“Hadrian!”
He recognized the voice before turning to see Gwen, the lovely Calian native, who, in her sky-blue day dress, looked more like an artisan’s wife than a madam. She swept down the steps of Medford House, one of the few open businesses. Prostitutes were always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Hadrian hugged her, lifting her small body. “We were worried about you,” she said. “What took you so long?”
“What are you doing back at all?” Royce called as he stepped out onto the porch. The lithe and slender thief stood barefoot, wearing only black pants and a loose unbelted tunic.
“Arista sent me to make sure you made it all right and were able to convince Alric to send the army south.”
“Took you long enough. I’ve been back for weeks.”
Hadrian shrugged. “Well, Alric’s forces laid siege to Colnora right after I arrived. It took me a while to find a way out.”
“So, how did—”
“Royce, shouldn’t we let Hadrian sit and eat?” Gwen interrupted. “You haven’t had breakfast, have you? Let me grab a shawl, and I’ll have Dixon fire the stove.”
“How long has the tavern been closed?” Hadrian asked as Gwen disappeared back inside.
Royce raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “Not closed. Business has just been slow, so she opens for the midday meal.”
“It’s like a ghost town around here.”
“A lot of people left, expecting an invasion,” Royce explained. “Most who stayed were called to serve when the army moved out.”
Gwen reappeared with a wrap around her shoulders and led them across the street to The Rose and Thorn. In the shadows of an alley, Hadrian spotted movement. Figures slept huddled amid piles of trash. Unlike Royce, who easily passed for human, these shabbily dressed creatures bore the unmistakable angled ears, prominent cheekbones, and almond eyes characteristic of elves.
“The army didn’t want them,” Royce commented, seeing Hadrian’s stare. “No one wants them.”
Dixon, the bartender and manager, was taking chairs off the tables when Gwen unlocked the doors. A tall, stocky man, he had lost his right arm several years earlier in the Battle of Medford.
“Hadrian!” he shouted in his booming voice. Hadrian instinctively held out his left hand to shake Dixon’s. “How are you, lad? Gave them what for in Ratibor, eh? Where you been?”
“I stayed to sweep up,” Hadrian replied with a wink and a smile.
“Denny in yet?” Gwen asked Dixon, stepping past him and rummaging through a drawer behind the bar.
“Nope, just me. I figured, why bother? All of you want breakfast? I can manage if you like.”
“Yes,” Gwen told him, “and make some extra.”
Dixon sighed. “You keep feeding them and they’ll just keep hanging around.”
She ignored the comment. “Did Harry deliver the ale last night?”
“Yup.”
“Three barrels, right?”
As Gwen talked with Dixon, Royce slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a gentle squeeze. That he loved her was no secret, but Royce had never even held Gwen’s hand in public before. Seeing him with her, Hadrian noticed that his friend looked different. It took him a moment to realize what it was—Royce was smiling.
When Gwen followed Dixon into the pantry to discuss inventory, Royce and Hadrian resumed the task of pulling chairs off tables. Throughout the years, Hadrian had likely sat in each one and drunk from every wooden cup and pewter tankard hanging behind the bar. For more than a decade The Rose and Thorn had been his home, and it felt odd to be just visiting.
“So, have you decided what you’ll do now?” Royce asked.
“I’m going to find the heir.”
Royce paused, holding a chair inches above the floor. “Did you hit your head during the Battle of Ratibor? The heir is dead, remember?”
“Turns out he’s not. What’s more, I know who he is.”
“But the nice priest told us the heir was murdered by Seret Knights forty years ago,” Royce countered.
“He was.”
“Am I missing something?”
“Twins,” Hadrian told him. “One was killed, but the midwife saved the other.”
“So who’s this heir?”
“Degan Gaunt.”
Royce’s eyes widened and a sardonic grin crossed his face. “The leader of the Nationalist army, who is bent on the New Empire’s destruction, is the imperial heir destined to rule over it? How ironic is that? It’s also pretty unfortunate for you, seeing as how the Imps snatched him up.”
Hadrian nodded. “Yeah, it turns out Esrahaddon’s been helping him win all those victories in Rhenydd.”
“Esrahaddon? How do you know that?”
“I found him in Gaunt’s camp right before the Battle of Ratibor. Looks like the old wizard was planning to put Gaunt on the throne by force.”