“What’s that?”
“A bit ago you mentioned a man taught you about elvish words. Who was he?”
“Oh,” Royce said, wriggling his toes again. “I met him in prison. He was perhaps the first real friend I ever had.”
This caught Hadrian’s attention. Royce had never spoken of his time in Manzant before, and because he knew everyone Royce had ever called a friend, except one, he took a guess. “He was the one who gave you Alverstone.”
“Yes,” Royce said.
“Who was he?” the dwarf asked. “How did he come by it? Was he a guard?”
“No, an inmate like me.”
“How did he smuggle a dagger in?”
“I asked him the same thing,” Royce said. “He told me he didn’t.”
“What? He found it? Digging in the salt mine? He uncovered that treasure down there?”
“Maybe, but that’s not what he told me, and he wasn’t the type to lie. He said he made it himself-made it for me. He told me I would need it.” Royce looked off thoughtfully. “When I was locked away, I swore to myself never to trust anyone again. Then I met him. I would have died in my first month if I hadn’t. He kept me alive. He had absolutely no reason-no reason at all-but he did. He taught me things: how to survive in the mine, where to dig and where not to, when to sleep and when to pretend to. He taught me some mathematics, reading, history, and even a bit of elvish. He never once asked for anything in return.
“One day I was hauled out before Ambrose Moor, to meet an old man named Arcadius who called himself a wizard. He offered to buy my freedom if I did a special job for him-the Crown Tower robbery, as it turned out.” Royce looked at Hadrian. “I said I would do it if he also paid for the release of my friend. Arcadius refused. So I pretended to go along just to get out. I told my friend that when I got clear of the prison, I would slit the old man’s throat, steal his money, and return to buy his freedom.”
“What changed your mind?” Hadrian asked.
“He did. He made me promise not to kill Arcadius or Ambrose Moor-it was the only thing he ever asked of me. It was then that he gave me Alverstone and said goodbye.”
“You never went back?”
“I did. A year later I had plenty of coin and planned to buy him, but Ambrose told me he died. They threw his body in the sea like all the others.” Royce flexed his hands. “I never had the chance to thank him.”
Hours went by. Like the others, Hadrian lay on the floor drifting into and out of sleep. He dreamed he fought beside his father against shadowy creatures who were trying to kill the emperor-who looked vaguely like Alric. In another dream, he sat in the burned-out shell of The Rose and Thorn with Gwen and Albert, waiting for Royce, but Royce was late-very late. Gwen was frightened something awful had happened, and he assured her Royce could take care of himself. “Nothing,” he told her, “absolutely nothing, can keep Royce from your side, not even death.”
He woke up groggy and tired, as if he had not slept at all. The cold floor punished his muscles, leaving him stiff and sore. The air grew thin, or at least Hadrian thought so. It was not hard to breathe, but it did feel as if he were sleeping with his head under a blanket.
How much is real and how much imagination? Is the flame in the lantern dwindling?
Everyone was sleeping, Gaunt in his corner, Magnus against the wall-even Myron was asleep, surrounded by scrolls. The princess lay curled up on her side, near the center of the room. She too was asleep, her eyes closed, head on hands, her face revealed by the lantern light. She was not as young as she once had been and no longer looked like a girl. Her face was longer, her cheeks less round, and there were small lines around her mouth and eyes. Smudges of dirt streaked her face. Her lips were chapped and dark circles formed under her eyes. Her hair was a mess. The lack of a brush left her with snarls and mats. She was beautiful, he thought, not despite these things, but because of them. Looking at her made him feel terrible. She believed in him-counted on him-and he had failed her. He had also failed Thrace and even her father. Hadrian had promised Theron that he would watch after his daughter and keep her safe. He had even failed his own father, who had left him this one last chance to bring meaning to his life.
He sighed, and as he did, he noticed Royce was not among the sleeping. The thief was not even in the room. Getting up, Hadrian stepped into the hallway and found him sitting in the dark a few feet from the mound of stones piled over Thranic’s body. He could barely see Royce, as so little of the lantern light spilled into the corridor.
Hadrian let his back slap against the corridor wall and slid down to the floor to sit beside his friend.
“I’ve finally figured it out,” Royce said.
“What, the perfect career for us? Not spelunking, I hope?”
Royce looked at him and smirked. Hadrian could see his friend only by the single shaft of light that crossed the bridge of his nose and splashed his left cheek.
“No. I realized that the key is you- you can’t die.”
“I’m liking this so far-I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’s starting out good.”
“Well, think about it. This can’t be the end because you can’t die. That’s the whole thing right there.”
“Are you planning on making sense anytime soon?”
“It’s Gwen, remember? She said I had to save your life, right? She was adamant about it. Only I haven’t. Ever since she sent us out to search for Merrick, I’ve never once saved your life. So either she was wrong or we’re missing something. And as you know, Gwen has never been wrong. We must be missing something and now I know what it is. This is it. This is where I save your life.”
“That’s wonderful, only how are you going to do that, pray tell?”
“Our second plan-I’m the diversion.”
“What?” Hadrian said, feeling like Royce had just hit him.
“I’ll draw the beast’s attention just like Millie did in Dahlgren and you run, get the sword, and slay it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. It makes perfect sense.”
“You do remember what happened to Millie, right?”
“Yes,” he said simply. The single word issuing out of the darkness sounded like a verdict. “But don’t you see? This is what I’m supposed to do. I’ve even considered if this was why she died. Maybe Gwen knew everything. She knew we could not go off and make a life together because I needed to be here to sacrifice myself. Maybe that’s why she was on the bridge that night, maybe she went to her death for me-or rather for you and everyone else, but at least so that I could have the strength to die for you.”
“That’s a whole lot of ifs and maybes, Royce.”
“Maybe,” he said.
There was a pause.
“But it has to be,” Royce went on. “We know she had the sight. We know she knew the future. We know she planned for it, and that she said I would save your life. She knew that without me you would die, and from your death a horrible thing would occur. So if I save you now, we still have a chance to get the horn.”
“But what if the future changed? What if we did something in the meantime to alter it?”
“I don’t think it works that way. I don’t think you can alter the future. If you could, she would have seen that.”
“I don’t know,” Hadrian replied, finding it hard to discuss rationally the virtues of Royce’s killing himself.
“Okay, let me put it this way,” Royce said. “Can you think of any other way out of here?”
Hadrian was starting to feel a little sick, the air harder to breathe than before.
“So your plan is to draw it away and keep it occupied while I run for the sword?”
“Yep, you get the sword and kill it. I think I can buy you at least two minutes, but I’m hoping for as much as five. More than that I think is dreaming. After five minutes of dodging it, I will get tired and it will get frustrated to the point of using fire. I can’t dodge that. Still, even two minutes should be plenty of time to cross that room and find the sword.”