“Soon,” Royce replied, not altering his concentration on the street.
They waited together in the small room at The Regal Fox Inn, the least expensive of the five hotels in the affluent Hill District. Once they had arrived, Royce had continued to pose as their servant by renting two rooms—one standard, the other small. He avoided inquiries about luggage and arrangements for dinner. The innkeeper had not pursued the matter.
When they were upstairs, Royce insisted they all remain in the standard room together. Arista noticed a pause after he said this, as if he expected an argument. This amused her, because the idea of sharing a comfortable room was infinitely better than any accommodations she had experienced so far. Still, she had to admit, if only to herself, that a week ago she would have been appalled by the notion.
Even the standard room was luxurious by most boardinghouse standards. The beds were made of packed feathers and covered in smooth, clean sheets, overstuffed pillows, and heavy quilts. There were a full-length mirror, a large dresser, a wardrobe, a small writing table and chair, and an adjoining room for the washbasin and chamber pot. The room was equipped with a fireplace and lamps, but Royce left them unlit and darkness filled the space. The only illumination was from the outside streetlamps, which cast an oblong checkerboard image on the floor.
Now that they were off the road and in a more familiar setting, the princess gave in to curiosity. “I don’t understand. What are we doing here?”
“Waiting,” Royce replied.
“For what?”
“We can’t just ride into the Nationalists’ camp. We need a go-between. Someone to set up a meeting,” Hadrian said. He sat at the writing desk across the room from her. In the growing darkness, he was fading into a dim ghostly outline.
“I didn’t see you send any messages. Did I miss something?”
“No, but the messages were delivered nonetheless,” Royce mentioned.
“Royce is kind of a celebrity here,” Hadrian told her. “When he comes to town—”
Royce coughed intentionally.
“Okay, maybe not a celebrity, but he’s certainly well known. I’m sure talk started the moment he arrived.”
“Then we wanted to be seen?”
“Yes,” Royce replied. “Unfortunately, the Diamond wasn’t the only one watching the gate. Someone’s watching our window.”
“And he’s not a Black Diamond?” Hadrian asked.
“Too clumsy. Has about the same talent for delicate work as a draft horse. The Diamond would laugh if he applied.”
“Black Diamond is the thieves’ guild?” she asked.
They both nodded.
While supposedly a secret organization, the Diamond was nevertheless well known. Arista heard of it from time to time in court and at council meetings. They were always spoken about with disdain by haughty nobles, even though they often used their services. The black market was virtually controlled by the Diamond, who supplied practically any commodity for anyone willing to pay the price.
“Can he see you?”
“Not unless he’s an elf.”
Hadrian and Arista exchanged glances, wondering if he had meant it as a joke.
Hadrian joined Royce at the window and looked out. “The one near the lamppost with his hand on his hilt? The guy shifting his weight back and forth? He’s an imperial soldier, a veteran of the Vanguard Scout Brigade,” Hadrian said.
Royce looked at him, surprised.
The light from the street spilled across Hadrian’s face as he grinned. “The way he’s shifting his weight is a technique taught to soldiers to keep from going footsore. That short sword is standard issue for a lightly armed scout and the gauntlet on his sword hand is an idiosyncrasy of King Ethelred, who insists all his troops wear them. Since Ethelred is now part of the New Empire, the fellow below is an Imp.”
“You weren’t kidding about serving in a lot of armies, were you?” Arista asked.
Hadrian shrugged. “I was a mercenary. It’s what I did. I served anywhere the pay was good.” Hadrian took his seat back at the table. “I even commanded a few regiments. Got a medal once. But I would fight for one army only to find myself going against them a few years later. Killing old friends isn’t fun. So I kept taking jobs farther away. Ended up deep in Calis fighting for Tenkin warlords.” Hadrian shook his head. “Guess you could say that was my low point. You really know you’ve—”
Hadrian was interrupted by a knock. Without a word, Royce crossed the room, taking up position on one side of the door while Hadrian carefully opened it. Outside, a young boy stood dressed in the typical poor clothing of a waif.
“Evening, sirs. Your presence is requested in room twenty-three,” he said cheerily, and then, touching his thumb to his brow, he walked away.
“Leave her here?” Hadrian asked Royce.