Percepliquis Part 5

"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 a.s.sured 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.

"What's going on up there?" Gaunt asked a pa.s.sing servant.

"Someone looking to see the empress, sir. It's over now."

Gaunt appeared dubious.

This was not how Hadrian had planned on meeting Gaunt. Hadrian had waited, giving them both time to fully heal. After that, he hesitated out of nerves. He wanted their meeting to go well, to be perfect. This was not perfect, but now that they stood face to face he could hardly walk away.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Gaunt, I am Hadrian Blackwater," he said, introducing himself with a bow.

Degan Gaunt greeted him with his nose crinkled up as if he smelled something bad. He critically observed Hadrian, then frowned. "I thought you'd be taller."

"I'm sorry," Hadrian apologized.

"You're supposed to be my servant, right?" Gaunt asked. He began walking around Hadrian, orbiting him in slow, lazy circles, carrying a frown around with him.

"Actually, I'm your bodyguard."

"How much am I expected to pay for this privilege?"

"I'm not asking for money."

"No? What is it, then? You want me to make you a duke or something? Is that why you're here? Boy, people come out of the woodwork when you've got money and power, I guess. I mean, I don't even know you and here you come begging for privileges before I'm even crowned emperor."

"It's not like that. You're the Heir of Novron; I am the defender of the heir, just like my father before me. It's a... tradition."

"Uh-huh." Gaunt stood slouching, sucking on his teeth for a moment before jamming his pinky finger into his mouth to struggle with something caught between them. After a few minutes, he gave up.

"Okay, here's what I don't get. I'm the heir. That makes me head of the empire, and head of the church. I'm even part G.o.d, if I get that right-great-great-grandson of Maribor or some kind of which or whether. So if I'm gonna be emperor and have a whole castle of guards and an army to protect me, what do I need you for?"

Hadrian didn't say anything. He didn't know what he could say. Gaunt was right. His role as bodyguard was only important so long as the heir was in hiding.

"Well, guarding you is sort of a family tradition that I would hate to break," he finally told Gaunt. The words sounded silly even to him.

"You any good with a sword?"

"Pretty good."

Gaunt scratched his stubbly chin. "Well, since you aren't charging anything, I guess I'd be stupid not to take you on. Okay, you can be my servant."

"Bodyguard."

"Whatever." Gaunt waved at him as if shooing away a pesky fly. "I'm going back to bed. You can wait outside my door and do your guard thing if you like."

Gaunt returned to his room and Hadrian waited outside, feeling decidedly foolish. That had not gone as well as he had hoped. He failed to impress Gaunt, and he had to admit, Gaunt did nothing to impress him. He did not know what exactly he had expected. Maybe he thought Gaunt would be the embodiment of the n.o.ble poor. A man of staggering integrity, a beacon of enlightenment, who had grown out of the earth's salt and struggled to the pinnacle. Sure, his standards were high, but after all, Degan was supposed to be part G.o.d. Instead, just being near him made Hadrian want to go bathe.

He leaned against the wall outside the door, looking up and down the quiet hallway.

This is ridiculous. What am I doing?

The answer was obvious-nothing. But there was nothing to do. He had missed his opportunity and was now useless.

From somewhere inside, he heard Gaunt begin to snore.

The next morning Hadrian found Royce sitting on the floor of the cell, his back resting against the wall, one knee up, c.o.c.ked like a tent pole. His right arm rested on it, his hand hanging limp. He wore only his black tunic and pants. His belt and boots were missing, his feet bare, the soles blackened with dirt. He hung his head back, tilted upward resting against the wall and revealing a week's worth of dark stubble that covered his chin, cheeks, and neck. Lengths of straw littered his hair and clothing, but on his lap lay a neatly folded, meticulously clean scarf.

He did not look up when Hadrian entered the cell. He was not sleeping-no one could get this close to Royce without his waking, but more obviously, his eyes were open. He stared at the ceiling, not seeing it.

"Hey, buddy," Hadrian said, entering the cell.

The guard closed the door behind him. He heard the lock slide in place. "Call me when you want out," he told Hadrian.

The cell had a small window near the ceiling, which cast a square of light where the wall and floor met. Through its shaft, he could see straw dust lingering in the air. A cup of water, a gla.s.s of wine, and a plate of potato and carrot stew sat beside the door. All untouched, the stew having dried into a solid brick.

"Am I interrupting breakfast?"

"That was dinner," Royce said.

"That bad, huh?" Hadrian sat across from him on the bed. It had a thick mattress, a half dozen warm blankets, three soft pillows, and fine linen sheets. It had not been slept in. "Not too bad in here," he said, making a show of looking around. "We've been in much worse, but you know, this was pretty much the last place I was thinking you'd be. I sort of thought the idea was for you to disappear and give me time to explain why you kidnapped the empress. What happened?"

"I turned myself in."

Hadrian smirked. "Obviously."

"Why are you here?" Royce replied, his eyes dull and empty.

"Well, now that I know you're here, I thought you could use some company. You know, someone to talk to, someone who can smuggle you fig pudding and the occasional drumstick. I could bring up a deck of cards. You know how much you love beating me at... Well, you just like beating me."

Royce made an expression that was almost like a smile. He reached out with his left hand and grabbed up a handful of straw. He crushed it in his fist letting the bits fall through his fingers and watching them in the shaft of light. When the last of it fell, he opened his hand palm-up, stared at it, turning it over and back as if he had never really seen it before.

"I want to thank you, Hadrian," he said, still looking at his hand, his voice soft, lingering, disconnected.

"Awfully formal, aren't you? It's just a card game," Hadrian said, and smiled.

Royce lowered his hand, laying it on the floor like a forgotten toy. His attention turned vaguely toward the ceiling again. "I hated you when we first met, did you know that? I thought Arcadius was crazy making me take you along on that heist."

"So why did you?"

"Honestly? I expected you'd be killed; then I could go to the nutty wizard, laugh, and say, See? What did I tell you? The clumsy fool died. Only you didn't. You made it all the way to the top of the Crown Tower, no complaining, no whining."

"Did you respect me then?"

"No. I figured you suffered from beginner's luck. I expected you'd die on the return trip that next night when he made us put it back."

"Only, again I lived."

"Kinda made me mad, actually. I'm not usually wrong, you know, about people? And man, you could fight. I thought Arcadius was feeding me a load of c.r.a.p the way he went on about you. 'The best warrior alive,' he said. 'In a fair fight Hadrian can best anyone,' he said. That was the telling part-a fair fight. He knew not all your battles would be fair. He wanted me to educate you in the world of backstabbing, deceit, and treachery. I guess he figured I knew something about that."

"And I was supposed to teach honor, decency, and kindness to a man raised by wolves."

Royce rolled his head to the side and looked at him. "He told you about me?"

"Not everything, just some of the ugly parts."

"Manzant?"

"Just that you were there, that it almost killed you, and that he got you out."

Royce nodded. His face drooped, his eyes stared again, his hand absently scooped up another handful of straw to crush.

Hadrian's eyes drifted around the cell. Centuries of captives had left a dark smoothness to all the stones a bit higher than halfway up, like a flood line. On the far wall, a year's worth of old hatch marks scratched a pattern that looked like a series of bound bales of wheat. Up in the window, a bird had built a nest, tucked on the outside corner of the sill. It was empty, frosted in snow. Occasionally, he heard a cart, a horse, or the sound of people in the courtyard below them, but mostly it was quiet, a heavy, dull-gray silence.

"Hadrian," Royce began. He'd stopped playing with the straw, his hands flat, his stare focused on the wall, his voice weak and hesitant. "You and Arcadius... you're the only family I've ever known. The only two people in this whole world-" He swallowed and bit his lower lip, pausing.

Hadrian waited.

Finally he went on. "I want you to know-It's important that..." He turned away from Hadrian, facing the wall. "I wanted to say thank you for being there for me, for being here. For being the closest thing to a brother I'll ever know. I just-I just want you to know that."

Hadrian did not say anything. He waited for Royce to turn back, to look at him. It took several minutes, but the silence drew the look. When he did, Hadrian glared at him. "Why? Why do you want me to know that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me-no, don't look at the wall; look at me. Why is it so important that I know this?"

"It just is, okay?" Royce said.

"No, it's not okay. Don't give me this c.r.a.p, Royce. We've been together for twelve years. We've faced death dozens of times. Why is it you're telling me this now?"

"I'm upset. I'm distraught. What do you want from me?"

Hadrian continued to stare but slowly began to nod. "You've been waiting, haven't you? Just sitting here, leaning against that wall, waiting-waiting for me to show up."

"In case you forgot, they arrested me. I'm in a locked cell. There's not much else I can do."

Hadrian snorted.

"What?"

Hadrian stood. He needed to move. There wasn't much s.p.a.ce but he still paced back and forth between the wall and the door. Three steps each way. "So when are you going to do it? As soon as I leave? Tonight? How about a nice morning suicide? Huh, Royce? You could be poetic and time it with the rising of the sun, or just the drama of midnight, how would that be?"

Royce scowled.

"How are you gonna do it? Your wrists? Throat? Gonna challenge the guard to fight when he brings dinner? Call him names? Or are you gonna make an even bigger splash? Head for Modina's room and threaten the empress's life again. You'll find some young idiot, a big one, someone with an ego. You'll draw a blade, something little, something not too scary. He'll draw his sword. You'll pretend to attack, but he won't know you're faking."

"Don't be this way."

"This way?" Hadrian stopped and whirled on him. He had to take a breath to calm down. "How do you expect me to be? You think I should be-what? Happy, maybe? Did you think I'd just be okay with this? I thought you were stronger. If anyone could survive-"