Chapter 5
Footprints in the Snow

Several miles from Medford, Royce saw the smoke and prepared himself for the worst. Crossing the Galewyr used to mean entering the bustling streets of the capital, but on that day, as he raced across the bridge, he found only a charred expanse of blackened posts and scorched stone. The city he had known was gone.

Royce never called anywhere home. To him the word meant a mythical place like paradise or fairyland, but Wayward Street had been the closest thing he ever found. A recent snowfall covered the city like a sheet that nature had drawn over a corpse. Not a building remained undamaged, and many were nothing but charcoal and ash. The castle’s gates were shattered, portions of the walls collapsed. Even the trees in Gentry Square were gone.

Medford House, in the Lower Quarter, was a pile of smoldering beams. Nothing remained across the street except a gutted foundation and a burned sign displaying the hint of a rose in blistered paint.

He dismounted and moved to the rubble of the House. Where Gwen’s office used to be, he caught a glimpse of pale fingers beneath a collapsed wall. His legs turned weak and his feet foolish as he stumbled over the wreckage. Smoke caught in his throat, and he drew up the scarf to cover his nose and mouth. Reaching the edge of the wall, he bent and tried to lift it. The edge broke away, but it was enough to reveal what was underneath.

A cream-colored glove.

Royce stepped back from the smoke. Sitting on the blackened porch, he noticed he was shaking. He was unaccustomed to being scared. Over the years, he had given up caring if he lived or died, figuring that a quick demise spared him the pain of living in a world so miserly that it begrudged an orphan boy a life. He had always been ready for death, gambling with it, waging bets against it. Royce had been satisfied in the knowledge that his risks were sound because he had nothing of value to lose—nothing to fear.

Gwen changed everything.

He was an idiot and never should have left her alone.

Why did I wait?

They could have been safe in Avempartha, where only he held the key. The New Empire could beat themselves senseless against its walls and never reach him or his family.

A block away, a noisy flock of crows took flight. Royce stood and listened, hearing voices on the wind. Noticing his horse wandering down the street, he cursed himself for not tying her up. By the time he caught the reins, he spotted a patrol of imperial soldiers passing the charred ruins of Mason Grumon’s place.

“Halt!” the leader shouted.

Royce leapt on his mare and kicked her just as he heard a dull thwack. His horse lurched then collapsed with a bolt lodged deep in her flank. Royce jumped free before being crushed. He tumbled in the snow and came up on his feet, his dagger, Alverstone, drawn. Six soldiers hurried toward him. Only one had a crossbow, and he was busy ratcheting the string for his next shot.

Royce turned and ran.

He slipped into an alley filled with debris and vaulted over the shattered remains of the Rose and Thorn. Crossing the sewer near the inn’s stable, he was surprised to find the plank bridge still there. Shouts rose behind him, but they were distant and muffled by the snow. The old feed store was still standing, and with a leap, he caught the lower windowsill on the second story. If they tracked him through the alley, the soldiers would be briefly baffled at his disappearance. That was all the head start Royce needed. Pulling himself to the roof, he crossed it and climbed down the far side. He took one last moment to obscure his tracks before heading west.