Hadrian sighed as he tethered his horse. Skipping breakfast in exchange for an early start had left him eager for a hot meal eaten indoors. He had expected the war to take its toll and Medford to be affected, but he had never expected The Rose and Thorn to—