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

“I just said it was Merrick. He’s not common.”


As the two walked through an empty Gentry Square, even the bells of Mares Cathedral were silent. Hadrian sighed. “Then I’m on my own in finding the heir now. If I follow the payment to Merrick, I’ll be halfway to finding Gaunt.”

“Hadrian.” Royce placed a hand on his friend’s arm, stopping them mid-step. “You’re not up to this. You don’t know Merrick. Think a minute. If he can kill a wizard, one who could create pillars of fire even without hands, what do you think your chances are? You’re a good—no, you’re a great—fighter, the best I’ve ever seen, but Merrick is a genius and he’s ruthless. You go after him, he’ll know, and he’ll kill you.”

They were across from Lester Furl’s old haberdashery in Artisan Row, the shop that the monk Myron once worked in. The sign of the cavalier hat still hung out front, but the place was empty.

“Listen, I’m not asking you to come. I know you’re marrying Gwen. Congratulations on that, by the way. And it’s about time, I might add. This isn’t your problem. It’s mine. It’s what I was born to do. What my father trained me for. Protecting Gaunt, and finding a way to put him on the imperial throne—that’s my destiny.”

Royce rolled his eyes.

“I know you don’t believe that, but I do.”

“Gaunt could be dead already, you know? If Merrick killed Esrahaddon, he might have slit Gaunt’s throat too.”

“I still have to go. By now, even you must see that.”





When they reached The Rose and Thorn, Gwen was waiting with anxious eyes. She stood on the porch, her arms crossed, clutching her shawl. The autumn wind brushed her skirt and hair. Behind her, within the darkened interior, patrons talked loudly around the bar.

“It’s okay,” Hadrian reassured her as they approached. “I’m taking the job, but Royce is staying. With luck I’ll be back for—”

“Go with him,” Gwen told Royce firmly.

“No—really, Gwen,” Hadrian said, “it’s nothing—”

“You have to go with him.”

“What’s wrong?” Royce asked. “I thought we were getting married. Don’t you want to?”

Gwen closed her eyes, shaken. Then her hands clenched into fists and she straightened. “You must go. Hadrian will be killed if you don’t—and then you … you …”

Royce took her in his arms on the steps of the tavern and held her as she began to cry.

“You have to go,” Gwen said, her voice muffled by Royce’s shoulder. “Nothing will be right if you don’t. I can’t marry you—I won’t marry you—if you don’t. Tell me you’ll go, please, Royce, please …”

Royce gave Hadrian a puzzled glance and whispered, “Okay.”





“Here, I made this for you,” Gwen said to Royce, holding out a folded bit of knitted cloth. They were in Gwen’s room at the top of the stairs of Medford House and he had just finished packing.

He held it up. “A scarf?”

Gwen smiled. “Since I’m going to be married, I thought I should take up knitting. I hear that’s what proper wives do for their husbands.”

Royce started to laugh but stopped when he saw her expression. “This is important to you, isn’t it? You realize you’ve always been better than all those ladies in the Merchant Quarter. Having a husband doesn’t make them special.”

“It’s not that. It’s just … I know you had a less than perfect childhood, and so did I. I want something better for our children. I want their lives—our home—to be perfect, or as much as possible for a pair such as us.”

“I don’t know. I’ve met dozens of aristocrats who had ideal childhoods and they turned out to be horrors. You, on the other hand, are the best person I’ve ever met.”

She smiled at him. “That’s nice, but I highly doubt you would approve of our daughter working here. And would you really want our son living the way you did as a boy? We can raise them right. Just because they grow up in a proper home doesn’t mean they will turn out to be horrors. You’ll be firm, and I’ll be loving. You’ll spank little Elias when he acts disrespectfully, and I’ll kiss his tears and give him cookies.”

“Elias? You’ve named our son already?”

“Would you prefer Sterling? I can’t decide between the two. But the girl’s name is not negotiable—it’s Mercedes. I’ve always loved that name.

“I’ll sell this house and my other holdings. Combined with the money I banked for you, we’ll never want for anything. We can live peaceful, happy, simple lives—I mean, if you want to live like that. Do you?”

He looked into her eyes. “Gwen, if it means being with you, I don’t care where we are or what I do.”

“Then it’s settled.” Gwen grinned and her eyes brightened. “It’s what I’ve always dreamed of …the two of us in a small cottage somewhere safe and warm, raising a family.”

“You make us sound like squirrels.”

“Yes, exactly! A family of squirrels tucked in our cozy nest in some tree trunk while the troubles of the world pass us by.” Her lower lip quivered.

Royce pulled her close and held her tight as she buried her face in his shoulder. He stroked her head, feeling her hair linger on his fingertips. For all Gwen’s strength and courage, he was forever amazed at how fragile she could be. He had never known anyone like her, and he considered telling Hadrian that he had changed his mind. “Gwen—”

“Don’t even think it,” she told him. “We can’t build a new life until you’re done with the old one. Hadrian needs you, and I won’t be blamed for his death.”

“I could never blame you.”

“I couldn’t bear it if I felt you hated me, Royce. I’d rather be dead than let that happen. Promise me you’ll go. Promise me you’ll take care of Hadrian. Promise me you won’t despair, and that you’ll set things right.”

Royce let his head lower until it rested on hers. He stood there, smelling the familiar scent of her hair as his own breathing tightened. “All right, but you have to agree to go to the abbey if things get bad like they did before.”

“I will,” she said. Her arms tightened around him. “I’m so scared,” she whispered.

Surprised, Royce said, “You’ve always told me you were never frightened when I left on missions.”

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and a guilty expression on her face. “I lied.”





CHAPTER 3





THE COURIER