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

“We’re here to see the Jewel,” Royce quietly said.

Immediately the thin man’s expression changed. Arista watched as, in an instant, his face followed a path from confidence to confusion, then suspicion, and finally curiosity. He ran a bony hand through his thin blond hair. “What makes you think the Jewel will see you?”

“Because there’s profit in it for him.”

“The Jewel is already very wealthy.”

“It’s not that kind of profit. Tell me, Price, how long have you had the new gate guards? The ones in the imperial uniforms. For that matter, when did Colnora get a gate? How many others like them are roaming the city?” Royce sat back and folded his hands across his lap. “I should have been stopped the moment I entered Colnora, and under farmer Oslow’s field over two hours ago. Why the delay? Why are there no watches posted on the Arch or Bernum Bridge? Are you really getting that sloppy, Price? Or are the Imps running the show?”

Now it was the thin man’s turn to remain silent.

“The Diamond can’t be happy with the New Empire flexing its muscle. You used to have full rein, and the Jewel his own fiefdom. But not anymore. Now he must share. The Diamond has been forced back into the shadows while the new landlord kicks up his heels in front of the fire in the house they built. Tell Cosmos I’m here to help with his little problem.”

Price stared at Royce, and then his eyes drifted to Arista. He nodded and stood up. “You will, of course, remain here until I return.”

“Why not?” Hadrian remarked, apparently undisturbed by the tension radiating in the room. “This is a whole lot better than our room. Are those walnuts over there?”

During the exchange and while Price was gone, Royce never moved. Four men who were the most menacing of those present watched him intently. There seemed to be a contest of wills going on, each waiting to see who would flinch first. Hadrian, in contrast, casually strode around the room, examining the various paintings and furnishings. He selected a chair with a padded footstool, put up his feet, and began eating from a bowl of fruits and nuts.

“This stuff is great,” he said. “We didn’t get anything like this in our room. Anyone else want some?” They ignored him. “Suit yourself.” He popped another handful of walnuts into his mouth.

Finally, Price returned. He had been gone for quite a while, or perhaps it had just seemed that way to Arista as she had quietly waited. The Jewel had consented to the meeting.

A carriage waited for them in front of The Regal Fox. Arista was surprised when Royce and Hadrian surrendered their weapons before boarding. Price joined them in the carriage, while two of the guild members sat up top with the driver. They rolled south two blocks, then turned west and traveled farther up the hill, past the Tradesmen’s Arch, toward the Langdon Bridge. Through the open window, Arista could hear the metal rims of the coach and the horses’ hooves clattering on the cobblestone. Across from her the glare of tavern lights crawled across the face of Price, who sat eyeing her with a malevolent smile. The man was all limbs, with fingers that were too long and eyes sunk too deep.

“It would seem you’re doing better these days, Duster,” he said with his hands folded awkwardly in his lap, a jackal pretending to be civilized. “At least your clientele has improved.” The Diamond’s First Officer smiled a toothy grin and nodded at Arista. “Although rumor has it that Melengar might not be the best investment these days. No offense intended, Your Highness. The Diamond is as a whole—and I personally am—rooting for you, but as a businessman, one does have to face facts.”

Arista presented him a pleasant smile. “The sun will rise tomorrow, Mr. Price. That is a fact. You have horrid breath and smell of horse manure. That is also a fact. Who will win this war, however, is still a matter of opinion, and I put no weight in yours.”

Price raised his eyebrows.

“She’s an ambassador and a woman,” Hadrian told him. “You’d be cut less fencing with a Pickering, and stand a better chance of winning.”

Price smiled and nodded.

Arista was unsure whether it was in approval or resentment; such was the face of thieves. “Who exactly are we going to see, or is that a secret?”

“Cosmos Sebastian DeLur, the wealthiest merchant in Avryn,” Royce replied. “Son of Cornelius DeLur of Delgos, who’s probably the richest man alive. Between the two of them, the DeLur family controls most of the commerce and lends money to kings and commoners alike. He runs the Black Diamond and goes by the moniker of the Jewel.”

Price’s hands twitched slightly.

As they reached the summit of the hill, the carriage turned into a long private brick road that ascended Bernum Heights, a sharply rising bluff that overlooked the river below. Protecting the palatial DeLur estate was a massive gate wider than three city streets, which opened at their approach. Elegantly dressed guards stood rigid while a stuffy administrative clerk with white gloves and a powdered wig marked their passing on a parchment. Then the carriage began its long serpentine ascent along a hedge-and lantern-lined lane. Unexpected breaks in the foliage revealed glimpses of an elegant garden with elaborate sculpted fountains. At the top of the bluff stood a magnificent white marble mansion. Three stories in height, it was adorned with an eighteen-pillar colonnade forming a half-moon entrance illuminated by a massive chandelier suspended at its center. This estate was built to impress, but what caught Arista’s attention was the huge bronze fountain of three nude women pouring pitchers of water into a pool.

A pair of gold doors were opened by two more impeccably dressed servants. Another man, dressed in a long dark coat, led the way into the vestibule, filled with tapestries and more sculptures than Arista had ever seen in one place. They were led through an archway outside to an expansive patio. Ivy-covered lattices lined an open-air terrace decorated with a variety of unusual plants and two more fountains—once more of nude women, only these were much smaller and wrought of polished marble.

“Good evening, Your Highness, gentlemen. Welcome to my humble home.”

Seated on a luxurious couch, a large man greeted them. He was not tall but of amazing girth. He looked to be in his early fifties and well on his way to going bald. He tied what little hair he had left with a black silk ribbon and let it fall in a tail down his back. His chubby face remained youthful, showing lines of age only at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, as he was doing now. He dressed in a silk robe and held a glass of wine, which threatened to spill as he motioned them over.