The door opened, and Nerissa entered, bowing her head. “It is time, empress.”
“Good. I’m ready.” Amara stroked the silk of her gown. It was the one she wore for only the most special of occasions in Kraeshia. She took it with her whenever she traveled just in case there was the opportunity to wear such a splendid piece. Its shimmering stitches and shining beads of emerald and amethyst sparkled under the Paelsian sun as she emerged from her large villa.
An entourage of bodyguards waited outside for Amara, and with Nerissa by her side, she approached the large podium on a wooden stage high above the crowd of four thousand, who were elbow to elbow in the chief’s former fighting arena.
These were her new subjects. They would hang on her every word and spread the news of her glory to all who would listen. And one day soon, they would be the first to revere her as a true goddess.
The crowd cheered, and the air itself was infused with the sound of approval. She glanced at Nerissa, who smiled and nodded, encouraging her to begin.
Amara raised her arms, and her large audience went silent.
“I address the beautiful people of Paelsia, a kingdom that has endured many trials and tribulations through many generations.” Her voice resonated off the stone pillars, which helped to amplify the words so that even those in the stands could hear her. “I am Amara Cortas, the first empress of Kraeshia, and I bring you the official news that you are no longer citizens of Mytica, a trio of kingdoms that have oppressed you for a century, but you are now citizens of the great Kraeshian Empire—and your future is as bright as the sun that shines down upon us today!”
The crowd cheered, and Amara took a moment to scan the faces, some dirty, with threadbare clothes worn down with dust and age. Weary eyes looked up at her, eyes that had seen many leaders who had made false promises and delivered only pain and suffering. Still, she saw timid hope even in the oldest of eyes.
“We will tend to your land,” she continued. “We will make it rich again and ready to plant crops that will sustain you and your families. We will import livestock that will feed you. And as you continue to make the wine that Paelsia is famous for, the profits will be entirely yours, as I promise that there will be no Kraeshian taxes on this product for twenty years. The laws that have prevented legal export of this wine to anywhere but Auranos are hereby broken. I see Paelsia as a magnificent asset to my empire, and I want to show this by making my actions match my words. You are right to believe in me, for I believe in you. Together we will march forth into the future, hand in hand!”
The noise from the crowd swelled, and for a moment, Amara closed her eyes and allowed herself to soak it all in. This was why she’d sacrificed so much. This was why she’d done what she had.
This power.
No wonder her father had made so many harsh choices during his reign. This rush of obedience, of adoration, of awe was truly intoxicating.
Whether or not she could truly do all that she promised would have yet to be seen.
There was magic in the belief she felt from the Paelsian people. A magic so rich and pure that she wanted to bathe in it.
“Your grace!” Nerissa gasped.
Amara opened her eyes in time to see the glint of an arrow, and then one of her bodyguards shoved her out of the way. The arrow hit him in his throat, and he fell sputtering to the floor of the stage.
“What’s happening?” she demanded.
“The group of rebels who threatened to be here today—they’re here!” Nerissa grabbed her arm. Two more arrows flew toward her, narrowly missing her and hitting two other bodyguards.
“How many?” Amara managed. “How many rebels are here?”
“I don’t know—” Nerissa raised her head to look out at the crowd just as another arrow whizzed by. “Twenty, perhaps thirty or more.”
Amara watched with shock as her army of soldiers invaded the growing sea of civilians to apprehend the rebels. The soldiers cut down anyone who got into their way, be they rebel or Paelsian. The crowd panicked and tried to escape. Chaos broke out, cries of fear and outrage ringing all around as blood began to spill.
Paelsian men drew their weapons, their faces changing from hope to hate in an instant, and they began to fight not only with the soldiers but with each other, blades slicing flesh, fists hitting jaws and stomachs.
Savages, quick to violence, Kurtis had warned.
Mothers grabbed their children, crying and fleeing in all directions.
“What do we do?” Nerissa asked. She had crouched down next to Amara, and they were cowering now behind the podium.
“I don’t know,” Amara said quickly, then wanted to bite her tongue to take the words back.
Words of fear. Words of a victim.
She would not cower before rebels today or any day.