Rise of Empire (The Riyria Revelations #3-4)

Arista rose. “It’s more likely we are dealing with the church and a council of conservative Imperialists. I highly doubt a child from rural Dunmore could influence the archaic attitudes and inflexible opinions of so many stubborn minds who would strive to resist, rather than work with, a new ruler,” she said while glaring at Ecton. Over the knight’s shoulder, she noticed Alric cringe.

The door to the hall opened and Julian, the elderly lord chamberlain, entered. With a sweeping bow, he tapped his staff of office twice on the tiled floor. “The royal protector Royce Melborn, Your Majesty.”

“Show him in immediately.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high,” Pickering said to his king. “They’re spies, not miracle workers.”

“I pay them enough for miracles. I don’t think it unreasonable to get what I pay for.”

Alric employed numerous informants and scouts, but none were as effective as Riyria. Arista had originally hired Royce and Hadrian to kidnap her brother the night their father had been assassinated. Since then, their services had proved invaluable.

Royce entered the banquet hall alone. The small man with dark hair and dark eyes always dressed in layers of black. He wore a knee-length tunic and a long flowing cloak and, as always, carried no visible weapons. Carrying a blade in the presence of the king was unlawful, but given he and Hadrian had twice saved Alric’s life, Arista surmised the royal guards did not thoroughly search him. She was certain Royce carried his white-bladed dagger and regarded the law as merely a suggestion.

Royce bowed before the assembly.

“Well?” her brother asked a bit too loudly, too desperately. “Did you discover anything?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Royce replied, but his face remained so neutral that nothing more could be determined for good or ill.

“Well, out with it. What did you find? Are they really leaving?”

“Sir Breckton has been ordered to withdraw all but a small containment force and march south immediately with the bulk of his army.”

“So it really is true?” Marquis Wymar said. “But why?”

“Yes, why?” Alric added.

“Because Rhenydd has been invaded by the Nationalists out of Delgos.”

A look of surprise circulated the room.

“Degan Gaunt’s rabble is invading Rhenydd?” Earl Kendell said in bewilderment.

“And doing quite well from the dispatch I read,” Royce informed them. “Gaunt has led them up the coast, taking every village and town. He’s managed to sack Kilnar and Vernes.”

“He sacked Vernes?” Ecton asked, shocked.

“That’s a good-sized city,” Wymar mentioned.

“It’s also only a few miles from Ratibor,” Pickering observed. “From there it’s what—maybe a hard day’s march to the imperial capital itself?”

“No wonder the empire is recalling Breckton.” Alric looked at the count. “What were you saying about miracles?”





“I can’t believe you couldn’t find anyone to ally with.” Alric berated Arista as he collapsed on his throne. The two were alone in the reception hall, the most ornate room in the castle. This room, the grand ballroom, the banquet hall, and the foyer were all that most people generally ever saw. Tolin the Great had built the chamber to be intimidating. The three-story ceiling was an impressive sight and the observation balcony that circled the walls provided a magnificent view of the parquet floor, inlaid with the royal falcon coat of arms. Double rows of twelve marble pillars formed a long gallery similar to that of a church, yet instead of an altar there was the dais. On seven pyramid-shaped steps sat the throne of Melengar—the only seat in the vast chamber. When they had been children, the throne had always appeared so impressive, but now, with Alric slouched in it, Arista realized it was just a gaudy chair.

“I tried,” she offered, sitting on the steps before the throne as she had once done with her father. “Everyone had already sworn allegiance to the New Empire.” Arista gave her brother the demoralizing report on her past six months of failure.

“We’re quite a pair, you and I. You’ve done little as ambassador and I nearly destroyed us with that attack across the river. Many of the nobles are being more vocal. Soon Pickering won’t be able to control the likes of Ecton.”

“I must admit I was shocked when I heard about your attack. What possessed you to do such a thing?” she asked.

“Royce and Hadrian had intercepted plans drafted by Breckton himself. He was about to launch a three-pronged assault. I had to make a preemptive strike. I was hoping to catch the Imperialists by surprise.”

“Well, it looks like it worked out after all. It delayed their attack just long enough.”

“True, but what good will that do if we can’t find more help? What about Trent?”

“Well, they haven’t said no, but they haven’t said yes either. The church’s influence has never been strong that far north, but they also don’t have any ties to us. All they want is to be on the winning side. They’re at least willing to wait and watch. They won’t join us because they don’t think we have a chance. But if we can show them some success, they could be persuaded to side with us.”

“Don’t they realize the empire will be after them next?”

“I said that, but …”

“But what?”

“They really weren’t very amenable to what I had to say. The men of Lanksteer are brutish and backward. They respect only strength. I would have fared better if I’d beaten their king senseless.” She hesitated. “I don’t think they quite knew what to make of me.”

“I should never have sent you,” Alric said, running a hand over his face. “What was I thinking, making a woman an ambassador?”

His words felt like a slap. “I agree that I was at a disadvantage in Trent, but in the rest of the kingdoms I don’t think the fact that I am a woman—”

“A witch, then,” Alric said, lashing out. “Even worse. All those Warric and Alburn nobles are so devoted, and what do I do? I send them someone the church tried for witchcraft.”

“I’m not a witch!” she snapped. “I wasn’t convicted of anything, and everyone with a brain between their ears knows that trial was a fabrication of Braga and Saldur to get their hands on our throne.”

“The truth doesn’t matter. Everyone believes what the church tells them. They said you’re a witch, so that makes it so. Look at Modina. The Patriarch proclaims that she’s the Heir of Novron, so everyone believes. I should have never made an enemy of the church. But between Saldur’s betrayal and their sentinel killing Fanen, I just couldn’t bring myself to bend my knee.