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

“Nearly a thousand years have passed since the breaking of the great Empire of Novron,” he told the multitude below. “We stand here today as witnesses to the enduring power of Maribor and his promise to Novron that his seed will reign forever. Neither treachery nor time can break this sacred covenant. Allow me to introduce to you proof of this. Welcome with me now the once simple farm maid, the slayer of the elven beast, the Heir of Novron, the high priestess of the Nyphron Church, Her Most Serene and Royal Grand Imperial Eminence, Empress Modina Novronian!”


The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Amilia could feel the vibration of their voices even where she sat. She looked at Modina, pleading and hopeful. The empress’s face was calm as she stood up straight and gracefully walked forward, the train of her dress trailing behind her.

When she stepped upon the balcony—when the people finally saw her face—the noise of the crowd did the impossible. It exploded. The unimaginably boisterous cheering was deafening, like a continuous roll of thunder that vibrated the very stone of the castle. It went on and on and Amilia wondered if it would ever stop.

In the face of the tumult, surely Modina could not endure. What effect would this have on her fragile countenance? Amilia wished Saldur had allowed her to use the rope or accompany her onto the balcony. Amilia’s only consolation was knowing that Modina was likely frozen, her mind retreating to that dark place she had so long lived in, the place she crawled to hide from the world.

Amilia prayed the crowd would quiet. She hoped Ethelred or Saldur would do something to silence them, but neither moved and the crowd continued to roar with no end in sight. Then something unexpected happened. Modina slowly raised her hands, making a gentle quieting motion. Almost immediately, the crowd fell silent. Amilia could not believe her eyes.

“My beloved and cherished loyal subjects.” She spoke with a loud, clear, almost musical voice that Amilia had not heard at practice. “It is wonderful to finally meet you.”

The crowd roared anew, even louder than before. Modina allowed them to cheer for a full minute before raising her hands and silencing them again.

“As some of you may have heard, I have not been well. The battle with Rufus’s Bane left me weakened, but with the help of my closest friend, the grand imperial secretary, Lady Amilia of Tarin Vale, I am feeling much better.”

Amilia stopped breathing at the mention of her name. That was not in the speech.

“I owe Amilia the greatest debt of gratitude for her efforts on my behalf, for I should not be here at all if not for her strength, wisdom, and kindness.”

Amilia closed her eyes and cringed.

“While I am feeling better, I am still easily exhausted and I must keep my strength in order to devote it to ensuring our defense against invaders, a bountiful harvest, and our return to the glory and prosperity that was Novron’s Empire,” she finished with an elaborate wave of her hand, turned, and left the balcony with elegant grace and poise.

The crowd erupted once more into cheers, which continued long after Modina had returned inside.

“I swear I didn’t tell her to say that.” Amilia pleaded with Saldur.

“Because the empress publicly named you her friend and the hero of the realm, you’ve become famous,” Saldur replied. “This will make it almost impossible for me to replace you—almost. But don’t worry,” he continued thoughtfully. “With such a fine display, I would be a fool to do anything other than praise you. I’m once more impressed. I wouldn’t have expected this from you. You’re more clever than I thought, but I should have guessed that already. I’ll have to remember this. Good work, my dear. Good work, indeed.”

“Yes, that was excellent!” Ethelred said. “We can now put the fiasco of the coronation behind us. I can’t say I approve of the self-aggrandizement, Amilia, but seeing what you’ve done with her, I can’t begrudge you a little recognition. In fact, we should consider rewarding her for a job well done, Sauly.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “We’ll have to consider what that should be. Come, Lanis, let’s proceed to the banquet.” The two of them left, talking back and forth about the ceremony as they went.

Amilia moved to the empress’s side, took her hand, and escorted her back to her quarters. “You’ll be the death of me yet,” she told her.





CHAPTER 16





THE BATTLE OF RATIBOR





Hadrian sat in the rain. Heavy chains shackled his ankles and wrists to a large metal stake driven into the ground. All day, and throughout the night, he waited in the mud, watching the lazy movements of the Nationalist army. They were just as slow to decide his fate as they were to attack. Horses walked past, meals were called, and men grumbled about the rain and the mud. The gray light faded into night and regret consumed him.

He should have escaped, even if it had meant shedding blood. He might have been able to save Arista’s life. He could have warned her that the Nationalists would not cooperate and would have her call off the attack. Now even if she succeeded, the victory would be short-lived and she would face the gallows or a beheading.

“Gill!” he shouted as he saw the sentry walking by in his soaked cloak.

“Ah yes!” Gill laughed, coming closer with a grin. “If it isn’t the grand marshal. Not so grand now, are you?”

“Gill, you have to help me,” he shouted over the roar of the rain. “I need you to get a message to—”

Gill bent down. “Now why would I help the likes of you? You made a fool out of me. Sergeant Milford weren’t too pleased neither. He has me running an all-night shift to show his displeasure.”

“I have money,” Hadrian told him eagerly. “I could pay you.”

“Really? And where is this money, in some chest buried on some distant mountain, or merely in another pair of pants?”

“Right here in the purse on my belt. I have at least ten gold tenents. You can have it all if you just promise me to take a message to Ratibor.”

Gill looked at Hadrian’s belt curiously. “Sure,” he said. Reaching down, he untied the purse. He weighed it in his hands. The bouncing produced a jingle. He pulled open the mouth and poured out a handful of coins. “Whoa! Look at that. You weren’t joshing. There’s really gold in here. One, two, three … damn! Well, thank you, Marshal.” He made a mock salute. “This will definitely take the sting out of having to stand two watches.” He started to walk away.

“Wait!” Hadrian told him. “You need to hear the message.”

Gill kept walking.

“You need to tell Arista not to attack,” he shouted desperately, but Gill continued on his way, swinging the purse, until his figure was obscured by the rain.

Hadrian cursed and kicked the stake hard. He collapsed on his side, lost in frustration. He remembered the look on Arista’s face, how hopeful she had been. It had never crossed her mind that he could fail. When he had first met the princess, he had thought she was arrogant and egotistical, like all nobles—grown-up brats, greedy and self-centered.