Royce reached inside the folds of his cloak and drew his knife.
I told you, he pictured telling Arcadius, he fell to his death just as I said he would. At least that wouldn’t be a lie.
The rope supporting Hadrian was tied to the merlon, twisting and sliding with Hadrian’s pendulum weight. Royce reached out with his knife and Alverstone’s blade caught the moonlight. The dagger shined its pale white light, nearly blinding him. It was a good dagger-a great dagger-but at that moment he wished for any other.
Royce shook his head, annoyed with himself. I only promised not to kill the old man. But that thought didn’t change the brilliance of the blade in his hand. He’d made a bargain with the only person who had ever mattered. It was stupid. The man was dead. It made no sense to keep a promise to a ghost. Royce had managed to block out most of his memories of Manzant prison, but the dagger was in his hand-a parting gift from a man who had saved more than just his life and asked but one small favor. Royce had cut dozens of necks with that white blade and never thought twice, but he couldn’t cut this one lousy rope.
It’s my payment, Royce, he remembered Arcadius saying.
And that’s it? After that I’m through with both of you?
Yes. But I will hold you to an honest attempt-a fair treatment. You can’t set him up to fail.
Royce sighed, sheathed the dagger, and got to his feet.
After the book has been delivered, I’m free of all vows.
A smile replaced the scowl. On the way out he would send Hadrian down first-and then he would untie the bloody rope if he had to. With any luck, someone below would hear him scream and draw attention to his body. Royce would descend the other side of the tower-the side nearest the exit, and disappear as planned. It would have worked better if they could find the journal on him. Royce berated himself again for being a fool.
When mentally scolding himself grew tiresome, and Hadrian still hadn’t reached the top, Royce had nothing else to do but sit back and look at the view. Of all places, he loved a good roof. The higher the better, and none had ever been higher than this. The air smelled fresher, the moon felt closer, and humanity was farther away. He leaned against the merlon, listening to Hadrian’s grunts while overhead the stars sparkled even though clouds were quickly moving in. A storm was on the way. That was good. Clouds meant a darker night. A storm would hamper any search. Royce wasn’t used to luck going his way, but it appeared as if Novron was smiling on him.
Given his love of altitude, Royce found it ironic that most of his life had been spent in the gutter. All that could change now. He was done with cities. Nothing to go back to-he had made certain of that. He hadn’t just burned bridges; he had obliterated them in apocalyptic fashion. Only one more tie to cut, and he was severing it tonight. In an odd way he felt as much regret as pleasure. He would be on his own again, but he would also be alone.
I work best alone.
Royce wanted to believe that, but even after all that had happened, he still missed Merrick.
Back in his early days, when he was new to the city of Colnora, he had met Merrick. They were both new inductees to the Black Diamond thieves’ guild. Merrick had started life better off than Royce-most people had. He had parents of means, not that they were still speaking to him by then, but they had raised their son, educating the boy with the hope he might follow his father’s example and become a magistrate. Merrick chose a different path.
The guild paired Royce with Merrick to learn the city, but Merrick was always an overachiever. Royce was his pet project, and his new partner proceeded to instruct him on everything. He taught Royce letters, numbers, and the most reliable escape routes and safe houses. He also introduced him to his first bottle of stolen Montemorcey, shared one night on a rooftop. Doing so ruined Royce for any other drink and made high places his altar.
Royce had known nothing of the world and Merrick became his guide. Little wonder they turned out to be so much alike, kindred spirits in motives and attitudes. Royce had never known his family, and Merrick soon became the brother he never had. The two would still be terrorizing the streets, alleys, and rooftops of Colnora if only Merrick hadn’t betrayed Royce and sent him to prison. The betrayal proved that no one could be trusted. People looked out for themselves. Not even the slightest act was ever without some form of perceived benefit to the person making it. Even kindness was the result of a desire for respect or admiration in the eyes of those helped. This was another lesson Merrick had taught Royce, and Merrick knew everything. When the noose pulled tight, when the wind blew cold, anyone-no matter who-looked out for themselves.
As he thought this, Royce felt a tremor on the wooden walk circling the crown. It wasn’t Hadrian; he was still climbing.
The rising wind?
Possible, but he didn’t like it. He had been lucky, but Royce was cynical by nature, and gods he knew to be fickle. He struggled to listen, but the same wind was howling and at that moment Hadrian finally pulled himself over the lip of the crenel, where he collapsed, panting on the walkway. Royce removed his harness and gestured for Hadrian to do the same. Once done, he pointed to the right, indicating their direction. The window he had entered last time was halfway around the tower. All he needed Hadrian to do now was follow him. Concerned about the vibration on the walkway, he wasted no time getting started.
He didn’t trot although he wanted to. If the vibration was the result of footfalls, he didn’t want to send a return message. Still, he moved with urgency, peering ahead and watching the bend for signs of anyone.
Different.
Previously there had been no patrol on the parapet, but he had rattled the beehive with his last visit. Had they found the horses? Had someone in the city spotted Hadrian blundering through the streets? Had they seen all the rope he was carrying and made an educated guess? They could have determined Royce’s previous method of entry. Steps may have been taken. Still, he needed only minutes. Royce reached the window-still unlocked. Is that good or bad? He pushed the panes in and entered. Dark, but not entirely silent, he could hear breathing. Creeping inside he found no one. The room was as empty as before. The breathing came from an outer chamber. Moving forward, he found a priest seated on a bench breathing heavily. The stairs were nearby and the priest’s waistline indicated he might be unaccustomed to climbing.
The priest was a minor annoyance. He had his back to the window and panted so loudly, he invited a throat slitting. Royce pulled out his dagger and inched forward.
A heartbeat later Hadrian blundered in behind both. A moment after that, the priest turned-and screamed.
The priest’s scream was cut short by Royce, but while it lasted, the piercing wail had been loud.
“Drop the book and run for the rope!” Royce told Hadrian. “We’re done. You’re on your own.”
Royce passed him and was out the window before Hadrian could respond, not that he had much to say, beyond, “Okay.”
Hadrian did as instructed. He withdrew Hall’s Journal and set it on the bench beside where the priest had fallen into a pool of blood. Then he climbed back out the window. Royce was nowhere to be seen. He might have run left or right, he had no idea, nor did it seem important at that moment. Hadrian ran to the right, back the way he had come.
Royce was leaving him behind. Hadrian could never hope to catch up; the man was too fast, too agile. He would already be over the side, rappelling down the tower long before Hadrian reached the rope. With the wind roaring in his face, and while still struggling to catch his breath after the climb, Hadrian reduced his run to a trot.