Heir Of Novron: The Riyria Revelations (26 page)

“Neither. I never met Gaunt, but the princess is a friend.” Hadrian paused. “I agreed in order to save their lives. Because if I failed to kill you, they will die tomorrow.”

The two traveled in silence for some time, rocking back and forth as the wooden wheels of the wagon rolled along the snow-patched cobblestone. Breckton finally turned to Hadrian and asked, “Why didn’t you do it? Why didn’t you tilt?”

Hadrian shook his head and sighed. “It wasn’t right.”

“There are over a hundred rioters just in Imperial Square,” Nimbus reported. “And more arriving every minute. Ethelred has pulled the guards back and closed the palace gates.”

“I heard some guards were killed. Is that true?” Amilia asked from her desk.

“Only one, I think. But several others were badly beaten. The rioters are calling for the empress.”

“I’ve heard them. They’ve been chanting for the last hour.”

“Since the tournament, they don’t trust Ethelred or Saldur. The crowd wants an explanation and they’ll accept it only from the empress.”

“Saldur will be coming here, won’t he? He’ll want me to have Modina say something. He’ll order me to have the empress make a statement about Breckton and Hadrian plotting to take the throne.”

Nimbus sighed and nodded. “I would suspect so.”

“I won’t do it,” Amilia said defiantly. She rose and slapped her desk. “Sir Breckton isn’t a traitor and neither is Sir Hadrian. I won’t be a party to their execution!”

“If you don’t, it’s likely you will share their fate,” Nimbus warned. “After tomorrow, Ethelred will be the emperor. He will officially rule and there will be precious little need for Modina’s nursemaid.”

“I love him, Nimbus.” This was the first time she had said the words—the first time she had admitted it, even to herself. “I can’t help them kill him. I don’t care what they do to me.”

Nimbus gave her a sad smile and sat down in the chair near her desk. This was the first time that Amilia could remember him sitting in her presence without first asking permission. “I suppose they will have even less need for a tutor. Hadrian obviously did
something
wrong and I will likely be blamed.”

Someone walked by outside the office and both shot nervous glances at the closed door.

“It’s like the whole world is ending.” Tears ran down Amilia’s cheeks. “This morning I was so happy. I think I woke up happier than I’d ever been.”

They paused anxiously as they heard several more people running past the door.

“Do you think I should check on Modina?” Amilia asked.

“It might be wise.” Nimbus nodded. “The empress always sits by that window. She’s bound to hear the protests. She’ll be wondering what’s going on.”

“I should talk to her. After the way she acted at the feast, who knows what she’s thinking?” Amilia stood.

Just as the two moved toward the door, it burst open and Saldur stormed in. The regent was red-faced, his jaw clenched. He slammed the door behind him.

“Here!” Saldur shoved a parchment in Amilia’s face. A few lines of uneven text were scrawled across it. “Make Modina learn this and have her reciting it on the balcony in one hour—
exactly
as written!”

Wheeling to leave, he opened the door.

“No,” Amilia said softly.

Saldur froze. Slowly, he closed the door and turned around. He glared at her. “What did you say?”

“I won’t ask Modina to lie about Sir Breckton. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” She looked at the parchment and read aloud, “ ‘My loyal subjects…’ ” She skipped down. “ ‘… found evidence… Sir Breckton and Sir Hadrian… guilty of treason against the empire… committed the vilest crime both to man and god and must pay for their evil.’ ” Amilia looked up. “I won’t ask her to read this.”

“How dare you.” Saldur rose to his full height and glowered down at her.

“How dare
you
?” she retorted defiantly. “Sir Breckton is a great man. He is loyal, considerate, kind, honora—”

Saldur struck Amilia hard across the face, sending her to the floor. Nimbus started to move to her but stopped short. Saldur ignored him.

“You were a scullery girl! Or have you forgotten? I
made
you! Have you enjoyed pretending to be a lady? Did you like
wearing fine dresses and riding off to the hunt, where knights fawned all over you? I’m sure you did, but don’t let your feelings for Breckton go to your head. This is no game and you should know better. I understand you’re upset. I understand you like the man. But none of this matters. I am building an
empire
here! The fate of future generations is in our hands. You can’t toss that aside because you have a crush on someone you think looks dashing in a suit of armor. You want a knight? I’ll arrange for you to have any knight in the kingdom. I promise. I can even arrange a marriage with a crown prince, if that is what you wish. How’s that? Is that
grand
enough for you, Amilia? Would you like to be a queen? Done. What matters right now is that we keep the empire from crumbling. I’ve given you power because I admire your cunning. But
this
is not negotiable. Not this time.

“There might only be a few hundred rioters out there now,” Saldur said, pointing to her window, “but word will spread and in a day or two we could be facing a civil war! Do you want that? Do you want to force me to send the army out to slaughter hundreds of citizens? Do you want to see the city set on fire? I will not have it. Do you hear me?”

Saldur grew angrier and more animated as his tirade continued. “I like you, Amilia. You’ve served me well. You’re smarter than any ten nobles, and I honestly plan to see you rewarded handsomely for your service. I’m serious about making you a queen. I will need loyal, intelligent monarchs governing the imperial provinces. You’ve proved I can count on you and that you can think for yourself. I value such qualities. I admire your spirit, but not
this
time. You will obey me, Amilia, or by Maribor’s name, I’ll have you executed with the rest!”

Amilia shook. Her lower lip trembled even as she clenched her jaw. Still clutching the paper, she balled her hands into
tight fists and breathed deeply as she tried to control herself. “Then you’d better order another stake for the bonfire,” she said, tearing the parchment in two.

He glared at her for a moment longer and then threw open the door and two seret entered. “Take her!”

J
asper was back.

Arista lay on her side, face flat against the stone. She heard the rat skittering somewhere in the dark. The sound sent chills through her.

Everything hurt from lying on the floor. Worst of all, her feet and hands were numb nearly all the time now. Occasionally, Arista woke to the feel of her leg moving—the only indication that Jasper was eating her foot. Horrified, she would try to kick only to find her effort barely shifted her leg. She was too weak.

No food had arrived for a very long time, and Arista wondered how many days ago they had stopped feeding her. She was so feeble that even breathing took concentrated effort. The coming flames were now a welcome thought. That fate would be better than this slow death, being eaten alive by a rat she called by name.

Terrible ideas assailed her exhausted, unguarded mind.

How long will it take for a single rat to eat me? How long will I stay conscious? Will he remain content to gnaw off my foot, or once he realizes I can no longer resist, will he go for softer meat? Will I be alive when he eats my eyes?

Shocked to realize there were worse things than burning alive, Arista hoped Saldur had not forgotten her. She found herself straining, listening for the sounds of the guards and praying to Maribor that they would arrive soon. If she had the strength, Arista would gladly light the pyre herself.

She heard pattering, scratching on the floor, tiny nails clicking. Her heart fluttered at the sounds. Jasper was moving toward her head. She waited.

Patter, patter, patter—
he came closer.

She tried to raise a hand, but it did not respond. She tried to raise her head, but it was too heavy.

Patter, patter, patter—
closer still.

Arista could hear Jasper sniffing, smelling. He had never come this close to her face before. She waited—helpless. Nothing happened for several minutes. Starting to fall asleep, she stopped herself from drifting off. She did not want to be unconscious with Jasper so close. There was nothing she could do to keep him from feeding, but being awake was somehow better than not knowing.

When a minute had passed with no further noise, Arista thought the rat might have moved away. The sound of sharp teeth clicking told her Jasper was right next to her ear. He sniffed again and she felt him touch her hair. As the rat tugged, Arista began to cry, but she had no tears to weep.

Rumble.

Arista had not heard the sound in quite some time. The stone-on-stone grinding told her the door to the prison was opening.

There were sounds of gruff voices and several sets of footsteps.

Tink-tink!

Guards, but others were with them, others with softer shoes—boots perhaps? One walked; the other staggered.

“Put ’em in numbers four and five,” a guard ordered.

More steps. A cell door opened. There was a scuffle and then the door slammed. More steps and the sound of a burden dragged across the stone. They came closer and closer but stopped just short of her door.

Another cell opened. The burden dropped—a painful grunt.

Tink-tink.

The guards went back out and sealed them in. It was only a deposit. There would be no food, no water, no help, not even the salvation of an execution.

Arista continued to lie there. The noise had not scared Jasper away. She could hear him breathing near her head. In a moment or two, the rat would resume his meal. She began to sob again.

“Arista?”

She heard the voice but quickly concluded she had only imagined it. For the briefest moment she thought it was—

“Arista, it’s Hadrian. Are you there?”

She blinked and rocked her head side to side on the stone floor.

What is this? A trick? A demon of my own making? Has my mind consumed itself at last?

“Arista, can you hear me?”

The voice sounded so real.

“Ha—Hadrian?” she whispered in a voice so faint she feared he would not hear.

“Yes!”

“What are you doing here?” Her words came out as little more than puffs of air.

“I came to save you. Only I’m not doing very well.”

There was the sound of tearing cloth.

Nothing made sense. Like all dreams, this one was both silly and wonderful.

“I messed up. I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be…” she said to the dream, her voice cracking. “It means a lot… that you… that anyone tried.”

“Don’t cry,” he said.

“How long until… my execution?”

There was a long pause.

“Please…” she begged. “I don’t think I can stand this much longer. I want to die.”

“
Don’t say that!
” The dungeon boomed with his voice. The sudden outburst sent Jasper skittering away. “Don’t you
ever
say that.”

There was another long pause. The prison grew silent once more, but Jasper did not return.

The tower was swaying. She looked under the bed, but still she couldn’t find the brush. How was that possible? They were all there except the first one. It was the most important. She had to have it.

Standing up, she accidently caught sight of her reflection in the swan mirror. She was thin, very thin. Her eyes had sunk into their sockets like marbles in pie dough. Her cheeks were hollow, and her lips stretched tight over bone, revealing rotted teeth. Her hair was brittle and falling out, leaving large bald areas on her pale white skull. Her mother stood behind her with a sad face, shaking her head.

“Mother, I can’t find the brush!” she cried.

“It won’t matter soon,” her mother replied gently. “It’s almost over.”

“But the tower is falling. Everything is breaking and I have to find it. It was just here. I know it was. Esrahaddon told me I needed to get it. He said it was under the bed, but it’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere and time is running out. Oh, Mother, I’m not going to find it in time, am I? It’s too late. It’s too late!”

Arista woke. She opened her eyes, but there was no light to indicate a difference. She still lay on the stone. There was no tower. There were no brushes, and her mother was long dead. It was all just a dream.

“Hadrian… I’m so scared,” she said to the darkness. There was no answer. He had been part of the dream too. Her heart sank in the silence.

“Arista, it will be all right.” She heard his voice again.

“You’re a dream.”

“No. I’m here.”

His voice sounded strained.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Just tired. I was up late and—” He grunted painfully.

“Wrap the wounds tight,” another man said. Arista did not recognize him. This voice was strong, deep, and commanding. “Use your foot as leverage.”

“Wounds?” she asked.

“It’s nothing. The guards just got a bit playful,” Hadrian told her.

“Are you bleeding badly?” the other voice asked.

“I’m getting it under control… I think… Hard to tell in the dark. I’m… feeling a bit dizzy.”

The dungeon’s entrance opened again and once more there was the sound of feet.

“Put her in eight,” a guard said.

The door to Arista’s cell opened and the light of the guard’s torch blinded her. She could barely make out Lady Amilia’s face.

“Eight’s taken,” the guard shouted down the corridor.

“Oh yeah, number eight gets emptied tomorrow. Don’t worry about it, for one night they can share.”

The guard shoved the secretary inside and slammed the door, casting them into darkness.

“Oh dear Novron!” Amilia cried.

Arista could feel her kneeling beside her, stroking her hair.

“Dear Maribor, Ella! What have they done to you?”

“Amilia?” the deep voice called out.

“Sir Breckton! Yes, it’s me!”

“But—why?” the knight asked.

“They wanted me to make Modina denounce you. I refused.”

“Then the empress knew nothing? This is not her will?”

“Of course not. Modina would never agree to such a thing. It was all Saldur’s and Ethelred’s doing. Oh, poor Ella, you’re so thin and hurt. I’m so sorry.”

Arista felt fingers brushing her cheek gently and realized she had not heard Hadrian in a long time. “Hadrian?”

She waited. There was no response.

“Hadrian?” she called again, fearful this time.

“Ella—er—Arista, calm down,” Amilia said.

Arista felt her stomach tighten as she realized just how important it was to hear his voice, to know he was still alive. She was terrified he would not speak again. “Had—”

“I’m… here,” he said. His voice was weak and labored.

“Are you all right?” Arista asked.

“Mostly, but drifting in and out.”

“Has the bleeding stopped?” Breckton asked.

“Yeah… I think.”

As the night wore on, Modina could still hear them—voices shouting in anger and crying out in rage. There must be hundreds, perhaps thousands, by then. Merchants, farmers, sailors, butchers, and road menders all shouted with one voice.
They beat on the gate. She could hear the pounding. Earlier, Modina had seen smoke rising just outside the walls. In the darkness she could see the flicker of torches and bonfires.

What is burning? An effigy of the regents? The gate itself? Maybe it is just cook fires to feed all of them while they camp.

Modina sat at the window and listened to the wails the cold wind brought her.

The door to her bedroom burst open. She knew who was there before turning around.

“Get up, you little idiot! You’re going to make a speech to calm the people.”

Regent Saldur crossed the dim chamber with Nimbus in tow. He held out a parchment toward Nimbus.

“Take this and have her read it.”

Nimbus slowly approached the regent and bowed. “Your Grace, I—”

“We don’t have time for foolishness!” Saldur exploded. “Just make her read it.”

The regent paced with intensity while Nimbus hurriedly lit a candle.

“Why is there no guard at this door?” Saldur asked. “Do you have any idea what could happen if someone else had waltzed up here? Have soldiers stationed as soon as we leave or I’ll find someone
else
to replace Amilia.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Nimbus brought over the candle and said, “His Grace respectfully requests that—”

“Damn you.” Saldur took the parchment from Nimbus. He brought it over and held it so close to Modina’s face that she could not have read it even if she had known how. “
Read it!
”

Modina did not respond.

“You spoke well enough for Amilia. You always speak for
her
. You even opened your mouth when I threatened her for
letting you play with that damn dog. Well, how’s this, my little empress? You get out there and read this—clearly and accurately—or I will have your sweet little Amilia executed tomorrow along with the rest. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve already sent her to the dungeon.”