Gwen looked back at the tavern. “It will take years to make it really presentable. I’ll need to rip out whole floors and still I wonder if I will ever manage to clean the memories of Grue and Stane from it.”
“Make it too pretty and you’ll have to change the name,” Hadrian said, grabbing his horse.
“Oh, I plan to change the name. I won’t own a place called The Hideous Head.”
“What are you gonna call it?” Hadrian asked.
“The Rose,” she told him, and this caused a round of smiles. “I was thinking of clearing out that old kitchen storage room for you and Royce. It’s back away from the public rooms. You could talk business there. Store your gear if you like. I’ll watch over you as I did when we first met.”
“How much?” Royce asked.
“How much, what?”
Royce approached her. “How much rent will you charge?”
Gwen looked stunned. “I won’t charge you rent.”
“That’s not smart.”
Gwen pivoted around the crutch with two petite hops to face him full-on. “I couldn’t have bought the certificate to the tavern without you. If you hadn’t come-” She looked away and took a breath. “If you hadn’t come, Grue would have driven me out of business, or worse, and I honestly think it would have been the or worse. And who knows how many more Avons and Roses there would have been.” She placed a small hand on his chest. “You changed everything. And I owe you that-how could I charge?”
“Okay, fine. You’ll get a percentage.”
“I don’t want a percentage. Honestly, I’m offering the use of the room in the selfish hope it will keep you coming back.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Hadrian told her with a wink.
Royce wanted to stab him, but then noticed her smile, and … was she turning red? “There’s a risk to hosting thieves,” he said quickly. “You could be arrested, have your holdings taken, your hands cut off, for Maribor’s sake. I won’t let you take that risk without payment. As long as we work out of your tavern, you’ll get a cut of what we make.”
“But I-”
“I won’t stay otherwise.”
She had her mouth open but slowly closed it. He longed to wipe away the smudge on her cheek. His hand moved partway before he caught himself. What is it about her that makes me feel I can do such a thing?
“You’ll stay? You’ll live here?”
Royce glanced at Hadrian and shrugged, trying his best to sound casual. “Be nice to have a safe place to come back to. But I insist you take a cut.”
Hadrian chuckled. “If this is going to be Royce’s permanent home, maybe you should call it The Rose and the Thorn.”
Royce glared, but Gwen beamed. “I think I will. Yes, The Rose and the Thorn. It has a ring, don’t you think?”
“Oh good, I caught you!” Albert came out of the House wrapping a robe about him and squinting at the bright sky.
“It’s midmorning Winslow,” Royce growled. “You’re starting to act like a real noble.”
“Thank you. I’m putting weight back on too. Now if I could only afford a decent coat I-”
“What did you want?” Royce asked, pulling himself up on his mount and snapping his cloak behind him.
“There’s a party at Lord Harrington’s tomorrow night that I thought I should attend.”
“Uh-uh. Next outfit comes out of your share of the profit.”
“It’s not money. I was thinking that, well, I should call you two something. It’s awkward to explain that I know two men who can arrange for things to happen. It sounds amateurish and I can’t hope to establish referrals that way. I need a title, something people can remember, but of course nothing that would lead anyone to you. I don’t want to use the word thieves either. The people I deal with won’t like that. So I was thinking of giving you a name. How about the Two Phantoms or Specters-something like that?”
“The Two Phantoms?” Hadrian asked skeptically.
Gwen shook her head. “You need something special, something unique. Something short.”
“How about Riyria?” Hadrian said, climbing onto his horse.
Royce smirked.
“Arcadius was right after all, don’t you think?”
Royce shrugged. “Just don’t tell him that.”
“Who was right-about what?” the viscount asked.
“Nothing, Albert.”
“So I’m to call you Rye-ear-ah? Is that correct?”
“Good enough,” Royce said as he and Hadrian turned their horses.
Albert pursed his lips. “Well, I don’t think it’s as good as Phantoms, but it’s something I guess.”
“It’s perfect,” Gwen said.
“See you soon.” Royce waved and began to ride down Wayward Street.
“Wait! What is it?” Albert called. “What is Riyria? What does it mean?”
“It’s elvish … for two.”
CHAPTER 25
Did anyone see you come in?” Bishop Saldur asked, stepping back and opening the path to the coatrack. From the snow his guest was covered in, the bishop assumed it was still snowing.
“No, but is it a crime to visit a church?”
“Not yet, and with Novron’s help, it never will be.”
Two weeks had passed since the fire, but still Saldur had nightmares of the king drawing that sword of his. How dare he threaten a bishop of the church! His actions only showed how far Melengar had slipped into the mire of godless monarchy. This was the trouble reaped when men set themselves up as rulers-when they claimed a throne reserved for Novron’s seed.
Saldur sat down and leaned back in his desk chair. He was the bishop of Melengar, and Mares Cathedral was bestowed to his care by the Patriarch and the archbishop of Avryn, but he spent most of his time in that tiny, cramped room at that miserable desk. It wasn’t the life he’d imagined for himself when he took his vows.
“Novron was of little help this time.”
“Have more faith.” Saldur scowled. The bishop was used to disappointments. The church had a long history of waiting. For others a minor setback always felt like the end of the world. They just couldn’t understand the scope. Everyone saw themselves as the hero of their story, as if the world rotated around them. Saldur knew the truth. Such impressions were only arrogance. Individuals never managed any kind of lasting change. Real change had to be built over generations. The church worked like drops of water on granite; the impossible was achievable only through sacrifice and time.
This just wasn’t the time.
“It’s still early,” Saldur said, putting his feet up on the velvet stool before the little fireplace. “Eventually all the kings’ heads will fall.”
“What of Exeter’s killer? And that girl-Rose-who hired him? They’re still out there-still know about us.”
“They know about me,” Saldur corrected. “No one knows about you. No one could ever suspect you-not now, not after how things turned out. And I wouldn’t worry about Exeter’s killer. He’s likely some hired thug or lovesick puppy who she enchanted with those wicked eyes. Even I was taken in by her apparent innocence. He and Rose are likely long gone. I don’t expect to hear from them again.”
“What about Richard Hilfred?”
Saldur almost laughed, but laughter was unbecoming a bishop in the office of his church. Instead he raised an eyebrow. “The man is dead. What’s there to worry about?”
“He might have told others.”
“No. Richard was a solitary soul, closed off to the world. He didn’t trust anyone. That was why I chose him. He blamed the king for his lover’s death, and I knew he was an ambitious man. No real loyalty in him either. Anyone could see that. I merely showed him the path he wanted to take.”
“And gave him the blessing of the church. Knowing Novron is on your side always eases one’s conscience, even when plotting murder.”