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

“For what?”


“We can’t just ride into the Nationalists’ camp. We need a go-between. Someone to set up a meeting,” Hadrian said. He sat at the writing desk across the room from her. In the growing darkness, he was fading into a dim ghostly outline.

“I didn’t see you send any messages. Did I miss something?”

“No, but the messages were delivered nonetheless,” Royce mentioned.

“Royce is kind of a celebrity here,” Hadrian told her. “When he comes to town—”

Royce coughed intentionally.

“Okay, maybe not a celebrity, but he’s certainly well known. I’m sure talk started the moment he arrived.”

“Then we wanted to be seen?”

“Yes,” Royce replied. “Unfortunately, the Diamond wasn’t the only one watching the gate. Someone’s watching our window.”

“And he’s not a Black Diamond?” Hadrian asked.

“Too clumsy. Has about the same talent for delicate work as a draft horse. The Diamond would laugh if he applied.”

“Black Diamond is the thieves’ guild?” she asked.

They both nodded.

While supposedly a secret organization, the Diamond was nevertheless well known. Arista heard of it from time to time in court and at council meetings. They were always spoken about with disdain by haughty nobles, even though they often used their services. The black market was virtually controlled by the Diamond, who supplied practically any commodity for anyone willing to pay the price.

“Can he see you?”

“Not unless he’s an elf.”

Hadrian and Arista exchanged glances, wondering if he had meant it as a joke.

Hadrian joined Royce at the window and looked out. “The one near the lamppost with his hand on his hilt? The guy shifting his weight back and forth? He’s an imperial soldier, a veteran of the Vanguard Scout Brigade,” Hadrian said.

Royce looked at him, surprised.

The light from the street spilled across Hadrian’s face as he grinned. “The way he’s shifting his weight is a technique taught to soldiers to keep from going footsore. That short sword is standard issue for a lightly armed scout and the gauntlet on his sword hand is an idiosyncrasy of King Ethelred, who insists all his troops wear them. Since Ethelred is now part of the New Empire, the fellow below is an Imp.”

“You weren’t kidding about serving in a lot of armies, were you?” Arista asked.

Hadrian shrugged. “I was a mercenary. It’s what I did. I served anywhere the pay was good.” Hadrian took his seat back at the table. “I even commanded a few regiments. Got a medal once. But I would fight for one army only to find myself going against them a few years later. Killing old friends isn’t fun. So I kept taking jobs farther away. Ended up deep in Calis fighting for Tenkin warlords.” Hadrian shook his head. “Guess you could say that was my low point. You really know you’ve—”

Hadrian was interrupted by a knock. Without a word, Royce crossed the room, taking up position on one side of the door while Hadrian carefully opened it. Outside, a young boy stood dressed in the typical poor clothing of a waif.

“Evening, sirs. Your presence is requested in room twenty-three,” he said cheerily, and then, touching his thumb to his brow, he walked away.

“Leave her here?” Hadrian asked Royce.

Royce shook his head. “She comes along.”

“Must you speak about me as if I’m not in the room?” Arista asked, but only with feigned irritation. She sensed the seriousness of the situation from the look on Royce’s face and was not about to interfere. She was behind enemy lines. If she was caught, it was not certain what would happen. If she tried to claim a diplomatic status, it was doubtful the New Empire would honor it. Ransoming Arista for Alric’s compliance was not out of the question—nor was a public execution.

“We’re just going to walk in?” Hadrian asked skeptically.

“Yes, we need their help, and when one goes begging, it’s best to knock on the front door.”

They lodged in room nineteen, so it was a short trip down the hall and around a corner to room twenty-three. It was conveniently isolated. There were no other doors off this hall, only a stair, which likely led to the street. Royce rapped twice, paused, then added three more.

The door opened.

“Come in, Duster.”

The room was a larger, more luxurious suite with a chandelier brightly lighting the interior. No beds were visible as they entered a parlor. Against the far wall were two doors, which no doubt led to sleeping quarters. Dark green damask fabric adorned the walls, and carpet covered the entire floor except for the area around the marble fireplace. Four tall windows, each shrouded with thick velvet curtains, decorated the outside wall. Several ornate pieces of furniture lined the room. In the center stood a gaunt man with sunken cheeks and accusing eyes. Two more men stood slightly behind him, while another two waited near the door.

“Everyone, please take a seat,” the thin man told them. He remained standing until they all had sat. “Duster, let me get right to the point. I made it clear on your last visit that you are not welcome here, didn’t I?”

Royce was silent.

“I was unusually patient then, but seeing as how you’ve returned, perhaps politeness is not the proper tack to take with you. Personally, I hold you in the highest regard, but as First Officer, I simply cannot allow you to blatantly walk into this city after having been warned.” He paused, but when no reaction came from Royce, he continued. “Hadrian and the princess are welcome to leave. Point of fact, I must insist the lady leave, as the death of a noblewoman would make things awkward. Shall I assume Hadrian will refuse?”

Hadrian glanced at Royce, who did not return his look, and then Hadrian shrugged. “I would hate to miss whatever show is about to start.”

“In that case, Your Highness …” The man made a sweeping hand motion toward the door. “If you’ll please return to your room.”

“I’m staying,” Arista said. It was only two words, but spoken with all the confidence of a princess accustomed to getting her way.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Shall I escort her, sir?” one of the men near the door offered with a menacing tone.

“Touch her and this meeting will end badly,” Royce said barely above a whisper.

“Meeting?” The thin man laughed. “This is no meeting. This is retribution, and it’ll most assuredly end very badly.”

He looked back at Arista. “I’ve heard about you. I’m pleased to see the rumors are true.”

Arista had no idea what he meant, but did not like a thug knowing about her. She was even more disturbed by his approval.

“Nevertheless, my men will escort you.” He clapped his hands and the two doors to the adjoining rooms opened, as did the one behind them, leading to the hallway. Many well-armed men poured in.