Wintertide (29 page)

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!”

Chapter 17
The Final Darkness

Jasper 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, 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 sound 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 sound. 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. When she started to fall asleep, Arista stopped herself. 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 closed. 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 a 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, 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 was 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 closed, 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.”

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 now. Merchants, farmers, sailors, butchers, and road menders all shouted with one voice. They beat on the gate. She could hear the pounding. Earlier, Modina saw smoke rising from 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 knew 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.”

Modina remained as unmoving as a statue.

Saldur struck her across the face. She rocked back but made no sound. Not a hand rose in defense. She did not flinch or blink. A tear of blood dripped from her lip.

“You insane little bitch!” He hit her again.

Once more, she showed no notice, no fear, no pain.

“I’m not certain she can even hear you, Your Grace,” Nimbus offered. “Her Eminence has been known to go into a kind of trance when overwhelmed.”

Saldur stared at the girl and sighed. “Very well then. If the crowd doesn’t disperse by morning, we’ll send out the army to cut us a path to the cathedral. But the wedding
will
go on as scheduled and then we can finally be rid of her.”

Saldur turned and left.

Nimbus paused to set the candle on Modina’s table. “I’m so very sorry,” he whispered before following the regent from the room.

The door closed.

Cool air on her face soothed the heat left by Saldur’s hand.

“You can come out now,” Modina said.

Mince crawled out from under the bed. He was pale in the light of the single flame.

“I’m sorry you had to hide, but I didn’t want you to get into trouble. I knew he would be coming.”

“It’s okay. Are you cold? Do you want the robe?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be nice.”

Mince crawled back under the bed and pulled out the shimmering cloth. He shook it a few times before gently draping it over her shoulders.

“Why do you sit next to this window? It’s awfully chilly and the stone is hard.”

“You can sit on the bed if you like,” she said.

“I know, but why do
you
sit here?”

“It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve done for so very long now.”

There was a pause.

“He hit you,” Mince said.

“Yes.”

“Why did you let him?”

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. Soon it will all be over. Tomorrow is Wintertide.”

They sat in silence for several minutes. She kept her eyes on the city reflected by the flickering fires beyond her window. Behind her, Mince shifted and fidgeted occasionally, but he did not speak.

Eventually Modina said, “I want you to do something for me.”