Chapter Text
Royce is going to kill me.
Hadrian had been travelling with two constant companions since leaving Aquesta, and that thought was one of them. It had, to be honest, been the prevailing thought in his mind from the moment Royce had fled the infirmary, leaving Hadrian still struggling to stand and unable to do anything but call out after him, because it was only seconds later that he made a decision that he suspected was going to define the rest of his life. Albeit not necessarily for very long, in the event of that potential murder.
'I want you to stay out of it,' Royce had said.
'I need you to stay out of it,' he'd insisted, looking more terrified than Hadrian had ever seen him.
'Don't follow me. Get well and take your own path. We won't be seeing each other again. Goodbye.'
And Hadrian, left behind for the first time since the very beginning of their partnership, thought: no.
No, it wasn't going to end like this.
No, that wasn't how this worked.
No, after well over a decade of loyalty and friendship, he was not going to allow Royce to face the greatest peril of his life alone.
Because it was the greatest peril, even if Merrick might not be the most powerful enemy Royce had ever gone up against. Gwen was the one in danger, and that made this the single most dangerous night of Royce's life.
It was also, Hadrian reflected, fucking freezing. And he was being unpleasantly reminded that he still hadn't bought any damn winter gloves.
At least he knew Arista was warm. He chanced a glance to the side, where his second constant companion of this frantic journey walked.
The princess of Melengar still looked painfully thin, and not for the first time he questioned the wisdom of asking her to join him in what might be the most stupid decision he'd ever made. But it was getting on for two weeks since they'd rescued her now, and he was no longer so frightened for her as he had been in those prison cells. Her cheeks had lost their hollowness and gained some colour, and the awful red marks on her skin had faded. Better yet, there was a spark in her eyes again, hope and life that had replaced despair.
When she caught him looking at her, she smiled. It was a nervous, fleeting smile, but it was also beautiful.
"What is it?" she asked in a whisper.
"Nothing. Just thinking I'm really lucky you agreed to this."
"I think you're mad," she said bluntly. Her fingers twisted in the sleeves of Esrahaddon's robe. In deference to the secrecy of their task, the robe wasn't glowing, but she'd assured him it kept the cold out better than any number of cloaks; apparently to her it felt like they might be walking through a summer's day but for the chill bite of the air in her throat. It was enough to make Hadrian wish his father had been a Cenzar rather than a Teshlor.
"But," Arista went on, freeing one hand to gesture around her as she sighed, "apparently so am I."
And, in fairness, Hadrian had to concede that she had a point.
The streets of Colnora were lit with the monochrome light of the rising moon. Landing on a thick layer of snow, it made the world oddly bright for the middle of the night. Hadrian might have found it pretty except for how maddeningly inconvenient it was to someone trying to go unseen, and he was prepared to concede Royce might have had a point when he had complained about such sights over the years while Hadrian waxed on about how lovely they were. Turned out it was much more irritating when you were the one trying to make the plans.
They'd reached the city just ahead of dusk. Hadrian had hoped to make better time, but the journey had been a quiet agony for both of them. Arista was exhausted and had lost too much precious fat and muscle for riding in a saddle to be at all comfortable, while Hadrian was pushing the limits of what his own body could take and felt like he'd been repeatedly punched in all his barely-healed wounds with every step his horse had taken. Even with taking a couple of off-road shortcuts, he'd begun to fear they wouldn't make it in time.
But they'd got through the city gates before they closed, and it was the night of the full moon. Jade's tomb, full face. They were going to do it.
They'd ridden as far through the city as Hadrian dared, but left the horses behind about half a mile ago. The mercantile district was always quiet at night, and in this weather people had been in a hurry to get home and stay there. All well and good, but it presented a problem when Hadrian would have rather liked a crowd to blend into.
Instead, they were hugging the river edge as much as possible, letting the dull roar of the river at the bottom of the ravine mask any sounds of their passage while they kept to the shadows of the warehouse walls. Hadrian had warned Arista to keep a sharp eye for any sign of Merrick. The man was an expert strategist. Rushed as this plan might be, he was sure to have plenty of men with him to keep lookout and to guard Gwen. He'd be a fucking fool not to. In striking at Gwen, he'd started a war with the potential to unleash the deadliest force Hadrian had ever known.
And here he and Arista were, about to insert themselves in between two desperate, warring assassins. Which, when you thought about it, did have to say something about their own judgement.
"Yeah," Hadrian said glumly. "I think you're probably right."
He was definitely mad.
And he didn't know if he was doing the right thing. Royce hadn't wanted him involved. If Hadrian did anything that got Gwen killed, of course Royce would never forgive him - he'd never forgive himself. There would be no recovering from it. Hell, he'd let Royce kill him, not that he could really stop the guy if he tried; he could certainly best Royce in a fight, but he knew it wouldn't come to a fight. If Royce wanted him dead, Hadrian wouldn't see the first blow coming. And if this went south, he'd deserve it.
The risk was that if Merrick saw Hadrian, he'd suspect Royce of some kind of trickery. He wanted a straightforward exchange, Gwen in return for Modina and Saldur, and since Royce was prepared to pay that price, he wouldn't want to suggest he intended to do anything but comply. Giving Merrick cause to think otherwise could be a fatal error.
And Hadrian respected Royce's choices. He really did. He could also respect that he wasn't going to be able to provide the kind of help he normally could. Walking was more of a challenge than it ought to be; fighting was an untested quantity. He felt sure he could manage his smaller swords for a while, but doubted he had the strength even to hold the spadone for long, let alone wield it. In short, he risked being more of a liability than a help.
The thought grated at him, more painful than he could have known it would be. He wasn't accustomed to this helplessness. Riding the horse here had been hell; this mere half mile of walking felt like it was killing him. But he couldn't stop, for the same reason he'd come in the first place.
They were his friends.
More than that, Royce and Gwen were his family.
He loved Gwen - not as Royce did, though he could still see how easily he could have done, but still dearly and terribly. Her kindness and courage, her generosity of spirit, her ferocious determination even through fear; the way a smile from her felt like coming home. She deserved more than the world had ever given her, and she certainly didn't deserve to be hurt, let alone die, with so much life still ahead of her.
And Royce...
Royce was his best friend. The person he knew best in the world, in whose company he had spent most of his adult life. No one had ever known him as Royce did, either. Oh, they both held their own secrets still, but by now not many remained, and he knew the remarkable truth that there was nothing he could reveal about himself to Royce that would make his friend turn away. They might see the world differently, and find something to bicker about every other day of the week, but no one had ever stood by Hadrian as Royce did, or defended him with such dedicated fervour, or trusted him and admitted him beyond all their own defences as Royce had.
The conclusion he had reached in that moment in the infirmary, Royce's horribly final goodbye ringing in his ears, was that Hadrian could survive being parted from them if that was their wish, but he couldn't lose them, nor could he let them lose each other. Their happiness meant the world to him and he would have surrendered his own a thousand times over to ensure it.
'Get well and take your own path. We won't be seeing each other again. Goodbye.'
Yeah, fuck that.
"We're just backup," he said, reassuring himself as much as her. "If Royce has this in hand, he never even needs to know we were here. If the exchange goes to plan..."
"You'll come and help me instead." Arista nodded. "I know."
Hadrian wasn't stupid, though. He knew that remaining hidden from Royce and covering his retreat might still mean he never saw Royce again. That goodbye had held a lot of things. The possibility that Royce would die saving Gwen, certainly. But also... Royce had played his own reckless gambit in kidnapping Thrace. He faced arrest if he was ever caught, and how could he protect or live with Gwen if that happened? No, even if this worked out, Royce was going to run. Whatever glimpse he caught of them tonight might be the last Hadrian ever saw of them, and with no better goodbye than they'd already had.
It didn't change anything. He still knew what he needed to do. Lost to him wasn't the same as actually being lost. He'd know they were safe out there somewhere, and that would have to be enough. It wouldn't ever stop hurting, but... well, Hadrian could take the pain.
"Hey." Hadrian stopped walking. He reached out, meaning to touch Arista's arm, then hesitated. Was that too forward? Would it be at all welcome? He counted her as a friend, and held a much dearer secret to his heart, but he might only be a royal protector to her. And a shit one at that, when he was dragging her into so much trouble. "Thank you, your highness. Really. I know I said this I was asking for a favour, but it's a hell of a big one. Not just as an ambassador, but as Thrace's friend. It's an awful thing to have asked you to do."
Arista glanced at his hand, and Hadrian let it fall back to his side. Probably she was wondering how he'd dared to almost find the nerve, but a little part of him hoped perhaps she wished he hadn't stopped.
"I still can't quite believe I did it," she admitted. "We let him... He kidnapped the empress, and we didn't warn anyone. We let him take Thrace..."
"He won't have hurt her," Hadrian said. It was a pretty weak defence and he knew it. "He cares about her, I swear. It's just... He loves Gwen so much. Royce has barely had anything or anyone to care about in his whole life, and everything and everyone else he's ever had, he's lost. He's terrified of losing her. He can't. I know how it looks, but..."
"Hadrian." To his absolute shock, Arista did touch his arm. Even through layers of cloth, he felt her fingertips like each one was the bright point of a star. "You already convinced me, remember?"
"Right. Yeah."
"You were right. It's not so different from what motivated me to have you two kidnap Alric, although I wish Modina didn't have to be involved. None of this is anything to do with her, and she's already been through so much."
"I know." Guilt churned in his gut.
But Arista smiled again, softer than he deserved. "But that's why I'm here. You help Gwen, and I'll get Modina back."
"You're sure you've got it in hand?"
Something in his phrasing seemed to amuse her. Arista flexed her fingers, then held them out as if to unseen harp strings. "I'll figure something out."
"Thank you," Hadrian said again, and wished the words were big enough for the gratitude he felt. He stuffed his own freezing hands into his armpits and looked up. "Moon's nearly overhead. We'd better get into position. I think it's just a bit further."
Sure enough, within a few more minutes of picking their way through snow and slush, the great arch of Langdon Bridge came into view. The light of its swan shaped lamps glistened off the snow, making a disingenuously lovely image. The bridge itself was deserted, but as they drew closer, something caught Hadrian's eye.
"Get down." This time Hadrian grabbed Arista's arm without thinking. He pulled her into a crouch under the eaves of the warehouse next to them, where the shadows were deepest.
They were now in sight of the northern end of the bridge. Hadrian had chosen the northern bank of the Bernum for their approach and had been hoping he'd remembered right. To this day he was still surprised Royce had told him the full story of his departure from the Diamond, or as full a telling of it as Royce was ever likely to give.
Jade's tomb. Even to Hadrian, who knew barely anything about Merrick, the location felt like a threat.
At least it turned out his memory had served him well. Perhaps sixty yards ahead, just beyond the bridge, was a warehouse with a four leafed clover on its side.
There were no lights in the windows, but the warehouse wasn't unoccupied. Hadrian could see figures creeping around the building. They kept to the shadows just as he did, and every now and then one would dart down a side street then swiftly return, but they always kept returning to the door. The constant movement made it impossible to determine their number, but Hadrian counted as many as four at once, and guessed there were more.
It was not the sort of behaviour you expected to see in this sort of place at this time of night. Not unless you were looking for a man who operated in such conditions, one who had very good reason to be paranoid.
"That's it?" Arista murmured, barely louder than a breath.
"Yeah. That's where Merrick is. And that means Gwen's in there."
The urge to rush into the building clawed at him. To know that Gwen was so close... And she must be terrified. Gwen was one of the bravest people Hadrian had ever met, and had a kind of courage he didn't think he even understood, but that didn't put her beyond fear. The idea of how long Merrick had held her captive, dragging her all the way here from the monastery in full knowledge that she was going to be used as bait for Royce somehow - it must have been awful.
Merrick seemed to think he knew Royce so well. Did he have any idea what he was risking? If Hadrian could feel this terrible anger burning under his skin, what did Merrick think Royce was feeling? What did he think Royce would do, come to that, if anything did happen to Gwen?
It was a desperate gambit. And that was why Hadrian couldn't charge in. For all Merrick's normal planning, this was a sloppy, stupid action, and that made him unpredictable. Hadrian could almost certainly take those men in a fight, but he couldn't guarantee he'd get all of them before one got to Gwen.
"You think Merrick will take Modina and Saldur in there after the trade?"
"He might. But he'd be a fool to linger long. He'd have trouble getting them out of the city before dawn, though, so he might just plan to move them to another base."
"I can use the hairs I took from Modina's brush if I lose track of them. I'll find her."
"We should split up now. I'll have to get closer to the warehouse, I'm not sure where Royce might come from. If they see me, it's better they don't find us both. Take a wide route, away from the river, and make your way to the warehouse on the far side. Find a spot from there where you can watch things. And..."
Hadrian felt too overwhelmed, for a moment, to go on. Hidden in the shadows, he could only just see her face, but he felt somehow that he knew it so well he hardly even needed his eyes to see her. His heart clenched; his lungs felt tight and too small.
"Be careful," he said at last. "Alright?"
"If you'll promise the same," she said, and there was a weight to her voice he didn't quite understand.
"I'm always careful."
Arista sighed. "Then it's your definition of the word that worries me."
She didn't wait for further goodbyes. Keeping low and pressed against the wall, Arista went back the way they'd come. Within seconds, she was round the corner and out of sight.
Hadrian breathed deeply and pressed his concern aside, turning both mind and body back towards his own task.
Hadrian didn't have Royce's stealth, but moving without being seen proved easier than he'd expected. Clearly Merrick was having a stressful night. His men seemed to be drawing in, perhaps in response to the time; they were straying less far from the door now, which made Hadrian wonder if their numbers were lower than he'd feared. Whether any of them were Merrick himself, Hadrian didn't know; the light was too dim to make out faces, even when he'd got within thirty yards.
It was as close as he could get without straying into the open. Where the warehouses parted on either side of the bridge, there was a wide space about fifteen yards across. The road ran through the middle of it, and the edges were kept clear. Hadrian was hiding now behind a huge crank normally used to haul goods up from the river, in a spot that afforded him a good view of the warehouse and a clear line of sight down the road and most of the way across the bridge, the railing only blocking his view of the far southern end.
It felt even colder now. Perhaps it was that he had a little less shelter here, or just that it was a long time now since he'd lost whatever slight warmth the winter sun had provided. His limbs felt stiff, and he shook them as best he could without giving his position away. Much as it was numbing his hands and feet, the cold didn't even have the grace to lessen the pain of his injuries; his leg was throbbing from the awkward crouch, and even resting was doing little to reduce the ache in his torso. This probably wasn't what the imperial healers had meant when they said rest and light exercise.
Hadrian tested the looseness of his swords in their sheaths. He glanced behind him, then ahead; counted the men again, checked the position of the moon. Looked to see if he could see movement around the warehouse beyond the clover, but there was no sign of Arista.
It started to snow.
Large, puffy flakes settled on Hadrian's shoulders and around his feet. In the light of the lamps on the bridge, they fell like tiny glowing stars.
And then another light appeared. The orange glow of a lantern at the far end of the bridge.
Hadrian stared, but he couldn't see anything but the lantern light, not through the darkness beyond the bright glare of the swan lamps.
The men around the warehouse suddenly shifted towards the door. Everything went still, and then the door opened.
A figure stepped out of the warehouse into the space before the bridge. It was a man, lit in the glow of his own lantern.
Merrick.
Which meant Royce was on the other side of the bridge.
Hadrian understood what Royce had clearly already known. The exchange was to happen across the bridge. Royce would send over his captives, while Merrick sent...
Gwen.
She'd followed Merrick out of the building. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she was gagged. The lantern light reflected off of streaks of tears down her cheeks.
Hadrian's hands clenched into fists.
If Royce didn't kill this bastard, Hadrian would do it for him.
But Merrick held a knife, and he had at least half a dozen men. Royce seemed to think Merrick would keep his word. Hadrian would just make sure he did.
He eased himself out from behind the winch as slowly as he could. Wounds forgotten, his body felt flooded with an energy that seemed to surpass even the biting cold. No one saw him. Merrick was calling out to Royce, and everyone was watching them.
"Send them across," Merrick called out. At his nod, Gwen began to walk towards the bridge.
Did Merrick look nervous? It was hard to tell. Hadrian didn't know him well enough, and he doubted Merrick was the type to give that sort of thing away. But he never took his eyes away from the bridge, and the hand holding the knife never twitched. If Hadrian had to guess, he didn't think Merrick intended treachery. He looked too much like he wanted Modina and Saldur to make it. Gwen's only value to him was to be traded for more influential playing pieces. Hurting Gwen would be checkmate, suicide. Merrick was smart enough to know that. Maybe Hadrian hadn't needed to come after all.
Still, he watched closely, looking between Gwen and Merrick, watching her progress and keeping an eye on his men.
That was when he saw it.
A flicker of movement.
Moonlight catching off of something that shouldn't be where it was. Something on the building beyond the clover warehouse - the one he'd sent Arista to.
There was someone on the roof.
Hadrian was moving long before conscious thought could have told him why. He already standing without being aware of having processed the fact that the figure was moving all wrong to be Arista, and had none of the subtlety of Merrick's men, who knew better than to show up in the light.
Before he was a thief, before he was a friend, before he found his family, Hadrian was and had always been a warrior. Trained since he could walk to build instincts that would help him in battle. To know what a man's movements meant, to know what he would do before he did it.
It was, in its own way, a means to look into the future. Not like Tenkin seers did. Hadrian only saw a few seconds ahead.
But sometimes a few seconds was all you needed.
He ran. The cold couldn't reach him. Wounds were nothing to him. The shouts of Merrick's men barely reached his ears. Merrick's own yell was no more heeded than the roar of the river. Hadrian ran like he was born for nothing but this moment.
He paid no attention as he passed Saldur; caught only a glimpse of Thrace's startled look. Gwen was turning towards him, her eyes going wide. Royce was sprinting across the bridge, his arms out as he reached for Gwen, but he was too far, just too far away, and he didn't know what was coming.
The shot could have been meant for Saldur. It could have been meant for the Empress.
But it was Gwen that Hadrian ran to. He didn't slow until he was right in front of her, shielding her with his own body. Even then he was still moving forward, bringing them crashing together, and he cradled one hand around her head, his elbow curving around her back, as his body drove hers to the ground. He threw his other arm out to catch as much of their combined weight as he could.
At first, he only registered the pain like it was a punch somewhere to the side of his spine. He gasped, winded, but still managed to protect Gwen from most of the impact with the stone bridge. For that moment, it was actually his arm that hurt worst.
And then he found that his lungs didn't replace the air that had just been forced out of them. Shock gave way to pain so intense that he couldn't breathe. His chest spasmed and his arm gave way, dropping him down until he was barely braced above Gwen at all.
Her arms were still trapped behind her back, he thought dimly. He hoped he wasn't hurting her. She was making desperate sounds like she was trying to talk behind the gag, and she was still crying. Her eyes looked terrified.
It's okay, he wanted to say. You'll be safe now. But when he finally managed to heave in a breath, it felt like something in his back tore - worse than ripped stitches. A lot worse.
Warmth was flooding over him, which was strange considering how cold he'd been before.
Swift footsteps crunched through the snow. Hadrian twisted his head and tried to reach for his swords, but he couldn't make his hands move.
Oh. No need. It was Royce, falling to his knees beside them. His hood had blown back. He looked strange, all deathly pale and panicked, and his mouth was shaping words that Hadrian couldn't make out.
Never mind. Royce was here, and he couldn't be mad at Hadrian after all.
Hadrian had seen the shooter. Had seen the crossbow aimed from the rooftop.
He'd saved Gwen's life.
'Stay out of it', indeed.
See, buddy, he tried to say. This is why we're a team.
The words didn't come, but it didn't matter. Royce could sort things out from here.