Percepliquis

CHAPTER 28

The rear wheel of the wagon fell into another hole and bounced so hard that Arista woke. She pulled back the blanket and squinted at the sky. The sun was low on the horizon and the movement of the wagon made the forest on a hill to their right look as if it were marching in the opposite direction. Her neck and back were sore, her muscles stiff, and she was still groggy. She realized that despite the bouncing buckboard, she had slept the day away. Now her stomach ached from hunger. Her teeth felt fuzzy, almost sandy, and her left hand was numb from her lying on it. She rode in the back of the wagon that Magnus and Degan drove. Hadrian had made her the best bed he could, laying down all their blankets as padding in the space left by the consumed supplies.

Modina and the girls rode with her. Allie and Mercy were asleep between her and the empress. The two curled up in tight balls, their knees pulled to their chests. Modina sat with a blanket around her shoulders, staring off at the landscape. The sled runners had been replaced by wheels and they traveled on a rutted, muddy road that formed a dark line between two fields of snow that occasionally showed a patch of matted, tangled weeds. Seeing them got her thinking. She wiped her face with the blanket and, digging her brush out of a nearby pack, began the arduous process of clearing the snarls from her hair.

She pulled, grunted, and then sighed. Modina looked over with a questioning expression, and Arista explained by letting go of the brush and leaving it to hang.

Modina smiled and crawled over to her. “Turn around,” she said, and taking the brush, the empress began working the back of Arista’s head. “You have quite the rat’s nest here.”

“Be careful one doesn’t bite you,” Arista replied. “Do you know where we are?”

“I have no idea. I’m not really much of a world traveler, you know.”

“This doesn’t look like the road to Aquesta.”

“No,” Modina said as she worked on a particularly tough snarl. “It’s too late to travel that far today, and neither you, Royce, nor Hadrian were up for a long trip. After all, you three had a pretty big day.”

“But the people in-”

Modina patted her shoulder. “It’s all right. I sent Merton back with instructions for Nimbus and Amilia, and Royce sent the elves with him-well, most of them. A few insisted on staying with their new king. There’s nothing left in Aquesta to go back to. The city was destroyed. I ordered the remaining stores to be divided between those who survived. The people will be sent to Colnora, Ratibor, Kilnar, and Vernes, but organized into equal groups so no one city is too overwhelmed.”

Arista laughed and shook her head, making it hard for Modina to work. “Are you sure you’re the same Thrace Wood I once knew?”

“No, I don’t suppose I am,” Modina replied. “Thrace was a wonderful girl, naive, starry-eyed, bursting with life. For a long time I thought she was dead and gone, but I think-no, I know-some part of her still exists, but I’m Modina now.”

“Well, whoever you are, you’re amazing. You truly are the empress worthy of ruling all of mankind.”

Modina lowered her voice and said, “I’ll tell you a secret-it’s not me at all, really. Sure, on occasion, I come up with something intelligent-and I am usually surprised by it myself-but the real genius behind my throne is Nimbus. Amilia deserves everything this empire can give her for hiring him. The man is a wonder: quiet, unassuming, but utterly brilliant. If he had a mind to, he could replace me in a heartbeat. I am convinced he could organize a perfectly lovely coup, but he has no aspirations for power at all. I haven’t been in politics long, but even I can see that a man as capable as he and yet so absent of greed is a rare thing. Do you know he still sleeps in his cubicle? Or at least he did until the castle was destroyed. Even though he was chancellor of the empire, he lived in a tiny stone cell. He, Amilia, and Breckton are my jewels, my treasures. I don’t know how I could have survived without them.”

“Don’t forget Hadrian,” Arista reminded her.

“Hadrian? No, he’s not a treasure of mine and neither are you.” She paused in her brushing and Arista felt Modina kiss her head. “There’s not a word that can describe how I feel about the two of you, except perhaps… miracle workers.”

The center of the village clustered along the main road. Wood, stone, and wattle-and-daub buildings with grass-thatched roofs lined either side, beginning at the little wooden bridge and ending before the slope that climbed a hill to the manor house. They consisted of a ramshackle assortment of shops, homes, and hovels, casting long shadows. Beyond them, Hadrian could see people in the fields working in the strips closest to the village. Down in the valley, near the river, the fields were nearly clear of snow and villeins worked to spread manure from large carts. Hooded in wool cowls, the workers labored. Long curved rakes rose and fell in the faltering light. In the village, smoke rose from a few of the buildings and shops, but none came from the smithy.

As they approached, their horses announced their arrival with a loud hollow clop clip clop as they crossed the bridge. A pair of dogs lifted their heads, the sign above the shoemaker’s shop squeaked as it swayed, and farther down the road a stable door clapped absently against its frame. The intermittent warbling wail of lambs called out from hidden pens.

Hadrian and Royce led the procession through the village. Behind them rode three elves-Royce’s new shadows. Now that Royce was their king, and given what happened to Novron, and his predecessor, they were adamant about his protection.

The change in the elves’ demeanor had been dramatic. The moment Royce got to his feet, they all knelt. The sneering looks of contempt were replaced instantly with reverence. If they were acting, Hadrian thought they were all remarkable performers. Perhaps it was seeing Royce come back from the dead, or some magic of the horn, but the elven lords could not appear to be more devoted to him.

Royce did not protest his new protectors. He said little on the subject and rode as if they were not there. Hadrian guessed he was humoring them-for now. Everyone, especially Royce, was too exhausted to think, much less argue, and Hadrian had just a single thought-to find shelter before dark. With that in mind, he headed south, following the little tributary of the Bernum River he knew simply as the South Fork, which brought them to his boyhood home of Hintindar.

A man sitting in front of the stable was filing the edges of the coulter on a moul board plow when he caught sight of them. He had a bristling black beard and a dirty, pockmarked face. He was dressed in the usual hooded cowl and knee-length tunic of a villein. The man stared, shocked, for a handful of seconds, then emitted a brief utterance that might have been a squeak. He ran to the bell mounted on the pole in the middle of the street and rang it five times, then bolted up the main street toward the manor house.

“Peculiar man,” Hadrian remarked, stopping his horse at the well and, in turn, halting the whole party.

“I think you scared him,” Royce said.

Hadrian glanced back at the elves sitting in a perfect line on their great white stallions in their gleaming gold armor, the center one holding aloft a ten-foot pole with a long blue and gold streamer flapping from it. “Yeah, it was probably me.”

The two continued to watch the man run. He appeared only as tall as an outstretched thumb, but Hadrian could still hear his feet slapping the dirt.

“Know him?” Royce asked.

Hadrian shook his head.

“What’s the bell for?” Royce asked.

“Emergencies, fires, the hue and cry-that sort of thing.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t see a fire.”

“Are we stopping here?” Myron asked. He and Mauvin sat on their mounts just behind the elves and just before the wagon. “The ladies want to know.”

“Might as well. I sort of planned to ride up to the manor to announce ourselves but… I think that’s being taken care of.”

He dismounted, letting his horse drink from the trough. The others got down as well, including Arista and Modina-the empress still wrapped in her blanket. They left the sleeping girls wrapped up in their covers.

Hadrian was just about to rap on the bakery’s door when a crowd of people began filing into the village, following the cow path from the fields. They carried rakes over their heads and trotted into the street, stopping the moment they saw them. Hadrian recognized most of the faces: Osgar the reeve, Harbert the tailor, Algar the woodworker, and Wilfred the carter.

“Haddy!” Armigil shouted. The old brew mistress pushed her way through. Her broad hips cut a swath through the crowd. “How did ya-What aire ya doin’ ’ere, lad? And what ’ave you brought with ya?”

“I-” was all he got out before she went on.

“Never ya mind answering. Ya needs to be gone. Take the lot of ya and go!”

“You need to work on your manners, dear,” Hadrian told her. “The last time I came to town, you hit me, and now-”

“Ya don’t understand, lad. Things have changed. There’s no time to explain. You need to get out of here. His lairdship caught the storm after you left last time.”

“Haddy?” Dunstan the baker and his wife approached, staring at him in disbelief. They were both dressed in worn wool, covered in speckles of mud, and their bare feet and legs were caked with drying earth.

“How are you, Dun?” Hadrian asked. “What are you doing in the field?”

“Plowing,” he replied dully as he stared at the strangers on his street. “Well, trying to. Things have warmed up a lot, but the ground’s still not quite soft enough.”

“Plowing? You’re a baker.”

“We bake at night.”

“When do you sleep, then?”

“Quit yer yammering and go, shoo! Away with ya!” Armigil shouted, waving at him as if he were a cow in her vegetable garden. “Haddy, you don’t understand. If they find you here-”

“That’s right!” Dunstan agreed, as if he suddenly woke from a dream. “You need to go. If Luret sees you-”

“Luret? The envoy? He’s still here?”

“He never left,” Osgar said.

“He charged Lord Baldwin with disloyalty,” Wilfred the carter put in.

“Siward died in the fightin’,” Armigil said sadly. “Luret locked up poor old Baldwin in his own dungeon, and that’s why you and yer friends need to get!”

“Too late,” Royce said, looking down the road toward the manor house. “A line of men are marching down the hill.”

“Who are they? Imperial troops?” Hadrian asked.

“Looks like it. They’re wearing uniforms,” Royce said.

“What’s going on?” Arista asked, coming forward. She beamed a smile at Dunstan and Arbor.

“Oh, Emma!” Arbor spoke to her with a fearful tone but said nothing more. Arista appeared puzzled for a moment and then laughed.

“Oh dear,” Armigil went on when she noticed the wagon, where Allie and Mercedes were stretching and yawning. A sorrowful expression came over the brew mistress. “Ye got wee ones with ya too?”

“Is it too late to hide them?” Arbor asked.

“They can see us from there,” Osgar answered.

Mauvin stepped up near Royce, peering up the road at the small figures coming down the hill. “How many do you count?”

“Twelve,” Royce replied, “including Luret.”

“Twelve?” Mauvin said, surprised. “Seriously?”

Royce shrugged. “Maybe the fella that ran up there mentioned we had women and children.”

“But twelve?”

“Eleven, really.”

Mauvin rolled his eyes and folded his arms across his chest in disgust as he watched them approach.

“So Luret has you all working in the fields?” Hadrian asked as he dismounted and tied up his horse.

“Are you daft man?” Armigil shouted. “What ere you makin’ conversation fer? They’re coming to arrest ya-if you’re lucky, that is! They’ll haul you to the dungeon, beat you, starve you, and likely torture you. That Luret is not right in the head.”

Mince and the boys took it upon themselves to gather the horses and tie them to the wagon, taking time to pause and nod politely to the townspeople.

They soon heard the stomp of feet as the soldiers from the manor house marched at them in an even rhythm. They moved in a two-line formation of six men in back and five in front. They wore chain mail and flat helms. Those in front carried spears, those in the rear, crossbows. Luret rode behind them on a pale speckled mare with a black face and one white-circled eye. Luret looked much the same as he had the last time Hadrian had seen him. The man still had hawkish features and brutal eyes. His attire, however, had improved. He wore a thick brocade tunic along with a velvet cape and handsome long gloves neatly embroidered with chevrons that ran up his wrists. His legs were covered in opaque hose, and his feet covered by leather shoes with brass buckles, which caught what remained of the setting sun.

“Aha! The blacksmith’s son!” Luret exclaimed the moment he saw Hadrian’s face clearly. “Back to claim your inheritance? Or have you run out of places to hide? And who is this rabble?” He smirked, and waved his hand in the air. “Outlaws the lot of you, I’m sure.” He paused a moment as he took notice of the elves, but his sight fell back to Hadrian again. “You’ve brought them here to roost, eh? Think you can hide out amongst your old friends?” He pointed at Royce. “Oh yes, I remember you, and you too.” He looked at Arista. “I don’t think they will be quite so quick to take you in this time, not after the beating I gave them.” He looked at Dunstan, who stared down at his own feet. “They learned their lesson about harboring fugitives. Now it’s time for you to learn a lesson too. Arrest the lot of them. I want chains on these two.” He pointed at Hadrian and Royce.

The soldiers managed only one step forward before Hadrian drew his swords. The rest followed his lead. To his left, Degan stepped up, and beside him Magnus held his hammer. To his right the elves advanced to stand in front of Royce, causing him to sigh. Even the boys drew daggers, except for Kine and Mince, who did not have any, but they put up their fists, nonetheless.

The soldiers hesitated. Luret drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. “I said arrest them!”

One of the soldiers near Royce jabbed forward with his spear. The nearest elf severed the metal tip from the shaft. The guard backed up, holding the wooden staff.

None of the others moved.

Luret’s face reddened. “You are defying arrest! You are challenging an imperial envoy and duly appointed magistrate and executor of this estate. I demand you surrender at once! Surrender or by the power invested in me by the empress herself I will have you shot where you stand!”

No one moved.

“I don’t recall investing anything in you, much less the power to kill members of my personal entourage,” Modina said as she walked forward from the rear of the party.

Luret put a hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun and squinted in her direction. “Who is this now?”

“You don’t recognize me?” Modina asked in a light and lilting voice. “And yet you are so quick to evoke my name. Allow me to introduce myself. Perhaps it will jog your memory. I am the slayer of Rufus’s Bane, the high priestess of the Church of Nyphron, Her Most Serene and Royal Grand Imperial Majesty, Empress Modina Novronian.”

She cast off the blanket.

Several people in the crowd gasped. Arbor staggered backward, causing Dunstan to catch hold of her, and Hadrian was certain he heard Armigil mutter, “I’ll be buggered.”

The empress stood in her lavish gown. She was also adorned in the long black velvet mantle embroidered with the imperial crest, which she’d put on before presenting herself.

“This-No, it’s not possible!” Luret muttered. “It’s a trick. A trick, I say! I won’t be hoodwinked. Look at this child. She is an impostor. A fake. All of you lay down your arms and come peacefully and I will only execute the blacksmith’s son and his companion. Defy me and all of you will die!”

At that moment, the six soldiers with the crossbows began to sniffle. They blinked hard, their eyes watered, and they crinkled their noses. One by one, they began to sneeze, and then the thick sinewy skein of the crossbows snapped in loud pops, the metal bolts dropping helplessly to the dirt.

Hadrian glanced at Arista, who smiled mischievously at him.

“Before you get yourself into any more trouble,” Modina said, addressing Luret, who was now clearly concerned, “allow me to introduce the rest of my contingent. This is the princess-or rather now Queen Arista of Melengar, conqueror of Ratibor, and sorceress extraordinaire.”

“I think she prefers wizardess,” Myron whispered.

“Pardon me, wizardess. This is Royce Melborn, newly crowned king of the ancient realm of Erivan. With him, as you may have noticed, are three of his elven lords. This short gentleman is Magnus of the Children of Drome, a master of stone and earth. Beside him is Degan Gaunt, leader and hero of the Nationalists. Over here is the legendary sword master Count Pickering of Galilin. This is the Marquis of Glouston, the famed and learned monk of Maribor. And while he shouldn’t require any introduction, before you stands Hadrian Blackwater, Teshlor Knight, Guardian of the Heir of Novron, champion of the empire, and hero of the realm.

“These defenders of the empire have passed through the underworld, fought armies of goblins, crossed treacherous seas, entered and returned from the lost city of Percepliquis, and this very day halted the advance of an unstoppable army and defeated the being who long ago murdered our savior Novron the Great. They saved not only the empire but all of you as well. You owe them your lives, your respect, and your eternal gratitude.”

She paused to stare at the wide-eyed Luret. “Well, envoy, magistrate, and executor, what say you?”

Luret looked at the faces around him. He saw his men laying down their weapons. He glanced at the faces of the villagers, then kicked his horse and bolted. He did not head back up the road to the manor but rather fled out to the open fields.

“I could make him fall off the horse,” Arista mentioned, but Modina shook her head.

“Let him go.” She looked at the soldiers. “The rest of you can go as well.”

“Wait,” Hadrian said. “Lord Baldwin is imprisoned at the manor, is that right?”

The soldiers slowly nodded, their faces coated in concern.

“Go free him at once,” Modina said. “Tell him what you have seen and that I will be visiting him and his household tomorrow. In fact, tell him he will have the honor of hosting me and my court until such time as I arrange more permanent accommodations.”

They nodded, bowed, and walked backward for a dozen steps before giving up, turning, and running up the street.

“I think you made an impression,” Hadrian told her, then looked at the villagers.

They all stood like posts, staring at Modina, their mouths agape.

“Armigil, you do still brew beer, right?” Hadrian asked.

“What, Haddy?” she said, dazed, still staring at the empress.

“Beer, you know… barley, hops… It’s a drink. We could really do with a barrel about now, don’t you think?” He waved a hand in front of Dunstan. “Maybe a warm place to rest. Perhaps a bite of food?” He snapped his fingers three times. “Hello?”

“Is that really the empress?” Armigil asked.

“Yeah, so she’s gonna be able to pay you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

This snapped her out of her daze. The old woman scowled at him and shook a finger. “Ya know better than that, ya overgrown skunk! ’Ow dare ya be callin’ me inhospitable! Whether she’s the empress or a tart dragged from the gutter, ya know they both would be equally welcome to a pint and a plate in Hintindar-at least now that Uberlin ’imself is gone.” She looked at Dunstan and Arbor. “And what are ya doing standing there and gawking fer? Throw some dough in the oven. Osgar, Harbert, get over ’ere and lend a ’and with a barrel. Algar, see if’n yer wife has any more of that mince pie and tell Clipper to cut a side of salt pork from-”

“No!” Hadrian, Arista, Mauvin, and Degan shouted all at once, startling everyone. They all began to laugh.

“Please, anything but salt pork,” Hadrian added.

“Is-is mutton okay?” Abelard asked, concerned. Abelard the shearer and his wife, Gerty, had lived across the street from the Blackwaters for years. He was a thin, toothless, balding man who reminded Hadrian of a turtle, the way his head poked out of his cowl.

They all nodded enthusiastically.

“Mutton would be wonderful.”

Abelard smiled and started off.

“And bring your fiddle and tell Danny to bring his pipe!” Dunstan shouted after him. “Looks like spring came a bit early this year, eh?”

Arista was being careful, having learned her lesson before. This time she limited herself to just one mug of Armigil’s brew; even then, she felt a tad light-headed. She sat next to Hadrian on top of flour sacks piled on the wide pine of the bakery floor. The floor itself was slippery from the thin coating of flour that the girls loved playing on. Allie and Mercy slid across the floor as if it were a frozen pond, at least until enough people arrived to make a good slide impossible. Arista thought about offering to help Arbor, but she already had half a dozen women working in her cramped kitchen, and after everything, it felt too good just sitting there leaning against him, feeling Hadrian’s arm curled around her back. She smelled the sweet aroma of baking bread and roasting lamb. She listened to the gentle chatter of friendly conversations all around her and drank in the warmth and comfort. It made her wonder if this was what Alric had found within the light. She wondered if it smelled of baking bread, and remembering, she was almost certain it had.

“What are you thinking?” Hadrian asked.

“Hmm? Oh, I was hoping Alric was happy.”

“I’m sure he is.”

She nodded and Hadrian raised his mug. “To Alric,” he said.

“To Alric,” Mauvin agreed.

Everyone in the room with a glass, mug, or cup-even those who had never heard of Alric-raised drinks. Her eyes landed on Allie, who now sat between Modina and Mercy nibbling like a bird on a hunk of brown bread.

“To Wyatt and Elden,” she whispered, too quietly even for Hadrian to hear, and downed the last of her cup.

“I wanted to say how sorry I am, Dun,” Hadrian told his friend as he handed out another helping of food. “Was it bad, what happened after we left?”

Dunstan glanced up to see where his wife was. “It was hard on Arbor,” he said. “I think I looked worse than I was. She had to do most of the work around here for close to six weeks, but all that is over. I’m used to getting my head cracked now and again.” Dunstan grinned, then stared curiously at Hadrian and Arista, sitting arm in arm. Royce had just entered and Dunstan glanced nervously over at him. “You better watch yourself. He doesn’t look the type to be understanding about such things.”

Dunstan moved away, leaving Arista and Hadrian looking at each other, puzzled.

Royce hesitated at the door, his eyes on the girls as they sat at Modina’s feet. The empress was one of the few in the room to sit on a chair. It was not her idea, but the Bakers insisted. He walked over and sat beside Hadrian.

“Where are your shadows?” Hadrian asked.

“You look concerned.”

“Just that if you’ve started another war, I’d like a heads-up is all.”

“The level of confidence you have in my diplomatic skills is overwhelming.”

“What diplomatic skills?”

Royce frowned. “They’re outside. I talked with them about space,” Royce said.

“You did?”

“They speak Apelanese. And I do know some elvish, remember.”

Royce sat back against the table leg, his eyes on Mercy as she giggled at something Allie whispered in her ear.

“Why don’t you go talk to her?” Hadrian asked.

Royce shrugged, his brow creased with worry.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Royce stood up. “It’s a little warm in here for me.”

They watched him gingerly step around those on the floor and slip back out. Hadrian looked at Arista.

“Go ahead,” she told him.

“You sure?”

“Of course I am. Go.”

He smiled, gave her a kiss, and then stood to chase after Royce.

Arista sat for a moment looking around her at all the friendly, rosy faces, talking, laughing, smiling. The bowls of steaming pottage were coming off the open hearth and making their rounds. Abelard, seated on an overturned bucket, was rosining his bow and plucking strings on his fiddle while he waited for Danny, who sat beside him finishing up a plate of lamb. The place was filling up and sitting room was getting scarce. Despite the crowd, a wide berth was maintained around Modina, who planted herself in the corner across from the door, smiling more brightly than Arista had ever seen her. Only the girls dared come within an arm’s length, but every eye in the room repeatedly glanced her way.

Arista stood up and found Arbor throwing a round loaf in the oven. She leaned against the counter and wiped her head with the back of her flour-covered hands. “That’s the last of it,” she said, and smiled at her. “I was worried about you,” she told Arista. “We both were.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes! The way you left that night, and then when the soldiers came-we were afraid for you. The village was in turmoil that whole week. Men came through here four times spilling the flour and searching. I didn’t know what they wanted you for-I still don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Arista said. “That’s all over and everything is going to be different from now on.”

Arbor’s expression showed she did not know what to make of that.

“Say, do you still have that dress I gave you?”

“Oh yes!” She looked down at Arista’s robe. “You’ll be wanting it back, of course.” She started to leave and Arista took her hand.

“No, that’s not why I was asking.”

“But it’s okay. I took real fine care with it-never wore it once. I just looked at it a few times, you know.”

“I was just thinking you should try it on, because I think you’re going to be needing it.”

“Oh no, I’ll never need a dress that fine. Like I told you before, there’s no chance of me going to a fancy ball or anything like that.”

“That’s just it,” Arista told her. “I think you will-that is, if you accept.”

“Accept what?”

“I’d like you to be the maid of honor at my wedding.”

Arbor looked back at her, confused. “But, Erma, you’re already married to Vince.”

It was Arista’s turn to look puzzled and then she laughed aloud.

Hadrian caught up with Royce at the footbridge. It was dark, but the moon was bright and he spotted his friend’s dark figure leaning over the rail, staring into the dark waters trickling below.

“Crowd getting to you?” Hadrian asked. Royce did not reply. He did not even look up. “So what will you do now?”

“I don’t know,” Royce said softly.

“You realize that being the real descendant of Novron makes you not only the King of Erivan but Emperor of Apeladorn as well. Have you spoken with Modina?”

“She already told me she would step down.”

“Emperor Royce?” Hadrian said.

“Doesn’t really sound right, does it?”

Hadrian shrugged and leaned against the same rail. “It could in time.”

Except for the bakery, the street was dark, although there were some lights on at the manor house. They were tiny dots from where they stood, like bright yellow stars at the top of the hill.

“I hear you’re going to marry Arista.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Myron mentioned something about doing the honors.”

“Ah-right. Well, I thought he’d do a good job, and neither of us are real thrilled with the idea of a Church of Nyphron ceremony.”

“I think it’s a good idea.” Royce looked back at the water below. “And don’t wait. Marry her right away and start being happy.”

The breeze rustled the bare limbs of the nearby trees and blew a faint hiss as it passed under the bridge. Hadrian pulled his collar tight and looked over the edge. He stared down at the dark waters below.

“So are you going to look for who killed her?” Hadrian asked. “You know, don’t you? Do you want me to come?”

“No,” Royce replied. “He’s already dead.”

“Really? How do you feel about that?”

Royce shrugged.

“I knew it wasn’t Merrick,” Royce said, tearing a leaf and throwing it over the edge of the bridge. “I still remember his face, looking up at me. Telling me it wasn’t him. Explaining how it couldn’t have been him. He was confounded by it. Merrick confounded-that was my first clue. Today I got the final clue.”

“What clue?”

“Emperor Royce-he was terrified of that possibility. Royce Melborn on the throne-could there be a more frightening thing? That’s why he never told us. He brought us together hoping you would change me, but he couldn’t fix me. I’d spent too many years learning to hate. I’d lost the value of life. Then he learned about Mercedes. I’d lost my humanity, but she was clean. He could educate her, make her into the perfect ruler.”

“Arcadius? But why would he kill Gwen?”

“That’s my fault as well. I told him that she had agreed to marry me. He knew we would come for Mercedes and all that he invested in her would be lost. He never thought in his wildest dreams that I would ever take that step with Gwen, and when he found out, he had to kill her before she had the chance to tell me about my daughter.”

He looked up at the stars and ran a hand across his face. When he spoke, his voice quavered. “I told Arcadius she was at the Winds Abbey. He hired Merrick to take her and bring her to Colnora. He was there before the meeting, hiding with a crossbow.”

Royce turned to Hadrian and his eyes were moist. “But what I can’t understand is that he loved her too. So how could he pull that trigger? How could he watch her scream and fall? How frightened must he have been to do that? How much of a horror am I?”

“Royce.” Hadrian placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not like that anymore. You’ve changed. I’ve seen it. Arista and Myron, they’ve mentioned it as well.”

Royce laughed at him. “I killed Merrick, didn’t I? I never even gave him a chance. And if it wasn’t for Arista, Modina would have died in the fire I set. I can’t be a father, Hadrian. I can’t raise… I’m evil.”

“You didn’t kill Magnus. Even after he told you his plans to double-cross you again, you let him go-you forgave him. The old Royce didn’t know what forgiveness was. You aren’t him anymore. It’s as if-I don’t know-it’s like some part of Gwen came to you when she died. She’s still alive in there somewhere, still literally your better half.”

Royce wiped his eyes. “I loved her so much-I miss her so much. I can’t help feeling it’s my fault, my punishment for the life I’ve led.”

“And Mercedes?”

“What about her?”

“Is she a punishment? She’s your daughter. A part of Gwen that still lives. She has her eyes, you know… and that smile. The gods don’t give a gift that precious to someone so undeserving.”

“Are you my priest now?”

Hadrian stared at him.

Royce looked back down at the stream below. “She doesn’t even know me. What if she doesn’t like me? Few people do.”

“She might not at first. Maribor knows I didn’t. But you have a way of growing on a person.” He smiled. “You know, like lichen or mold.”

Royce looked up and scowled. “Okay, forget what I said. Definitely steer clear of the priesthood.” He paused, then said, “She does look like Gwen, though, doesn’t she? And her laugh-have you heard it?”

“She told me that her mother said her father would make her a fairy princess and that they would live in a beautiful place where she would be a queen of the forest.”

“Did she?”

Hadrian nodded. “Seems a shame to disappoint her, and if Gwen told her that, it must be true.”

Royce sighed.

“So will you take the throne from Modina?”

“Emperor Royce? I don’t think so. But I’m stuck with the job of elven king, aren’t I?”

“How’s that going, by the way?”

“Funny as it sounds, I think they’re terrified of me.”

“A lot of people are terrified of you, Royce.”

He laughed. “I feel like one of those guys in the circus that train bears with just a chair and a whip. They destroyed half of Apeladorn without a single loss of life on their side and the only thing stopping them from finishing the job is me and their crazy religion. They really hate humans but are convinced I was chosen by Ferrol to be their ruler. To disobey me is to disobey their god. To kill me is unthinkable. So here they are, ruled by a human who they must obey and can’t kill. You know they’ve got to be panicking.”

“Only you aren’t human.”

“No-I’m neither.”

“Maybe that will help.”

“Perhaps.”

“So you still haven’t told me. What do you plan to do?”

Royce shrugged. “I don’t know yet. How could I? I don’t know anything about them, really. I do know that I’ve seen cruelty from both sides. After seeing how Saldur’s empire treated people like me, I can understand the elves’ hatred. The old me certainly remembers that feeling, the certitude of justice, the purity of unquestioned purpose.”

“And the new you?”

Royce shook his head. “I forgave Magnus, for Maribor’s sake.”

“Why did you?”

“Tired, I guess. Tired of killing-no, that’s not really it. The real reason, I think, is that part of me wondered what Gwen would think. I can’t imagine her wanting me to kill Magnus any more than she would want me to punish the elves for what they did. She was such a better person than I am, and now that she’s gone, I…”

Hadrian squeezed his shoulder. “Trust me-she’s proud of you, pal.” He gave him a second, then in a bright tone said, “How is it we never had king and emperor on our list of potential careers? When you think about it, it beats the heck out of winemakers, actors, and fishermen.”

“You always think everything is so easy,” Royce replied, wiping his eyes.

“I’m just a glass-half-full kinda guy. How’s your glass looking these days?”

“I have no idea. I’m still trying to get over the sheer size of it.”

Hadrian nodded. “Speaking of glasses…” He lifted his head when he heard the sound of a fiddle and pipe. He put his arm around Royce’s shoulder and led him off the bridge. “How about a nice pint of Armigil’s brew?”

“You know I hate beer.”

“Well, I’m not sure you can really call what she brews beer. Think of it more as… an experience.”