The Last Empress

By C.E. Stalbaum

*Publisher's Note: The first book in the series, THE LAST GODDESS, is currently not available as a single book on Smashwords. However, the Complete Shattered Messiah Trilogy contains all three books in the series at a discount.*

“As a mage I learned to destroy men, and as a savior I learned to redeem them. But as Empress I must learn to do both...and that, I fear, is a challenge I am not yet ready to face."
—Kendera Darenthi, the First Empress

Two months have passed since the Unity Day Massacre bloodied the streets of Haven, and the Darenthi Republic lies in shambles. Empress Malivar, the architect of a tenuous peace, is dead. The Assembly of the Six Gods, once a formidable international alliance, has disbanded. And perhaps worst of all, the return of the long-lost Messiah has only inflamed the holy war between the Balorites and Edehans. Now, as an army of fanatics and their mysterious leader threaten to conquer Esharia, the only hope for the newly-crowned Empress Selaste and her allies is a last-ditch assault upon an impenetrable fortress.

THE LAST EMPRESS is the highly-anticipated sequel to THE LAST GODDESS and the second book in the Shattered Messiah Trilogy (155,000 words, 600 pages).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jade Fantasy
• Release date: Oct 19, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466160200

C.E. Stalbaum

C.E. Stalbaum grew up reading plenty of space opera and fantasy, particularly Tolkien, R.A. Salvatore, Robert Jordan, and most of all Timothy Zahn. In 2011, Stalbaum published "The Last Goddess" and has written nearly a dozen other novels and novellas since. C.E. Stalbaum also writes the dark fantasy "Godswar Saga" under the name "Jennifer Vale."

Book preview

Prologue

The wall of Faceless slowly parted at the approach of the lone black rider, looking for all the world like a great shadowy beast opening its maw to swallow him. Colonel Kadin Judaris had expected Emperor Veltar to dispatch a full diplomatic envoy—or at the very least a small regiment of soldiers—as a show of his supposed strength and influence. Instead he’d sent a single, road-weary traveler. Judaris wasn’t sure if he should be amused or insulted.

This must be a joke, Lieutenant Lareth murmured from beside him. "Is the Emperor really so arrogant that he thinks we’ll bend knee to…this?"

Judaris shrugged as the rider dismounted and continued his slow ascent up the steps into the fortress-city of Galefor. Encased in solid black leather armor and adorned with a flowing violet cape, the man might have been intimidating under different circumstances. He wasn’t carrying any obvious weapons, which probably meant he was a mage. And given his status as the Emperor’s sole messenger, it was reasonable to assume he was a powerful one at that.

But no magic was impressive next to the might of two thousand Faceless warriors. Not even the Grand Magister would garner any awed glances here.

The Emperor commands nearly half the former Republic military at this point, Judaris said softly. Perhaps he believes his reputation alone will convince us.

You should be insulted, sir, Lareth snarled. Galefor has never faltered, not in three centuries. The Emperor should be the one begging us to join him.

Veltar is far too proud for that, and his Balorites are far too arrogant.

She turned back to glare at the emissary. Then perhaps we should send them all a message. Return their diplomat in pieces.

Judaris smiled despite himself. He had known all along it might very well come to violence, though he was admittedly curious what the Emperor could possibly hope to offer him. Here in this northern fortress, separated from the rest of the Darenthi by the might of the Arvalian Mountains, Judaris was as self-sufficient and protected as any nation in Esharia. Since the news of Empress Malivar’s death, he had taken complete command of Galefor and its people, and they couldn’t be happier. The Senate would no longer raid their coffers for taxes to support its increasingly indulgent appetite, and the Empress would no longer haul away their precious ore to build cities meant to appease foreign dogs.

No, Galefor stood on its own now, separate from the concerns of the shattered Republic and its corrupt politicians. And Judaris couldn’t imagine a single thing in the world that the Emperor could offer him to make him reconsider their independence.

Colonel Judaris, the black figure said as he reached the wide platform at the top of the steps. When he pulled back the cowl of his cloak, Judaris was surprised to see the face of a younger man, certainly no more than thirty. It is an honor to finally meet you.

I would say the same, if I had any idea who you were, Judaris replied flatly. He idly brushed the light dusting of snow from his bald scalp. The Emperor’s missive stated that he would be sending his right hand as part of a diplomatic envoy. Instead I see one poorly armed traveler who was lucky to survive the wild vretarg roaming the mountains.

The emissary smiled. It was an odd thing, not exactly crooked but certainly not sincere. And somehow, despite the fact it was plastered on the face of an unarmed man half his age, Judaris felt a cold shiver work its way down his spine.

My name is Lord Varian Gralis, and I come on behalf of His Majesty, Emperor Veltar, the man said. He does not believe we need protection from our allies.

The colonel snorted. We are not allies, ‘Lord’ Gralis. I don’t know you, and I don’t know much about this Emperor you claim to serve, either.

You know enough. The Emperor was always a firm supporter of the military and your forces here during his time in the Senate. He even lost his own daughter to the fighting along the Tethelian border.

I wondered if Veltar might try that,Judaris spat. Acting like the death of his only child somehow meant he had made this unique sacrifice for Darenthi. Every family in this city has lost children to war over the years, and many have lost their entire line. If you think I’m going to praise some politician for giving once what these citizens have sacrificed for generations—

I don’t expect anything of the sort, Gralis said calmly. I merely wished you to appreciate that he does at least have some personal understanding of the struggles your people have endured. The citizens of Galefor have sacrificed more than most, and the credit for their achievements should go to them. We have no wish to take those away.

Good. But I hope you realize pandering won’t get you very far with me.

Gralis smiled again. It wasn’t any more sincere than his first effort. I know that, Colonel, but I do expect you to understand that even more hardships await us if we do not all come together to stand against our common foes.

Ah, there it is, Judaris muttered. I knew that’s what you came here for. You wish us to bow before your new Emperor, to swear allegiance to him and send our coin, our resources, and even our soldiers to fight in his petty little civil war.

What I want is to reunite Darenthi and make it strong again, Gralis told him. You understand as well as anyone the tenacity and ruthlessness of our enemies. They gather now at our doorstep, sensing our weakness…and you and I both know they will not wait long to strike.

Galefor has stood for centuries, Lareth growled. No army in Esharia would risk breaking on our walls again.

Gralis’s eyes flicked to her for the briefest of moments before returning to Judaris. Your faith in your people is admirable, but I’m sure the colonel here knows better.

Judaris shrugged. Perhaps, but even if I agreed with you, I fail to see how your Emperor is the one to rebuild Darenthi. He has no royal blood in his veins—he is a politician, corrupt and soulless to the core.

A military man like you must be more interested in deeds than bloodline, Gralis said. And the Emperor’s accomplishments speak for themselves. He has united more than half of Darenthi under his banner in only a few short months, and more are joining every day. Your mentor, General Bremen, supported Veltar before he was betrayed and murdered by Princess Tryss.

That’s not the story I’ve heard, Judaris replied skeptically. Bremen’s long-time adjutant, Thorne, has joined forces with the new Empress. She would not betray Bremen’s memory by following his killer. She must have a good reason.

Gralis sighed softly and lowered his head. Some have fallen prey to the allure of the false Messiah, it is true. They believe, against all reason, that a spoiled princess who abdicated her responsibilities is now somehow their savior. Major Thorne, unfortunately, might be one of them.

Judaris folded his arms across his chest. I find that incredibly unlikely.

So instead you believe in the return of the Kirshal? That the Edehan Messiah has conveniently appeared to save them just when their political fortunes have taken a turn for the worst?

No, Judaris said flatly. What I believe is that my country has been broken by distant nobles and feuding senators, and there is no saving it. But for the people here… He gestured grandly out to the city behind the castle. "They don’t want an Emperor or a Senate or anything else to pillage their resources. All they want—all they need—is a leader who cares about them and is willing to do what it takes to protect them."

In other words, Gralis whispered, you.

That’s right. You talk about unity, but so did the last Empress…and what she left was a nation on the brink of civil war. You talk about standing together, but can you really promise me that you’ll commit forces from your precious Sandratha to defend this city when the Sylethi decide to invade? I doubt it. Instead you’ll take our soldiers and our resources as you always have, all to throw yourselves at the Ebarans one last time.

Gralis sighed and rubbed casually at the side of his face. You disappoint me, Colonel. I had expected to find a man of reason, a man who was able to appreciate the threat we face. Instead I have found a kreel drunk on his own power.

Lareth drew her blade and thrust it forward threateningly. Watch your tongue, cur, or I’ll send you back to your Emperor in pieces.

Above them in the archway, Judaris heard the reassuring clatter of a dozen men raising their crossbows. He smiled.

Your Emperor sent you in search of slaves, Lord Gralis, but you will not find any servants here, he said. We have long been the backbone of Darenthi in the west, overworked and underappreciated—but not any longer. We stand alone.

I see, Gralis said.

Go back to your Emperor, Judaris ordered. Tell him that he is not welcome here, and that if he sends anyone else, he should not expect them to return.

Gralis shook his head. There won’t be any others, Colonel. I was sent here to secure your support in our war against the false Kirshal. If you are not willing to lend us your aid, then you are of no use to us.

Judaris laughed. He had seen gall on the battlefield many times in his long career. He had personally watched General Andar Bremen stare down an Ebaran army three times the size of his own and hold the line at Arteris. But this…this wasn’t gall. This was pompous idiocy.

You dare to threaten me in my fortress? he asked coldly. I’ve heard whispers of your Emperor’s new magic, some dark power the he’s used to bludgeon other commanders into his service. But that won’t work on me. Not here.

He tapped the crystal pendant around his neck, and a dozen of the nearby Faceless drew their swords and took a menacing step forward. Farther down the ramp, a hundred more stepped forward to close off the only escape.

In Sandratha you may be a god, Lord Gralis, Judaris sneered, but here you are nothing. Send your armies to my walls if you wish. We will break them, just as we have broken every other invader over the past three centuries.

I already told you there wouldn’t be any others, Gralis replied calmly. No army, no messengers. We have no need of them.

Lareth pushed her blade forward until it was nearly touching the man’s throat. Let me kill him, sir. We’ll send the horse back with his corpse.

Gralis smiled. It was never me you had to worry about.

Judaris frowned, and he’d just opened his mouth to reply when an eerie hiss echoed across the fortress. It grew louder with each passing second, and soon it was like a thousand snakes were crawling up the steps.

What in the Void? he stammered, glancing about to see where it was coming from.

And then, in perfect unison, the Faceless within the courtyard—all two thousand of them— pivoted to face Gralis and dropped to a knee.

Judaris’s mouth fell open as he grasped frantically at the control pendant around his neck. Obey me! he screamed. Kill him!

They are not your soldiers, Colonel, Gralis said. The Faceless behind him remained on their knees. And they never were.

Judaris froze, his hands shaking. How…?

Lareth recovered first. She lunged forward towards the black-cloaked man, her sword thrusting straight for his heart.

It never made it. In a blur of billowing black and purple cloth, Gralis spun on a heel and dodged the attack—and a second later he somehow had her blade in his hand. He whirled again, and a stream of warm blood splattered across Judaris’s face. Lareth’s body clattered to the ground, and her severed head slowly rolled past the colonel’s leg.

Kill him! Judaris screeched, leaping backward and fumbling to grab his own weapon. It took the row of marksmen above a full two seconds to recover from their own shock and lower their weapons to fire.

The hesitation cost them their lives. Gralis gestured once to the platform, and the marksmen were suddenly and violently hurled straight up into the air…and then summarily dropped to their deaths on the stone path below.

Judaris finally wrenched free his crossbow and leveled it at Gralis, hoping to take him out before it was too late—

And then there was pain. It wasn’t from a sword or a bolt or even any magic he was used to. It was like the heart of winter had suddenly descended straight inside his chest, freezing his organs and choking off his air. He dropped to his knees and glanced down to his hands. His flesh was desiccating before his eyes, first draining of color and then stretching meekly across his bones. He grasped at his wrists, his mouth gaping open in silent horror…

Your army belongs to the Emperor, Colonel, Gralis said coldly as he stepped forward, Lareth’s blood still dripping from his sword. Just as your soul belongs to Abalor.

The blade flashed, and then there was darkness.

Chapter One

If the Void really was an endless black nothingness where the souls of faithless men went to suffer for all eternity, then Katuja could have easily been its festering armpit. Perhaps that wasn’t a fair criticism of a small mining town that, from a distance, didn’t look much different than any other city along the Ebaran border, but Katuja had a longstanding reputation as a refuge for mercenaries, pirates, smugglers, and all manner of other sleazy characters looking to avoid the long hand of the Darenthi justice system. Its location was certainly strategic enough: it was about a hundred fifty miles southeast of Haven and wedged between a pair of mountain ranges filled with abandoned mines, sprawling caves, and generally trackless terrain. It was also the most isolated of the six towns under the protection of the garrison at Tal Karoth, not to mention the only one with access to the Darsan River. Those two qualities had always made it a tempting base of operations for varium smuggling cartels like the Carthane Syndicate.

Still, despite all that, Nathan Rook had promised himself that he’d keep an open mind. Surely an entire town couldn’t have been as bad as the slums in Haven or the dank, rat-infested warrens of Thesomere back in Ebara.

He was wrong.

This place is a drekhole if I’ve ever seen one, Gabin commented, his youthful face twisting in contempt. Zandrast’s blood, I thought Odera was bad.

This might not be the best time to run your mouth, kid, Foren scolded. Can you keep it together, or do we need to leave you outside?

Rook raised a calming hand to his two escorts as they crossed the battered cobblestone walks at the center of town. "We’ll be fine—just keep your voices down. Zerko said he’d meet us at the Salt Whistle. It should be just around the corner here somewhere."

The two men nodded stiffly, and for probably the tenth time today, Rook wished that Van and Rynne were here with him instead. Foren and Gabin were good men, naturally, or he never would have brought them along on such a sensitive mission. But the former had gotten a bit starchy with the younger members in the organization recently, and the latter had only been out on real assignment twice in the six months since they’d recruited him. The three of them had never worked together as a team like this, and sadly the ungainliness was already showing. Rook just hoped Hal Zerko really was as by-the-numbers as his reputation claimed.

I think that’s it, Foren said, gesturing off to the left with a subtle nod of his head. I’ve seen worse places.

Gabin raised an eyebrow at the pair of buxom, overly made-up women on the tavern’s patio beckoning passing sailors to come inside. I thought this place was supposed to be a tavern.

I’m sure they serve booze with the women, Foren replied dryly. You ready, boss?

Rook nodded idly, doing his best to project a confidence he didn’t feel. Walking into a city like Katuja always had its risks, but for a man like him—namely, one whose reputation reached far and wide across the entire country—it held a special peril. He’d made plenty of enemies over the past five years working as an information broker in Haven, almost certainly more than he’d ever made as an Ebaran soldier fighting in the Third War. Only a small handful of them knew what he actually looked like, but unfortunately that number had steadily grown over the past few months. His work with the Empress had not only tapped most of his resources, but it had also made him a much more visible figure…and in this line of work, that wasn’t always a good thing. It was, in fact, almost always the opposite.

Just remember: we’re here to talk, Rook reminded them. He’ll be pushy, but ignore it as long as you can. I’d rather not fight if we don’t have to.

I still don’t like these odds, Foren grumbled. He’s sure as Shakissa going to have more than three men watching his back. We’ll be outnumbered.

Rook grinned coyly. I told you we’d have backup. Don’t worry about it.

Foren sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. As you say, boss.

Come on, let’s get this over with.

The trio crossed the darkened streets and made their way up to the tavern. The harlots at the door did their best to make a sale, but Rook dismissed them as politely as he could without making a scene or choking on their noxious perfume. He pushed the door open…

And immediately froze in his tracks. Despite the silly name and rustic exterior, the Salt Whistle was evidently not a boorish sailor’s bar; it was a full-blown saloon with gambling tables, music, and dancers. The clientele was also far more upscale than he’d anticipated. He actually felt a bit underdressed in his brown leather jacket and simple clothing.

Well, Gabin said softly, this isn’t what I expected.

Rook forcibly dragged his eyes away from the entertainment when he realized the three of them were standing in the doorway like a bunch of slack-jawed teenagers gawking at the sight of their first brothel. He’d just started to veer off towards the bar when a flicker of movement to his right caught his eye. There, seated off in a private room in the corner of the tavern, was a heavyset man with bushy eyebrows and a thick beard beckoning him over. He was flanked on either side by a pair of attractive young blonde women wearing long, sheer red dresses that left nothing to the imagination. A third woman, short and brunette, danced provocatively at the center of the room.

Rook gestured for the others to follow him. Once he passed inside the doorway he counted no less than six armed guards, most of whom were burly and all of whom were likely inebriated. One in particular loomed right next to the doorway, and he scowled down at the newcomers like they were rats slipping in through a hole in the wall.

Mr. Rook, I’m glad you were able to make it, Hal Zerko said. I was starting to wonder if perhaps you’d gotten lost…or if the packs of sauble had claimed another traveler along the road.

Nothing so dramatic, Rook replied coolly, mentally recording the positions of everyone in the room. They were definitely outnumbered, and judging by the holsters and Kimperan pistols on most of the guards’ hips, they were rather severely outgunned as well. Just a business matter that held me up a bit longer than I’d expected.

Zerko smiled. It managed to be both greasy and sinister at the same time. Combined with his weight, his personal harem, and the furrowed brows of all the thick-armed men in the room, he could have easily passed for a villain in the trashiest Sunoan crime novel.

Please, have a seat, the man said. Can I get you or your men any refreshment?

No, thank you. Rook sat down in the only open chair in the room. Foren and Gabin stood awkwardly next to him; even without looking up at their faces, Rook could tell both men were already on edge. Perhaps it really was a mistake to bring them here…

Are you certain? We have quite the assortment of imports. And if you want any of the girls, just let me know. This one especially could use a little…discipline.

Zerko leaned down and grabbed a short whip sitting at his side. He smacked the brunette dancer hard enough that she yelped and nearly tripped. When she stopped her routine and glared at him, he raised it threateningly. She quickly lowered her eyes and resumed her mesmerizing gyrations.

I’m content for the moment, thank you, Rook said, doing his best to ignore the display. You said you had information for me. That’s all I care about.

Quite so, Zerko murmured. But first I would like to reiterate just how pleased I am that you were willing to make the trip in person.

The hairs on the back of Rook’s neck started to tingle. I’m a hands-on type of guy.

So I’ve heard. But for a man of your notoriety to come to a place like Katuja, and with only a pair of poorly armed and clearly inexperienced bodyguards at his side... I couldn’t tell if it was courageous or foolish.

Maybe both—I’ll let you decide, Rook said impatiently, noting the sudden shift in tense. I’m a busy man, Zerko. If you have something for me, then spit it out.

Well, you see, the fact you were willing to come here in person at all surprised me, Zerko went on as if he hadn’t heard the comment, but then when my men reported you approaching on the road with only two guards, I knew something was wrong. You might have been willing to negotiate in person, but no man with your credentials would travel here without support.

Rook’s neck hairs went from tingling to outright bristling. Do you have a point with any of this?

A dark smile formed on the man’s lips. I do, Mr. Rook. You see, you did not, in fact, come here with only two men.

He nodded, and the two guards closest to him immediately drew their pistols and aimed them at the large man looming next to the door. The harem girls recoiled and the dancer froze in place.

Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize your long-time partner? Zerko asked. Corbyle is the name, I believe, yes? A former Ebaran soldier and now your own personal thug.

Van sighed and slowly lifted his hands. He looked pretty convincing with the fake facial scars, tattoos, and the tattered breastplate that matched the other guards—or so they’d thought.

I told him this was a stupid idea, Van grumbled. I knew you wouldn’t fall for something this obvious.

Zerko’s smile widened. Nor will I be deceived by false flattery.

He gestured again, and the three remaining guards in the back of the room drew their weapons and pointed them at the brunette dancer. She swore under her breath and closed her eyes.

Rynne Vorani, Sunoan minstrel and accomplished con-artist, Renter said. You’re quite skilled, my dear. I wonder, how many harems have you served in before?

Van took a menacingly step forward, but a twitch from the guards froze him in place. Zerko laughed and took a long sip from a glass of wine.

So, Mr. Rook, perhaps now we can begin our discussion in earnest.

Rook eyed Foren and Gabin, hoping to calm them with a stern, reassuring glance. It didn’t work. Each of them quivered nervously, and he hoped they weren’t stupid enough to reach for their weapons just yet…

So I’m guessing you don’t actually know anything, then, Rook said.

Zerko grunted. I know plenty, but I won’t be selling it to you. There’s a surprising bounty on your head, though I’m afraid it does not extend to your companions. Still, I imagine the girl at least would fetch a high price on the slave market. The nobles in Lessek have quite ravenous appetites, you know.

Touch me and I’ll gut you, Rynne snarled.

Zerko chuckled. I can see why you chose her, at least. She definitely has spirit.

What’s the bounty? Rook asked, ignoring the comment. I can probably double it.

Perhaps, but I’m not willing to cross my associates so easily. This isn’t about money, after all.

Everything is about money, Rook countered, especially for a fringe thug like you.

Fringe? Zerko hissed. Perhaps your arrogance has blinded you to the world outside Haven, but I rule Katuja, Mr. Rook. And once I hand you over to Emperor Veltar, he’s promised to give me control over every city under Tal Karoth.

So Veltar is still alive then, Rook mused. Interesting.

Zerko’s face twitched at the verbal slip. Yes, and I have seen the forces he commands. Your pitiful little princess has no hope of standing against him.

Rook shrugged. I think you underestimate the power of the Kirshal.

"Kirshal, Zerko spat. Please. There is no such thing, and I don’t understand how a man like you could buy into such a childish Messiah fantasy."

Believe me, Van muttered, I’ve tried to tell him the same thing.

She defeated Prince Kastrius and his army of Faceless in Haven, Rook pressed. She could do the same to your new ‘Emperor.’

Zerko shook his head and stood. Prince Kastrius was a pathetic kreel and everyone knew it. The power the Emperor commands goes beyond anything this world has ever seen, and he has promised to share it with anyone willing to serve him.

And you fell for that? Rook asked. How long have you been bucking Darenthi authority, Hal? Ten years? Twenty? And now suddenly you’re willing to toe the line and cooperate?

Empress Malivar was a fool, and her laws similarly so. She made a mockery of our heritage. The new Darenthi Empire will bow to no one.

So you’re just delusional, then. Good to know.

Zerko snapped his fingers, and the guard behind his right-shoulder—and, notably, the only one without a pistol on his belt—stepped forward and extended his hand. The air hissed, and a ball of swirling violet energy flashed into existence in his palm.

The Emperor wants you alive for reasons I cannot fathom, Zerko said, but your companions…he has no use for them.

Well, that’s a pity, Rook replied, sighing and leaning back calmly in his chair. I’d hoped to take you and your men alive, but if you’re not going to surrender there’s not much I can do.

Zerko snorted. Nice try, but I’m calling your bluff.

It’s no bluff.

Zerko frowned as if he couldn’t believe the gall of the man sitting helplessly in front of him. The expression was mirrored on most of his guards, including the mage, and they all paused to boggle at once.

It was their last mistake.

In a single, crisp motion, the guard standing behind Zerko’s left shoulder lurched forward, grabbed the adjacent mage by the neck, and snapped it like a piece of kindling. Before Zerko could even turn and react, the attacker lashed out with a sweep kick that knocked the crime lord from his feet. The remaining guards shifted their aim to gun the traitor down—

They never had a chance. Foren and Gabin drew their weapons, dropping two of the men before they even knew what was happening. The third managed to gasp in shock before Rynne, now huddled in a defensive crouch, hurled a throwing knife she’d produced from somewhere inside her dress. The blade sliced open his throat, and he managed to grab at the wound and gurgle once before falling dead to the floor.

The clientele of the Salt Whistle was apparently no stranger to outbreaks of violence. The customers in the main room took cover behind tables or the bar, but no one actually ran for the door. When the shooting ended so quickly, most of them almost looked annoyed…

"Next time, how about you dress up like the idiot thug? Van grumbled. I’m getting tired of this."

Rook stood and surveyed the carnage. No one would believe that you were a legitimate businessman.

That hurts. I bet Tiel could pull it off, though.

I shouldn’t be here at all, the young Edehan monk said as he hovered over the fallen Zerko, his elbow pressing hard into the back of the man’s neck. I should be in the palace watching Her Majesty.

Just think of this as a more proactive way of handling your duties, Rynne said. She looked over to the pair of terrified harem girls huddled in the corner. We’re not going to hurt you. Just get out of here.

The two women fled immediately. Van watched them go, then shifted his eyes back to Rynne. You look a lot better in that getup than they do.

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not, she muttered. How about this: next time you get to be the dancer, and I’ll be the gruff, stoic brute lurking in the corner.

Foren, go tip the owner and assure him we’ll be out of here in a few minutes, Rook ordered. Gabin, go with him. And good work, everyone.

Sure thing, boss, Foren said. He had dropped the nervous act entirely and was back to his professional self. Gabin, for his part, was still a little shell-shocked, but that was to be expected. He’d get used to it eventually.

The kid will fit in well, I think, Van commented once the two men had left. You could have told him about Tiel, though. I thought he was going to have a heart attack there when Rynne and I got called out.

You know what they say, Rook replied. Authentic fear is the most convincing. And speaking of… He leaned down over the reeling smuggler boss. Perhaps now you’re willing to talk.

You’re a dead man, Rook, Zerko spat. The Carthane will hunt you down for this.

Rook shrugged. I’ve been dead twice now. You get used to it.

Rynne stepped over to the now-empty chair and grabbed the whip sitting on it. She let it dangle just enough so Zerko could see it out of the corner of his eye. So, Hal, why don’t you start by telling us about this Emperor Veltar? Have you actually talked to him? Seen him?

You stupid, Sunoan slut! he growled. I should—

She lashed the back of his legs and cocked her head when he cried out. For the way you treated those other girls, you deserve a lot worse.

I’d answer the question, Van suggested, folding his arms across his chest. She’s a lot meaner than she looks.

Zerko grimaced. I’ve never seen him in person. Not many have, even among his own people.

So then who did you talk to? Rook asked.

A man who called himself Lord Gralis. I’d never heard of him before, but he promised me a great deal if I cooperated. And he demonstrated his power…

Rook shared a quick, knowing glance with the others. And he loaned you one of his magi, apparently.

More than one, Zerko said. He told me that he’d provide miners, as well, as many as I needed to increase production once Tal Karoth was taken.

Did he tell you how he planned on taking the garrison?

No.

Rynne raised the whip as if to strike, but Zerko shook his head.

It’s the truth, he insisted. He said he wouldn’t need my help with that, only with operating the mines once it was taken in the spring.

Van grunted softly. I doubt the Carthane would be pleased with that.

He said he would destroy them and put me in charge of whatever was left.

Better men have tried over the years, Rook said. What made you think he’d succeed?

Like I told you, I saw his power first-hand.

As a rule, men like Zerko weren’t easily intimidated. They spent their lives bucking authority at the highest level, and no matter how hard any government tried, none had ever been able to completely control the varium trade, legal or otherwise. It made smuggler kingpins like him feel invincible, and with good reason.

So if this Gralis had truly managed to terrify Zerko into submission, then whatever he’d done must have been impressive indeed.

You mean his magic, Rook said softly.

He killed my men without fire or lightning, Zerko breathed. "They simply…withered. Dozens of them, all at once, and then the land turned black at his feet. He said even the Flensing couldn’t contain him, and that soon the Emperor’s full fury would be unleashed."

Rook did his best to ignore the knot forming in his chest. Anything else?

He said you’d likely come here eventually, that you were the Empress’s personal hound. And he told me he wanted you alive, but he didn’t say why.

Probably my keen conversation skills, Rook murmured dryly. For what it’s worth, I’d try and find a new line of work if I were you.

Go screll yourself.

Rook nodded once to Tiel, and the monk drove a fist into the back of the man’s head. Zerko slumped over, unconscious.

We could do the world a favor and just kill that drekbag now, you know, Van said. He deserves worse.

The Balorites or the Syndicate will take care of that soon enough, Rook told him. And getting rid of him outright will actually make this place less stable in the short term. The garrison has enough on its hands already fending off Balorite raids.

I don’t see how Senator Veltar could possibly be alive, Tiel whispered. General Thorne killed him herself.

Van shrugged. That’s what she claims, anyway.

She doesn’t strike me as the type who leaves a job unfinished, Rynne commented. I believe her.

So do I, Rook said. Which means that either someone is just pretending to be the late senator…

Or what, he’s been resurrected? Van asked. I thought that was impossible, even for Defilers.

It is, Tiel said. Only the Kirshal has mastery over life and death, and her power still has limits.

One life for another, that’s just the way it works. Those had been Selaste’s words as she drained the life from her brother and infused it into Rook. Years earlier at Turesk, Lurien, his wife and the original Kirshal, had sacrificed herself to keep him alive. Death wasn’t cheated without recompense.

Well, I don’t suppose we’ll get anything else out of him, Rynne said. And I don’t think he was lying about anything.

Me, either, Rook agreed. Though it is disconcerting that the Balorites were willing to hand over magi to assist someone like Zerko.

Van snorted. As if they don’t even need them on the front line. Though really, given how things are going, can you blame them for getting a bit cocky? Last time I checked, the Empress doesn’t exactly have an army of her own magi waiting in the wings.

Sadly, he was right. Since the Balorites controlled the Siphon Prison outside Sandratha, it meant that almost every mage in Darenthi was bound to their will—if they refused to fight or tried to run, they could be killed at a moment’s notice no matter where they tried to hide. So yes, the Balorites did have the magi to spare…while Selaste couldn’t even muster enough to adequately guard the palace.

Regardless, we got what we came for, Rook said softly. I’d rather not stick around any longer than we have to.

Her Majesty is scheduled to have had a meeting with the Vakari ambassador in a few days, Tiel said. Perhaps they will join us.

I wouldn’t count on it, kid, Van grumbled. Everyone else seems pretty content to just sit back and see what happens.

Rynne shrugged. Hard to blame them, given Darenthi history. I’m sure most foreign diplomats see her as the next in the Malivar royal bloodline, not the Kirshal.

She saved the lives of hundreds of diplomats at the Unity Day Massacre, Tiel said. Her power is obvious.

But her intentions aren’t, Rook pointed out. Look, you don’t have to convince anyone in this room anymore. The problem is that most people didn’t actually see what happened, and the Balorites have done an excellent job telling people their version of what happened. They’ve made her look like an opportunist, not the Messiah.

Either way, I think you were right, Van said. It’s time we get out of here. The owner seems to be giving Foren a hard time.

Right, Rook agreed, glancing once more over the bodies and the unconscious smuggler kingpin. As nice as it would have been to get more definitive answers, they’d done the best they could. All they could do now was get back and tell Selaste what they’d learned…

At which point he’d be suffocated in palace politics again. For as dangerous as this mission had been, he had to admit it had actually felt good planning it out rather than dealing with simpering Edehan fanatics and obsequious royalists. This was his realm, and here he could make a difference. He might have made a sizeable fortune off the secrets of politicians, but he had never been directly involved in politics before…and now that he was, it was every bit as frustrating as he’d imagined.

But the bottom line was that Selaste needed him, and he wasn’t going to abandon her. He just wished he could figure out a way to fix everything before it was too late.

Come on, he said softly, standing. Let’s go home.

Chapter Two

When Empress Tryss Selaste Malivar had returned to her quarters after meeting with the Vakari ambassador, it had taken all of her willpower not to forcibly redecorate the room. She’d been tempted to reverse the pull of gravity and hurl the chairs, tables, and finery straight up into the ceiling. She’d also contemplated burning something, perhaps the bookcase with her mother’s old collection of Tethelian philosophy that no one in their right mind would ever actually read. And if neither of those sated her fury, she always had the option of grabbing her sword and hacking things apart the old fashioned way.

Fortunately reason had eventually prevailed, and instead she’d chosen to do something useful with her rage. Now here she was an hour later, wooden practice sword held firmly in a two-handed grip, sweating like she’d just run halfway across the city.

It was a good feeling. She hadn’t been able to find five minutes for herself this entire week, let alone make the time to really flex her muscles. Sparring was much more satisfying and productive than the quasi-tantrums she used to throw as a princess, flinging spell after spell at her Faceless guardian like he was an invincible target dummy. It was just ironic—and a little bit sickening—that she’d learned everything she knew about holding a blade at the behest of the very man who was now threatening to destroy the Republic…assuming Kord Veltar was indeed still alive.

Selaste let out a deep breath and closed her eyes. It had been almost two months since the Unity Day Massacre where she’d slain her brother, Kastrius, and allegedly unraveled the Balorite plot to take over the country. But while the disciples of Abalor might not have succeeded in slaughtering every diplomat in the city and taking over the Senate, they had vaulted Darenthi into its first civil war in an age. In only two months the Balorites and their mysterious leader had taken control of almost two-thirds of the former Republic military, and it was still entirely possible they would march on Haven before the first snow. And if they did…

Well, she didn’t know what would happen. She might have been carrying a fragment of Edeh’s divine soul inside her, but despite the vaunted power of the so-called Messiah, she’d been utterly incapable of unifying the rest of the country against the Balorite threat. And perhaps just as importantly, she’d been unable to convince any of their neighbors that it was in their best interests to help defend Haven and the remnants of the former Republic. Now she and her meager supporters stood alone against the might of an army that had invoked fear across the continent for the last century.

And she had absolutely no idea what she was going to do about it.

Are you ready, Empress? Anso, her burly male sparring partner, asked.

Selaste opened her eyes. It was, really, the operative question, but sadly no one had asked it before this responsibility had been thrust upon her. After a lifetime of doing her best to distance herself from politics and ignore the realities of the court, was she actually ready to be Empress? Was she prepared for this responsibility? So far the answer was a resounding no—and just thinking about it made her sick.

Yes, she said, and leapt towards him.

He caught the reckless downward chop cleanly at the center of his staff and then twirled, easily turning aside the bulk of her momentum and nearly sending her tumbling face-first to the floor. Anso retaliated quickly, jabbing hard and fast at her stomach, but she managed to recover and spin clear before launching into a rapid series of slashes meant more to test her own endurance than to shatter his defenses. When he deflected away the last of her blows, she rolled clear and hopped up on the far side of the sparring circle.

Both of you, she ordered through labored breaths, come on.

Anso glanced over to the other trainer, a shorter, nimbler woman named Yanire, and Selaste let out an irritated sigh.

I told you before, you need to stop thinking of me as the Empress or this is never going to work, she said. Trust me: you’re not going to seriously hurt me, and this is important. I want you to give me everything you have.

They shared another glance, but this time the trainers nodded at her in turn. Yanire reached over to the rack and picked up her own staff. The two of them had been instructing palace guardsmen here ever since the end of the last war ten years ago, but neither had been comfortable in extending those lessons to their sovereign.

Selaste could hardly blame them. It wasn’t exactly common for Darenthi royalty to spend their time getting sweaty. Her own mother had said that such physical exertions were beneath us, and a young Princess Tryss had fully agreed. Thankfully, she wasn’t that person anymore.

Selaste threw herself forward again, splitting her frantic strikes between opponents to try and keep them both off guard. Each blow, each crack of wood against wood, stirred the memories of her year-long training with the Balorites. The then-Senator Veltar had wanted to transform her into more than just a magi princess; he’d wanted to make her look the part of the Kirshal, which apparently involved more than being a frail, lanky princess who’d rarely opened doors for herself—or, Goddess forbid, picked up an actual weapon. So in preparation for her performance, Veltar’s trainers, including the man now parading around the country as Lord Gralis, had hardened her in martial combat, forcing her to learn the ins and outs of the most common melee weapons and even some more exotic ones. They had transformed her from a meek princess into a formidable warrior.

And she had vowed to make Veltar and Gralis regret that decision someday, to turn their own manipulation against them. Despite all the time that had passed since her memories had been restored and her two lives had been forcibly smashed together, she still felt…broken. There were days when she’d look in the mirror and pause at the strange woman staring back at her, but rather than despair at what she had lost, she’d instead chosen to embrace what she’d gained: a body that was just as much of a weapon as her mind. She might never get the chance to turn it against Veltar and his cronies, but for now, it was enough to remember…and to let herself go.

Selaste whirled between her two opponents in a dance designed for maximum defense. In theory, she could protect herself against several opponents simultaneously. Back in the Balorite training camp, she’d once managed to go over a minute without taking a hit from four separate opponents. But Anso and Yanire were not common soldiers, and they knew how to compensate for every move and every step. As Selaste dove in for a low thrust on Anso, Yanire scored a solid strike against the flat of her back, and while she reeled from the impact, he took the opportunity to smack her straight in the gut.

She’d assured them numerous times that their attacks couldn’t get through her kinetic barrier, but that was a half-truth at best. She could have stopped them, certainly—at this point, she was reasonably confident she could stop a bullet at close range—but here she didn’t want to.

Taking away the sting of failure, her Balorite instructors had warned, invariably diluted its lesson. At first she’d assumed they were just sadists, but over time she realized there was some truth behind the words. As a young girl she’d broken her ankle once while learning to control gravity and fly about the academy courtyard, and she’d never made that same mistake again. Here the pain told her that she needed to be faster, stronger, better…and that was exactly what she was going to do.

After staggering for a few seconds, Selaste spun to the side to prevent being flanked again and launched into a two-handed assault on Yanire’s defenses. The smaller woman instinctively dropped into a protective stance, perfectly content to weather her attacker’s blows until her partner could help out. It should have worked; Selaste was no match for both of them together.

At least, not if she played by the rules.

In the midst of an overhand chop she reached out to the Fane. Its power instantly coursed through her muscles, bolstering their strength and speed. It was another technique the Balorites had taught her, and, just like every other spell in her repertoire, it was easier for her to weave than ever. The divine soul of Edeh lodged somewhere inside her was like a sieve funneling raw Fane energy directly into her body; she had never felt the warmth of its currents so strongly. Even the Flensing couldn’t stop her now: the Kirshal, apparently, was immune to