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

“When I evicted the priests and forbade Deacon Tomas from preaching about what happened in Dahlgren, the people revolted. They set shops in Gentry Square on fire. I could see the flames from my window, for Maribor’s sake. The whole city could have burned. They were calling for my head—people right in front of the castle burning stuffed images of me and shouting, ‘Death to the godless king!’ Can you imagine that? Just a few years ago they were calling me a hero. People toasted to my health in every tavern, but now … well, it’s amazing how fast they can turn on you. I had to use the army to restore order.” Alric reached up and pulled his crown off, turning the golden circlet over in his hands.

“I was in Alburn at the court of King Armand when I heard about that,” Arista said, shaking her head.

Alric laid the crown on the arm of the throne, closed his eyes, and softly banged his head against the back of the chair. “What are we going to do, Arista? The Imperialists will return. As soon as they deal with Gaunt’s rabble, the army will come back.” His eyes opened and his hand drifted absently toward his throat. “I suppose they’ll hang me, won’t they? Or do they use the axe on kings?” His tone was one of quiet acceptance, which surprised her.

The carefree boy she had once known was vanishing before her eyes. Even if the New Empire failed and Melengar stood strong, Alric would never be the same. In many ways, their uncle had managed to kill him after all.

Alric looked at the crown sitting on the chair’s arm. “I wonder what Father would do.”

“He never had anything like this to deal with. Not since Tolin defeated Lothomad at Drondil Fields has any monarch of Melengar faced invasion.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky us.”

Alric nodded. “At least we’ve got some time now. That’s something. What do you think of Pickering’s idea to send the Ellis Far down the coast to Tur Del Fur and contact the Nationalist leader—this Gaunt fellow?”

“Honestly, I think establishing an alliance with Gaunt is our only hope. Isolated, we don’t stand a chance against the empire,” Arista agreed.

“But the Nationalists? Are they any better than the Imps? They’re as opposed to monarchies as much as the empire. They don’t want to be ruled at all.”

“Alone and surrounded by enemies is not the time to be choosy about your friends.”

“We aren’t completely alone,” Alric said, correcting her. “Marquis Lanaklin joined us.”

“A lot of good that does. The empire took his holdings. He’s nothing more than a refugee now. He only came here because he has no place else to go. If we get more help like that, we’ll go broke just feeding them. Our only chance is to contact Degan Gaunt and form an alliance. If Delgos joins with us, that may be enough to persuade Trent to side in our favor. If that happens, we could deal a mortal blow to this new Nyphron Empire.”

“Do you think Gaunt will agree?”

“Don’t know why not,” Arista said. “It’s to our mutual benefit. I’m certain I can talk him into it, and I must say I’m looking forward to the trip. A rolling ocean is a welcome change from that carriage. While I’m away, have someone work on it, or better yet order a new one. And put extra padding—”

“You aren’t going,” Alric told her as he put his crown back on.

“What’s that?”

“I’m sending Linroy to meet with Gaunt.”

“But I’m the ambassador and a member of the royal family. He can’t negotiate a treaty or an alliance with—”

“Of course he can. Linroy is an experienced negotiator and statesman.”

“He’s the royal financier. That doesn’t qualify him as a statesman.”

“He’s handled dozens of trade agreements,” Alric interjected.

“The man’s a bookkeeper!” she shouted, rising to her feet.

“It may come as a surprise to you, but other people are capable of doing things too.”

“But why?”

“Like you said, you’re a member of the royal family.” Alric looked away and his fingers reached up to stroke his beard. “Do you have any idea what kind of position it would put me in if you were captured? We’re at war. I can’t risk you being held for ransom.”

She stared at him. “You’re lying. This isn’t about ransom. You think I can’t handle the responsibility.”

“Arista, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have what? Made your witch-sister ambassador?”

“Don’t be that way.”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, what way would you like me to be? How should I react to being told I’m worthless and an embarrassment and that I should go sit in my room and—”

“I didn’t say any of that. Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“It’s what you’re thinking—it’s what all of you think.”

“Have you become clairvoyant now too?”

“Do you deny it?”

“Damn it, Arista, you were gone six months!” He struck the arm of the throne with his fist. The dull thud sounded loudly off the walls like a bass drum. “Six months, and not a single alliance. You barely got a maybe. That’s a pretty poor showing. This meeting with Gaunt is too important. It could be our last chance.”

She stood up. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I apologize for being such an utter failure. May I please have your royal permission to be excused?”

“Arista, don’t.”

“Please, Your Majesty, my frail feminine constitution can’t handle such a heated debate. I feel faint. Perhaps if I retire to my room, I could brew a potion to make myself feel better. While I’m at it, perhaps I should enchant a broom to fly around the castle for fresh air.”

She pivoted on her heel and marched out, slamming the great door behind her with a resounding boom!

She stood with her back against the door, waiting, wondering if Alric would chase after her.

Will he apologize and take back what he said and agree to let me go?

She listened for the sound of his heels on the parquet.

Silence.

She wished she did know magic, because then no one could stop her from meeting with Gaunt. Alric was right: this was their last chance. And she was not about to leave the fate of Melengar to Dillnard Linroy, statesman extraordinaire. Besides, she had failed and that made it her responsibility to correct the situation.

She looked up to see Tim—or Tommy—leaning against the near wall, biting his fingernails. He glanced up at her and smiled. “I hope you’re planning on heading to the kitchens. I’m starved—practically eating my fingers here.” He chuckled.

She pushed away from the door and quickly strode down the corridor. She almost did not see Mauvin Pickering sitting on the broad sill of the courtyard-facing window. Feet up, arms folded, back against the frame, he crouched in a shaft of sunlight like a cat. He still wore the black clothes of mourning.

“Troubles with His Majesty?” he asked.

“He’s being an ass.”

“What did he do this time?”

“Replaced me with that sniveling little wretch Linroy. He’s sending him on the Ellis Far in my place to contact Gaunt.”

“Dillnard Linroy isn’t a bad guy. He’s—”

“Listen, I really don’t want to hear how wonderful Linroy is at the moment. I’m right in the middle of hating him.”

“Sorry.”

She glanced at his side and he immediately turned his attention back to the window.

“Still not wearing it?” she asked.

“It doesn’t go with my ensemble. The silver hilt clashes with black.”

“It’s been over a year since Fanen died.”