At last, Arista understood where she was, what she was seeing.
This is it. This was my home. Go there, dig down, find the tomb, bring forth the horn. Do it, Arista! You must! There is no time left! Everyone will die! Everyone will die! EVERYONE WILL-
Arista woke up screaming.
CHAPTER 3
Get out of the way!” Hadrian shouted, his voice booming through the corridor. He stood just a few feet from the guard glaring at him, breathing on him. The two guards who watched from the end of the hall ran forward. He heard their chain mail jingling, their empty scabbards slapping their thighs. Both stopped short of sword’s length.
“It’s the Teshlor,” one warned in a whisper.
The soldier who blocked the door stood his ground. Hadrian sensed the tension, the fear, the lack of confidence, but he also felt the courage and loyalty that refused to let him waver. He usually respected such qualities in a man, but not this time. This man was merely in his way.
Behind him, a latch lifted and a door creaked. “What’s going on?” a befuddled woman’s voice asked.
Hadrian glanced. It was Amilia. She shuffled forward, wiping her eyes and fumbling with the tie of her robe.
“I need to speak to the empress,” he growled. “Tell them to stand down.”
“It’s the middle of the night!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “You can’t see her. If you want, I’ll try to arrange an appointment in the morning, but I must tell you, Her Eminence is very busy. The news-”
Hadrian’s hands rose and he took hold of his sword grips. The three soldiers tensed and all but the door guard took a step back. The man before him let his own hand settle slowly on his weapon but he did not pull it.
This guard is a cool one, Hadrian thought, and took another half step closer, until their noses nearly touched. “Get out of my way.”
“Hadrian? What are you doing?” This time it was Arista’s voice echoing down the hallway.
“I’m seeking an audience with the empress,” he said through gritted teeth. He broke his stare to turn and see the princess trotting up the fifth-floor corridor. As always these days, she was dressed in Esrahaddon’s robe, which was a dull blue and, at the moment, only reflected the fire of the torches hanging in the wall sconces.
“They have him locked up. They won’t even let me see him,” Hadrian told her.
“Royce?”
“He didn’t want to kidnap the empress, but he would have done anything to get Gwen back. They should give him a medal for killing Saldur and Merrick.” Hadrian sighed. “Gwen died in his arms and he wasn’t thinking straight. He never meant to harm Modina. I found out he’s being held in the north tower. I don’t think Modina even knows. So I’m going to tell her. Don’t try and stop me.”
“I’m not,” she said. “I have to see her as well.”
“What for?”
The princess looked uncomfortable. “I had a bad dream.”
“What?”
“No one is seeing the empress tonight!” Amilia declared. Six more guards arrived, trotting toward them. “I’ll turn out the whole castle regiment if I have to!”
Hadrian glanced at the imperial secretary. “Do you think they’ll stop me?”
“The door has a bolt on the inside,” the door guard said. “Even if you got past us, there’s half a foot of solid oak in your way.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Arista assured them. “But I should warn you, I can’t be responsible for wounds from flying splinters.” Her robe began to glow. It gave off a hazy gray light that slowly brightened, bleaching their faces and weakening the torch-fed shadows. Hadrian noticed a faint breeze in the corridor. A warm wind was rising, swirling around Arista like a tiny cyclone, fluttering the hem of her robe and the ends of her hair.
Amilia stared, horrified.
“Open the door, Amilia, or I’ll remove it.”
Amilia looked as if she might scream.
“Let them in, Gerald.” The voice emanated from the other side of the door.
“Your Eminence?”
“Yes, Gerald. It isn’t locked. Let them in.”
The door guard lifted the latch and gave a push. The door swung inward, revealing the darkness of the imperial bedroom. Amilia said nothing. She was breathing faster than normal, her fists clenched at her sides. Hadrian entered first, with Arista behind, both followed by Amilia and Gerald.
It was cold in the bedroom. The fireplace was dark and the only light came in through the open window in the far wall. To either side, sheer white curtains billowed inward, dancing in the faint moonlight like a pair of ghosts. Dressed in only her nightgown, Empress Modina rested on the floor, looking out at the stars. She sat on her knees, hands in her lap, her shoulders drawn up against the cold. Bare toes poked out from within the pool of white linen that gathered around her. Blonde hair fell down her back in tangles. She appeared much like the girl Hadrian had seen under the Tradesmen’s Arch in Colnora so long ago.
“They arrested Royce,” Hadrian told her. “They’ve locked him in a cell in the tower.”
“I know.”
“You know?” he said incredulously. “How long have-”
“I ordered it.”
Hadrian stared at her, stunned. “Thrace-I mean, Modina,” he said softly. “You don’t understand. He never meant to harm you. He only did what he had to. He was trying to save the person he loved most in the world. How could you do this to him?”
At last she turned. “Have you ever lost the one person in the world that meant everything to you? Did you watch them die, knowing it was your fault?”
Hadrian said nothing.
“When my father was killed,” she continued, looking back out the window, “I remember I found it almost too painful to breathe. I had not just lost my father; it was as if the whole world had died, but somehow I was left behind-alone. I just wanted it to end. I was tired. I wanted the pain to stop. If I had the chance-if they hadn’t taken me away, if they hadn’t locked me up, I would have thrown myself into the falls.” She turned and looked at Hadrian once more. “Believe me. He is well cared for-at least, as much as he will allow. Ibis makes him good meals that he doesn’t eat. Can you think of a better place for Royce right now?”
Hadrian’s shoulders slumped; his arms fell loose at his sides. “Can I at least see him?”
Modina thought a moment. “Yes, but only you. In his present state, he is a danger to anyone else. Still, I’m not sure he will hear you. You can visit him in the morning.” She leaned over so she could see Amilia. “Can you see to it that he has access?”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
“Good,” the empress said, then looked at Arista. “Now what is it that you have that can’t wait until morning?”
The Princess of Melengar stood shifting her feet, folding and refolding her hands before her, the robe a tranquil dark blue. She looked at the empress, then at Hadrian, Amilia, and even Gerald, who stood stiffly just inside the door. When her eyes once more returned to Modina, she said, “I think I know how to stop the elves.”
Hadrian had just descended to the third floor, where several people were returning to their rooms now that all the shouting had died down. He caught a glimpse of Degan Gaunt. The ex-leader of the Nationalists stood in his nightshirt, peering up the steps, both curious and irritated. This was the first time Hadrian had seen the man since the two of them had been released from the dungeon. His neck and nose were narrow, and his lips were so thin they were almost nonexistent. There were creases across his brow and lines about his eyes that spoke of a hard life. Hadrian could tell by the way he carried his weight, and the motions of his body, that he felt awkward, lost in his own skin. He had a faraway look in his eyes, two days’ growth of beard, and a plume of hair that hung out of place. If he had to guess, Hadrian might have pegged him as a poor poet. He seemed nothing like the descendant of emperors.