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

Previously the people hovering around her were vague gray faces. They had spoken to her of ridiculous notions, the vast majority she could not begin to comprehend even if she wanted to. Amilia was different. She had said things to Modina that she could understand. Amilia had told stories of her own family and reminded Modina of another girl—a girl named Thrace—who had died and was just a ghost now. It was a painful memory, but Amilia managed to remind her about times before the darkness, before the pain, when there had been someone in the world who loved her.

When Saldur had threatened to send Amilia away, Modina had seen the terrible fear in the girl’s eyes. She had recognized that fear. Saldur’s voice was the screech of the beast, and at that moment, she had awoken from her long dream. Her eyes had focused, seeing clearly for the first time since that night. She would not allow the beast to win again.

Somewhere in the chamber, out of sight of the dais, a door slammed. The sound echoed around the marbled hall. Loud footsteps followed with an even louder conversation.

“I don’t understand why I can’t launch an attack against Alric on my own.” The voice came from an agitated well-dressed man.

“Breckton’s army will dispatch the Nationalists in no time. Then he can return to Melengar, and you can have your prize, Archie,” replied the voice of an older man. “Melengar isn’t going anywhere, and it’s not worth the risk.”

The younger voice she did not recognize, but the older one she had heard many times before. They called him Regent Ethelred. The pair of nobles and their retinue came into view. Ethelred was dressed as she usually had seen him—in red velvet and gold silk. His thick mustache and beard betrayed his age, as both were steadily going gray.

The younger man walking beside him dressed in a stylish scarlet silk tunic with a high-ruffed collar, an elegant cape, and an extravagant plumed hat that matched the rest of his attire perfectly. He was taller than the regent, and his long auburn hair trailed down his back in a ponytail. They walked at the head of a group of six others: personal servants, stewards, and court officials. Four of the six Modina recognized, as she had seen the little parade before.

There was the court scribe, who went everywhere carrying a ledger. He was a plump man with long red cheeks and a balding head, and he always had a feathered quill behind each ear, making him look like a strange bird. His staunchly straight posture and odd strut reminded her of a quail parading through a field, and because she did not know the scribe’s name, in her mind she dubbed him simply The Quail.

There was also Ethelred’s valet, whom she labeled The White Mouse, as he was a thin, pale man with stark white hair, and his fastidious pampering seemed rodent-like. She never heard him speak except to say, “Of course, my lord.” He continuously flicked lint from Ethelred’s clothes and was always on hand to take a cloak or change the regent’s footwear.

Then there was The Candle, so named because he was a tall, thin man with wild red curly hair and a drooping mouth that sagged like tallow wax.

The last of the entourage was a soldier of some standing. He wore a uniform that had dozens of brightly colored ribbons pinned to it.

“I would appreciate you using a formal address when we are in public,” Archie pointed out.

Ethelred turned as if surprised to see they were not alone in the hall.

“Oh,” he said, quickly masking a smile. Then, in a tone heavy with sarcasm, he proclaimed, “Forgive me, Earl of Chadwick. I didn’t notice them. They’re more like furniture to me. My point was, however, that we only suspect the extent of Melengar’s weakness. Attacking them would introduce more headaches than it is worth. As it is, there is no chance Alric will attack us. He’s a boy, but not so foolhardy as to provoke the destruction of his little kingdom.”

“Is that …” Archibald stared up at Modina and stopped walking so that Ethelred lost track of him for a moment.

“The empress? Yes,” Ethelred replied, his tone revealing a bit of his own irritation that the earl had apparently not heard what he had just said.

“She’s … she’s … beautiful.”

“Hmm? Yes, I suppose she is,” Ethelred responded without looking. Instead, he turned to Amilia, who, along with everyone else, was standing straight, her eyes looking at the floor. “Saldur tells me you’re our little miracle worker. You got her eating, speaking, and generally cooperating. I’m pleased to hear it.”

Amilia curtsied in silence.

“She’ll be ready in time, correct? We can ill afford another fiasco like the one we had at the coronation. She couldn’t even make an appearance. You’ll see to that, won’t you?”

“Yes, my lord.” Amilia curtsied again.

The Earl of Chadwick’s eyes remained focused on Modina, and she found his expression surprising. She did not see the awe-inspired look of the palace staff, nor the cold, callous countenance of her handlers. His face bore a broad smile.

A soldier entered the hall, walking briskly toward them. The one with the pretty ribbons left the entourage and strode forward to intercept him. They spoke in whispers for a brief moment and then the other soldier handed over some parchments. Ribbon Man opened them and read them silently to himself before returning to Ethelred’s side.

“What is it?”

“Your Lordship, Admiral Gafton’s blockade fleet succeeded in capturing the Ellis Far, a small sloop, off the coast of Melengar. On board, they found parchments signed by King Alric granting the courier permission to negotiate with the full power of the Melengar crown. The courier and ship’s captain were unfortunately killed in the action. The coxswain, however, was taken and persuaded to reveal the destination of the vessel as Tur Del Fur.”

Ethelred nodded his understanding. “Trying to link up with the Nationalists, but that was expected. So the sloop sailed from Roe?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure no other ship slipped past?”

“The reports indicate it was the only one.”

While Ethelred and the soldier spoke and the rest of the hall remained still as statues, the Earl of Chadwick stared at the empress. Modina did not return his gaze, and it made her uncomfortable the way he watched her.

He ascended the steps and knelt. “Your Eminence,” he said, gently taking her hand and kissing the ring she wore. “I am Archibald Ballentyne, twelfth Earl of Chadwick.”

Modina said nothing.

“Archibald?” Ethelred’s voice once more.

“Forgive my rude approach,” the earl continued, “but I find I can’t help myself. How strange it is that we haven’t met before. I’ve been to Aquesta many times but never had the pleasure. Bad luck, I suppose. I’m certain you’re very busy, and as I command a substantial army, I’m busy as well. Recent events have seen fit to bring my command here. It’s not something I was pleased with. That is, until now. You see, I was doing very well conquering new lands for your growing empire, and having to stop I considered unfortunate. But my regret has turned to genuine delight as I’ve been blessed to behold your splendor.”

“Archie!” Ethelred had been calling out to him for some time, but it was not until he used that name that the well-dressed man’s attention finally left her. “Stop with that foolishness, will you? We need to get to the meeting.”

The earl frowned in irritation.

“Please forgive me, Your Eminence, but duty calls.”