Wintertide (6 page)

***

Amilia noticed that Viscount Winslow was less formal when away from the duchess. He greeted each performer warmly, and those not selected were dismissed with respect and good humor. He knew exactly what was required, and the auditions proceeded quickly under his guidance. All told, they selected twenty acts: one for each of the pre-wedding feasts, three for the Eve’s Eve banquet, and five for the wedding reception. The viscount even picked four more, just in case of illness or injury.

Amilia was grateful for the viscount’s help. As much as she had grown to rely on Nimbus, he had no experience with event planning. Originally, the courtier had been hired as the empress’s tutor, but it had been quite some time since he educated Modina on poise or protocol. Such skills were not required, as Modina never left her room. Instead, Nimbus became the secretary to the secretary, Amilia’s right hand. He knew how to get things done in a royal court whereas Amilia had no clue.

From his years of service for the nobles in Rhenydd, Nimbus mastered the subtle language of manipulation. He tried to explain the nuances of this skill to Amilia, but she was a poor student. From time to time he corrected her for doing foolish things, such as bowing to the chamberlain, thanking a steward, or standing in the presence of others, which forced them to remain on their feet. Almost every success she had in the palace was because of Nimbus’s coaching. A more ambitious man would resent her taking the credit, but Nimbus always offered his counsel in a kind and helpful manner.

Sometimes, when Amilia caught herself doing something particularly stupid, or when she blushed from embarrassment, she noticed Nimbus would invariably spill something on himself or trip on a carpet. Once he even fell halfway down a flight of stairs. For a long while, Amilia thought he was extremely clumsy, but recently she had begun to suspect Nimbus might be the most agile person she had ever met.

The hour was late and Amilia hurried toward the empress’s chamber. Gone were the days when she spent nearly every minute in Modina’s company. Her responsibilities kept her busy, but she never retired without checking in on the empress, who was still her closest friend.

Rounding a corner, she bumped headlong into a man.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, feeling more than a little foolish for walking with her head down.

“Oh no, My Lady,” the man replied. “It is I who must apologize for standing as a roadblock. Please, forgive me.”

Amilia did not recognize him, but there were so many new faces at the palace these days. He was tall and stood straight with his shoulders squared. His face was closely shaved and his hair neatly trimmed. Based on his bearing and clothing, he was undoubtedly a noble. He was dressed well, but unlike many of the Wintertide guests, his outfit was subdued.

“It’s just that I am a bit confused,” he said, looking around.

“Are you lost?” she asked.

He nodded. “I know my way in forests and fields. I can pinpoint my whereabouts by the use of moon and stars, but for the life of me, I am a total imbecile when trapped within walls of stone.”

“That’s okay; I used to get lost in here all the time. Where are you going?”

“I’ve been staying in the knights’ wing at my lord’s request, but I stepped outside for a walk and can’t find my way back to my quarters.”

“You’re a soldier then?”

“Yes, forgive me. My stupidity is without end.” He stepped back and bowed formally. “Sir Breckton of Chadwick, son of Lord Belstrad, at your service, My Lady.”

“Oh!
You’re
Sir Breckton?”

Appearances never impressed Amilia, but Breckton was perfect. He was exactly what she expected a knight should be: handsome, refined, strong, and just as Lady Genevieve had described—dashing. For the first time since coming to the palace, she wished she were pretty.

“Indeed, I am. You’ve heard of me then…For good or ill?”

“Good, most certainly. Why just—” She stopped herself and felt her face blush.

Concern furrowed his brow. “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable? I am terribly sorry if I—”

“No, no, not at all. I’m just being silly. To be honest, I never heard of you until today, and then…”

“Then?”

“It’s embarrassing,” she admitted, feeling even more flustered by his attention.

The knight’s expression turned serious. “My Lady, if someone has dishonored me, or harmed you through the use of my name—”

“Oh, no! Nothing as terrible as all that. It was the Duchess of Rochelle, and she said…”

“Yes?”

Amilia cringed. “She said I should ask you to carry my favor in the joust.”

“Oh, I see.” He looked relieved. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am not—”

“I know. I know,” she interrupted, preferring not to hear the words. “I would have told her so myself if she ever stopped talking—the woman is a whirlwind. The idea of a knight—any knight—carrying
my
favor is absurd.”

Sir Breckton appeared puzzled. “Why is that?”

“Look at me!” She took a step back, so he could get a full view. “I’m not pretty, and as we both now know, I’m the opposite of graceful. I’m not of noble blood, having been born a poor carriage-maker’s daughter. I don’t think I could hope for the huntsman’s dog to sit beside me at the feast, much less have a renowned knight such as you riding on my behalf.”

Breckton’s eyebrows rose abruptly. “Carriage-maker’s daughter?
You
are
her?
The Lady Amilia of Tarin Vale?”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry.” She placed her hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes. “See, I have all the etiquette of a mule. Yes, I am Amilia.”

Breckton studied her for a long moment. At last he spoke, “You’re the maid who saved the empress?”

“Disappointing, I know.” She waited for him to laugh and insist she could not possibly be the Chosen of Maribor. While Modina’s public declaration helped protect Amilia, it also made her uncomfortable. For a girl who had spent her whole life trying to hide from attention, being famous was difficult. Worse yet, she was a fraud. The story about a divine intervention selecting her to save the empress was a lie, a political fabrication—Saldur’s way of manipulating the situation to his advantage.

To her surprise, the knight did not laugh. He merely asked, “And you think no knight will carry your favor because you are of common blood?”

“Well, that and about a dozen other reasons. I hear the whispers sometimes.”

Sir Breckton dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Please, Lady Amilia, I beseech you. Give me the honor of carrying your token in the joust.”

She just stood there.

The knight looked up. “I’ve offended you, haven’t I? I am too bold! Forgive my impudence. I had no intention to participate, as I deem such contests the unnecessary endangerment of good men’s lives for vanity and foolish entertainment. Now, however, after meeting you, I realize I must compete, for more is at stake. The honor of any lady should be defended and you are no ordinary lady, but rather the Chosen of Maribor. For you, I would slay a thousand men to bring justice to those blackguards who would soil your good name! My sword and lance are yours, dear lady, if you will but grant me your favor.”

Dumbstruck, Amilia did not realize she had agreed until after walking away. She was numb and could not stop smiling for the rest of her trip up the stairs.

***

Reaching Modina’s room, Amilia’s spirits were still soaring. It had been a good day, perhaps the best of her life. She had discovered her family was alive and thriving. The wedding was proceeding under the command of an experienced and gracious man. And a handsome knight had knelt before her and asked for her token. Amilia grasped the latch, excited to share the good news with Modina, but all was forgotten the moment the door swung open.

As usual, Modina sat before the window, dressed in her thin, white nightgown, staring out at the brilliance of the snow in the moonlight. Next to her was a full-length, intricately-carved oval mirror mounted with brass fittings on a beautiful wooden swivel.

“Where did
that
come from?” Amilia asked, shocked.

The empress did not answer.

“How did it get here?”

Modina glanced at the mirror. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? A pity they brought such a nice one. I suppose they wanted to please me.”

Amilia approached the mirror and ran her fingers along the polished edge. “How long have you had it?”

“They brought it in this morning.”

“I’m surprised it survived the day.” Amilia turned her back on the mirror to face the empress.

“I’m in no hurry, Amilia. I still have some weeks yet.”

“So you’ve decided to wait for your wedding?”

“Yes. At first I didn’t think it would matter, but then I realized it could reflect badly on you. If I wait, it will appear to be Ethelred’s fault. Everyone will assume I couldn’t stand the thought of him touching me.”

“Is that the reason?”

“No, I have no feelings about him or anything. Well, except for you. But you’ll be all right.” Modina turned to look at Amilia. “I can’t even cry any more. I never even wept when they captured Arista…not a single tear. I watched the whole thing from this window. I saw Saldur and the seret go in and knew what that meant. They came back out, but she never has. She’s down there right now in that horrible dark place. Just like I once was. When she was here, I had a purpose, but now there is nothing left. It’s time for this ghost to fade away. I have served the regents’ purpose by helping them build the Empire. I’ve given you a better life, and not even Saldur will harm you now. I tried to help Arista, but I failed. Now it’s time for me to leave.”

Amilia knelt down next to Modina, gently drew back the hair from her face, and kissed her cheek. “Don’t speak that way. You were happy once, weren’t you? You can be again.”

Modina shook her head. “A girl named Thrace was happy. She lived with the family she loved in a small village near a river. Surrounded by friends, she played in the woods and fields. That girl believed in a better tomorrow. She looked forward to gifts Maribor would bring. Only instead of gifts, He sent darkness and horror.”

“Modina, there is always room for hope. Please, you must believe.”

“There was one day, when you were getting the clerk to order some cloth, that I saw a man from my past. He was hope. He saved Thrace once. For a moment, one very brief moment, I thought he had come to save me, too, only he didn’t. When he walked away, I knew he was just a memory from a time when I was alive.”

Amilia’s hands found Modina’s and cradled them as she might hold a dying bird. Amilia was having trouble breathing. As her lower lip began to tremble, she looked back at the mirror. “You’re right. It
is
a shame they brought such a pretty one.” She put her arms around Modina and began to cry.

Chapter 5
Footprints in the Snow

Several miles from Medford, Royce saw the smoke and prepared himself for the worst. Crossing the Galewyr used to mean entering the bustling streets of the capital, but on that day, as he raced across the bridge, he found only a charred expanse of blackened posts and scorched stone. The city he had known was gone.

Royce never called anywhere
home
. To him the word meant a mythical place like paradise or fairyland, but Wayward Street had been the closest thing he ever found. A recent snowfall covered the city like a sheet that nature had drawn over a corpse. Not a building remained undamaged, and many were nothing but charcoal and ash. The castle’s gates were shattered, portions of the walls collapsed. Even the trees in Gentry Square were gone.

Medford House, in the Lower Quarter, was a pile of smoldering beams. Nothing remained across the street except a gutted foundation and a burned sign displaying the hint of a rose in blistered paint.

He dismounted and moved to the rubble of the House. Where Gwen’s office used to be, he caught a glimpse of pale fingers beneath a collapsed wall. His legs turned weak and his feet foolish as he stumbled over the wreckage. Smoke caught in his throat, and he drew up the scarf to cover his nose and mouth. Reaching the edge of the wall, he bent and tried to lift it. The edge broke away, but it was enough to reveal what was underneath.

A cream-colored glove.

Royce stepped back from the smoke. Sitting on the blackened porch, he noticed he was shaking. He was unaccustomed to being scared. Over the years, he had given up caring if he lived or died, figuring that a quick demise spared him the pain of living in a world so miserly that it begrudged an orphan boy a life. He had always been ready for death, gambling with it, waging bets against it. Royce had been satisfied in the knowledge that his risks were sound because he had nothing of value to lose—nothing to fear.

Gwen changed everything.

He was an idiot and never should have left her alone.

Why did I wait?

They could have been safe in Avempartha, where only he held the key. The New Empire could beat themselves senseless against its walls and never reach him or his family.

A block away, a noisy flock of crows took flight. Royce stood and listened, hearing voices on the wind. Noticing his horse wandering down the street, he cursed himself for not tying her up. By the time he caught the reins, he spotted a patrol of imperial soldiers passing the charred ruins of Mason Grumon’s place.

“Halt!” the leader shouted.

Royce leapt on his mare and kicked her just as he heard a dull
thwack.
His horse lurched then collapsed with a bolt lodged deep in her flank. Royce jumped free before being crushed. He tumbled in the snow and came up on his feet, his dagger, Alverstone, drawn. Six soldiers hurried toward him. Only one had a crossbow, and he was busy ratcheting the string for his next shot.

Royce turned and ran.

He slipped into an alley filled with debris and vaulted over the shattered remains of the Rose and Thorn. Crossing the sewer near the inn’s stable, he was surprised to find the plank bridge still there. Shouts rose behind him, but they were distant and muffled by the snow. The old feed store was still standing, and with a leap, he caught the lower windowsill on the second story. If they tracked him through the alley, the soldiers would be briefly baffled at his disappearance. That was all the head start Royce needed. Pulling himself to the roof, he crossed it and climbed down the far side. He took one last moment to obscure his tracks before heading west.