Empress's Choice: The Risharri Empire, #3

By Karen de Lange

After two long decades of war, a slim chance for peace exists.
Aleysa and Liam Colley have returned from Cera, back into the service of the Empress Cassaya. With the most powerful mind mage in the world at her command, Cassaya for the first time has the advantage.
Yet the peace talks with Valencia Salastrelle are a challenge unlike any other she has ever faced. Salastrelle will go to drastic lengths to destroy Aleysa, and soon Cassaya will be more alone than she has ever been before.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen de Lange
• Release date: Sep 2, 2020
• ISBN: 9781909778054

Karen de Lange

Karen de Lange is a bookworm and fantasy geek. She lives in North East England with her husband, who is remarkably accepting of her talking about her characters as though they were real, and her two cats, who don’t care what’s real and what’s not so long as the treats keep on coming.

Book preview

In loving memory of Granny and Grandpa.

Miss you loads.

The Nine Gods and Goddesses

Cadros - sky and light

Arandarta - death, war, fire and judgement

Damantia - earth, nature and all growing things

Navesh - the seas, rivers and oceans

Rosmenos - healing, fertility and youth

Sirona - age and wisdom

Sulerce - harvest, home and hearth

Ancellas - love, peace and friendship

Elwen - art, music and all created things

Flames

Garvan Whitehaven closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He tasted salt and smoke. This time, he told himself. This time it will work.

He cast his magic from him. All of his aspects; fire, light, water. With each one he touched his surroundings, building a magical map of where he stood. Under his feet, shingle stones shifted with his weight. To his back, grey cliffs reached up to a steep headland. Ahead, a sea grey with choppy waves stretched out to an endless horizon. And somewhere out of sight around the headland, a village of empty houses, and a cave with a secret. He felt the squirming darkness of those houses, sensing him as an intruder to the dead silence they guarded so jealously.

Quiet, he told it. I serve the same mistress that you do.

One last magical aspect remained untouched. He reached now for this, the small drop of mind magic that his mistress had gifted him. First he used it to search for her, his Commander, Valencia Salastrelle. Is she watching? Will she see me triumph? No, the magic reported back to him. Commander Salastrelle did not observe him by any means.

Stifling a pang of disappointment, Whitehaven turned to the job at hand. The magic opened to him the minds of those who stood with him on the beach. Fifty men and women standing shoulder to shoulder. In age, they ranged from gangly adolescents to straight-backed septuagenarians, but one thing united them. They were his army, hand-picked for their raw power and their willingness to learn battle magic, to take on other aspects not naturally gifted to them by the gods. All of them were loyal to him, and their combined power could be breathtaking.

He stretched his magic to its limit to speak to them all together, direct into their minds, but he did not let them know the effort it cost him.

Begin.

Their power flowed. Whitehaven stretched out his arms as the force of it grew from a trickle to a raging torrent. His breath came in gasps. Focus. Focus. Control. When he had a grasp on it, he flung it outwards.

He did not need to open his eyes to know what he built. He felt it through every bone in his body; the thrumming force of the vast reservoir of magic now at his disposal.

As it did every time, fierce joy rushed through him together with the magic; intertwined with it. He could understand why the Associated Sovereignties held such a taboo against dragon magic, the aspect which enabled this sharing of power. No man should be allowed to wield this. But he did. He did and he could, and the thrill shot like lightning through his blood.

Focus. The wave of fire grew slowly at first, and then quicker and quicker it reared up, far out to sea. Acrid smoke rose from the crest to darken the blue sky. Steam hissed where the flame touched the waves; to both left and right it stretched out of sight. As it raced over the last hundred yards to the beach it filled the whole sky with crackling death.

One twist of his hand and it crested and broke just a few metres short of the shore. Sparks skittered across the shingle and up to the feet of his mages.

His mages. Whitehaven opened his eyes and released the threads which had fed their magic through to him. Three had been weaker than the others. He scanned the line and identified the culprits. He met the eyes of each of them, and each of them nodded. An acceptance of their failure, and a promise to try harder. He would not punish them, not this time. They all knew first-hand of the pain he could inflict, and fear would be enough motivation for the time being.

They followed him out of more than fear, though. They followed him because of what he had promised them; what he had been promised in turn. He would be gifted the magic of the night-demons, and he would gift it on to his mages. With such power, nothing would stop them ruling the world.

So close he had come before, once. He had stood before a night-demon, her eyes a golden glow of temptation, and felt the power that brimmed within her soul. Tihana, they called that one. He could have killed her, then and there, and taken her power for his own. Yet his orders were not to touch her—not yet—and so he had not.

She carries something more powerful than just her magic, the Commander had told him. Once we have claimed what is within her for ourselves, then all the world will be ours. The final prize was so much more than just one night-demon. The final prize was all of them, from their leader Zelim down to the smallest babe-in-arms. He shivered in anticipation of what it would be like to wield such power.

So he had killed Tihana’s husband instead, as the Commander wished, and watched as the light died within her. He smiled inwardly at the memory, at the satisfaction of breaking her spirit.

‘Again,’ he ordered, and his magic amplified his voice so that it echoed to the skies. His army, loyal to him alone, began once more to weave their magics together. Far off, towards the horizon, steam began to rise from the sea as another fire wave took shape.

Garvan did not notice a breath of air, almost like a kiss, brush up against his cheek.

***

Oh, Garvan. You have come such a long way.

Valencia Salastrelle, Commander of Cera and most powerful battle mage in the world, opened her eyes and smiled. A week ago Garvan would have known that she watched him, but now he remained oblivious.

Her new toy made rule-breaking so simple. And it is such a simple thing itself. Merely a sphere of black steel, polished to a high shine.

She had laboured over it in secret for months. Fire magic and light magic were useful enough for spying over distance, but both left too many signs for a sharp-sighted observer to spot. Water magic was even worse. Even farseeing could be detected by a mind mage like Aleysa Colley.

Salastrelle’s curled lip became a smile. But can that girl detect battle magic? For all that battle magic simply mixed other magics, to Salastrelle it had a unique flavour, somehow more than the sum of its parts. Her own aspect, dragon magic, made such a thing possible. In its simplest form, her aspect allowed her to sap magical strength from dragons and add it to her own. Only Salastrelle had rediscovered its full potential—to take entire aspects from those less deserving, and bestow the new powers as she pleased.

In this case, to the steel core at the heart of her sphere. The aspects of seven different mages had been bound together with the strength of three dragons in order to construct it, and it was as close to perfect as she could have wanted.

She did not believe that even a mind mage as powerful as Aleysa Colley could sense Salastrelle’s gaze through such a device.

Just thinking of the raw strength of the girl’s magic made Salastrelle grit her teeth. I should have killed her while I had the chance. Then I would have her magic at my command. Foolish, to think she could have made the girl her willing tool. Now Aleysa served the Empress Cassaya, and had compounded Salastrelle’s anger by rescuing Liam Colley from his rightful place in Ceran custody.

And yet some good had come of it. Much good, on days that Salastrelle felt optimistic. Aleysa had paid a high price to defend Liam; higher than she could have realised.

I thought I taught you that lesson, girl. Never let another mind mage behind your shields. She had learned more from a few seconds in Aleysa’s mind than she could have done from a dozen well-placed spies.

She would have her revenge on Aleysa, and when she did so she would make sure that the girl knew exactly how catastrophic her mistake had been.

Today she did not wish to dwell on such things. Today she had other annoyances to chase down.

She sank her awareness into the sphere again, this time resisting the temptation to watch Garvan train his army. Likewise she skipped past the Royal Quarter of Lyvain, too heavily shielded for the time being. But not for long.

Briefly, she let her attention linger in Azeira, and the High Priest of Cadros. He sat in his study, reading a book. She watched over his shoulder, smiling to herself as she recognised the text. A study on the magic of the Crommenach, the shape-shifters. One of her many gifts of knowledge to him.

Cadros might have failed in his attempt to kill the Empress, but that did not mean Salastrelle no longer had a use for him. Quite the opposite. He thinks he is using me for his own ends. She laughed out loud at the absurdity. Don’t worry, she wanted to tell him. Carry on dancing to my tune, and you will have everything you ever desired and more. I wish you joy of it.

And dance he would. The first note of the tune had already been played. Salastrelle had taken her revenge on the Crommenach warrior Tihana. That particular shape-shifter had caused her more inconvenience than she wished to tally. Largely due to Tihana’s interference, Salastrelle had lost first Aleysa, and then Liam Colley.

No longer. Garvan had killed the woman’s human husband, and set in motion the next chain of events. Cadros had played his own part to perfection, and soon Tihana would not be a problem to anybody.

She moved on from Cadros. Find me Alexander Fairweather. As she feared, she only saw mist. Salastrelle growled. That man had been a thorn in her side when he had merely been the Lord Treasurer of the Associated Sovereignties. Then she had known how to find him any time of the day or night, and had never thought to do so. Now, she also knew him to be the murderer of her sister Eliane. And yet he had vanished from her grasp like smoke.

She set aside such small inconveniences for the time being. Her plans would coalesce, given time. Then no person would ever defy her, not even the shape-shifters. Remember, she told herself. She had to remember her goal and not get distracted. Peace could be a fine aim, but neither peace nor war made a difference to her. Only the elimination of the Crommenach mattered. Night-demons, her mind whispered, as it so often did when she thought of the Crommenach. They believed themselves immune from human magics, but she had her own weapons to use against them. She would bless the day when such abominations no longer contaminated the world.

Memory shifted again, and she saw the golden eyes of a shape-shifter through a mist of blood. She remembered a small girl screaming—had it been her, or Eliane? Eliane, she thought, but sometimes she was not certain. Flames and screaming, and I failed to protect those I loved the most. Her own nightmare, drawn from her memories. The same nightmare which she visited on all those who displeased her, so that they could feel her pain as their own.

With an effort of will she turned her thoughts back to Garvan, considering what she had just seen. The wave of fire, the smoke, the sparks. His goals approached fulfilment, and after that he would be a very dangerous man. Perhaps even more dangerous than she had dreamed, with his cohort of fellow battle mages on the beach with him. Every one of the fifty was a powerful mage in their own right, and they were loyal to Garvan. They would follow his orders; they had already declared their allegiance.

It’s time, then. She picked up a single sheet of paper from the desk in front of her, reading it carefully before appending her signature with a neat finality.

‘Kenrick,’ she called.

A young man entered. ‘Yes, mother?’

She smiled at him. He was becoming rather handsome as he exited puberty. Thankfully, little of his father showed through his features. She disapproved of his posture, though. His shoulders were hunched; he had not yet accustomed himself to the height he had recently gained. She would have to teach him to stand straight over the coming weeks. More graceful, less gangly, would need to be his watchwords.

She pushed the sheet of paper towards him. ‘Take this to Brigid. Ensure she is aware that it is her first priority of the day.’

He read it, eyes widening. Salastrelle let him get to the end without interruption. She had protected him from the truth of what would need to happen when she unleashed Garvan Whitehaven upon the world, but now he was old enough to understand that sometimes sacrifices had to be made. And sometimes it would have to be Kenrick who made the sacrifice. Kenrick both liked and trusted Garvan, who stood beside her so often, and yet was not so many years older than he was. Brigid was a different matter; the woman could be prickly, and kept a formal distance between herself and the Commander’s son. If Brigid were to take Garvan’s place, as the letter outlined, Salastrelle’s office would become a chillier place for Kenrick to be.

Kenrick finished reading and, to her pleasure, made no objection. ‘I understand, mother.’ His voice had broken into a pleasant baritone a few months previously.

‘Good.’ She watched as he folded the paper and left her office. His early life had not been as she would have wished it, but she had devoted even more of her life to training him than she had to training Garvan. She was certain that she could successfully groom him for leadership. To be Commander of Cera in his own right one day. Or maybe something greater. Despite his poor start in life he might even manage to make her proud of him, if she were clever enough to lay the right groundwork.

Salastrelle had laid the groundwork of her own power herself, but then she had always had more resources at her disposal than Kenrick had at his. She did not begrudge what she had achieved on his behalf. His path to power would be less paved in blood than hers had been. So she hoped. Certainly it shall not be paved with the blood of his mother.

She would gift him with a world to rule. A world untainted by night-demons and other merchants of death. A world in which he never needs to fear flames and screaming.

Gold and Diamonds

Aleysa laid her clothes out on her bed and stared at them. There were so many. Skirts, trousers, tunics, shirts. There had been a time when she would never have dreamed that she would own so many clothes. And not just clothes, but so many things that she could call her own; possessions filled her small attic room. The patchwork rug on the floor, the swatches of yellow linen that framed the window, the pens and pencils laid out in a neat line on the desk. Even toys, displayed on a shelf above the bed. She had never in her life owned toys before. Now that she was almost fifteen a part of her worried that she was too old, but a larger part of her couldn’t help but thrill with excitement every time she saw them. She reassured herself that nobody could count these intricate wooden puzzles as juvenile. An elephant stood between a lion and a wolf, each one made of interlocking pieces that fit together only one way. As soon as her foster father had realised how much she loved them he had begun buying them for her on the flimsiest of excuses. It’s your brother’s birthday, so I thought you should have a present too, or We caught a Ceran spy today, or just It’s sunny. The largest one, a dragon, the prize of her collection, had been his Longest Night gift to her.

Against the opposite wall stood a bookcase, so full of books that a pile teetered on the floor beside it. Some were from her foster father, some from her foster brother Sean, and some from Lord Marshal Harwald—not many, thankfully, as he held a very fixed view as to what constituted suitable reading material for a young lady. Most, though, were her own choices, bought with her own money.

So many things, and all of them hers. When she had left her hometown with Liam, long before he had been her foster father, she had owned barely more than the clothes she stood up in. Packing then had been easy. Now she had to pack again, into the same duffel bag she had used on that trip, and the task was far harder. The bag sat on her bed, still stamped with his name and a rank he had left behind years ago—Private Liam Colley, the ink faded almost to invisibility, beneath the eagle insignia of the Associated Sovereignties. The bag was no more spacious now than it had been then, and already half-full with necessities; underclothes, soap, hair-ties and the like. Aleysa looked over the clothes on the bed, the books, the puzzles, the pens, and bit her lip.

‘Lass? Are you ready to go?’ A booted tread on the stairs, and Liam appeared in the doorway. He wore his own duffel bag slung over his shoulder; even smaller than hers, if that were possible, but he had spent a lifetime travelling light.

He saw her dilemma and grinned. ‘I swear it’ll all be here when we get back, lass.’

‘I know that. It’s just...’ She trailed off and looked around, then sighed and started to throw clothes into the bag.

‘Lass.’ Liam stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. He kissed her forehead before looking her in the eye. ‘It’s going to be fine.’

Aleysa rested against him for one brief moment. Like her, he wore civilian clothes; boots, jeans and a plain shirt. Their army uniforms would be staying at home for the duration of this trip. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Really I do.’

She made herself smile at him. There were lines around his eyes and grey hair at his temples that hadn’t been there a year ago. She pretended not to know about the nightmares, the time he spent pacing and worrying in the small hours of the morning. All of it her fault, all of it because she had failed to protect him. All because her shields around his mind had not been strong enough to withstand Valencia Salastrelle. The Ceran Commander had broken through, and now Liam relived his torture at her hands night after night, while Aleysa had to live with her guilt.

Her new shields would not fail. No, they will not, she thought. Nor would she break again herself. For she had broken, in freeing him from Salastrelle’s clutches. She had traded knowledge for his freedom; secrets that he would rather have died than reveal. He did not know what she had done, and never would. He would never discover that she had betrayed all he had worked for his whole career. He wouldn’t believe that his life was worth that much. Outwardly she agreed with him, because the mathematics of war made such calculations simple, but a secret, selfish part of her knew better.

He had to believe that she was happy; content with the life he had built for her. She hoped that the next month would help him. Some carefree time with no responsibilities would help them both, she knew. Maybe she would find some peace of her own. If the next weeks went smoothly in Lyvain, while she was miles away, perhaps she had done enough to atone for her own mistakes.

Liam released her and she finished stuffing the bag, then glanced around the room one last time. A pack of cards on her bedside table caught her eye. Liam had given them to her so she could practise her shuffling skills. The cards were soft with years of use and grey around the edges. Her hand hovered over them for a moment.

‘I’ve got cards,’ said Liam. He grinned at her. ‘You think I’d travel without?’

Aleysa returned his grin, left the cards as they were and swung the bag over her shoulder. ‘Then I’m ready.’

He nodded. ‘Let’s go, then.’

***

The scent of honeysuckle surrounded them as they left the house. The plant’s leaves brushed the top of Liam’s head as he locked the door.

‘Should’ve pruned that,’ he said.

Aleysa rolled her eyes. ‘It’ll keep.’

He smiled at her, and for a moment looked younger. ‘I’ll say I told you so when we need a machete to get back in again.’

Her laugh was a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

Daffodils lined the manicured paths of the Royal Quarter, nodding in the same gentle breeze that plucked at stray strands of her hair. The roof of the royal palace peeped over the tops of the trees, shimmering in the sunlight. Spring growth hung thickly on every branch.

Zelim met them at the edge of the Royal Quarter, as planned. Jasper, Lars and Marten stood with him. The three brothers bore a marked family resemblance, but there was a certain quality that even ebony-skinned Zelim shared. It went beyond their golden eyes—a feature not even recalcitrant Jasper bothered to hide these days—into something more indefinable. Their movements, perhaps, so graceful and economical, or the way they seemed to be aware of more of the world than humans could possibly sense.

Maybe it was an effect of their own essential being; as Crommenach, the shape-shifters of legend, they held little in common with humanity beyond their outward appearance—and that only some of the time.

The four Crommenach turned as one to meet Liam and Aleysa as they approached. Zelim nodded in greeting; Lars and Marten were practically bouncing with excitement. Jasper’s expression remained as surly as ever; even more so than normal, if that were possible. Aleysa wanted to reach out to him, to offer what little comfort she could, but she knew her concern would not be well received.

‘Tihana?’ she asked instead.

Jasper shook his head and Aleysa sighed. Nothing had been heard of the Crommenach woman who Jasper loved—and had sworn to serve—since the murder of her human husband by a Ceran battle mage six months ago. Jasper had worn himself out searching for her, to the extent that Zelim had ordered him to rest a while. Aleysa did not think Zelim’s influence would remain strong for much longer. More likely, Jasper would stay around for long enough to see her and Liam to their destination and then vanish off again.

‘It’s time to go,’ said Zelim. ‘Do you have everything you need?’

Aleysa looked wistfully at her bag. ‘I suppose,’ she said. She remembered Liam’s words, it’ll all be here when we get back, and nodded more firmly. ‘Yes.’

Liam adjusted his own bag and squeezed her shoulder. ‘Four weeks,’ he said. ‘It’ll be over before you know it.’

She pulled a face by way of reply, steeling her stomach for what was to come. Travelling by Crommenach magic was one of the least pleasant experiences she could think of, but it was the only way that their destination could be kept truly secret. She placed her hand in Marten’s and drew a deep breath as awareness dropped out from beneath her.

***

Morning sunshine streamed in through Cassaya’s receiving room window. This room, the grandest in her apartments, boasted a magnificent view out over the palace gardens. In the distance, she could see her new orange grove beginning to take shape, two years after the destruction of the last one. She longed to taste her own oranges again. A few sat in the bowl on the table by the window, imported at vast expense, but they weren’t the same as fruit grown in her own garden and picked fresh every morning.

The only reason that she could have tropical fruit grown in her garden at all was because she was Empress of the Associated Sovereignties, and could afford to employ green mages to keep the fragile trees alive in the cool climate of Lyvain. The wealth that enabled her to have her orange groves was the same wealth that brought oranges in by boat for her breakfast table. She understood the irony, as well as appreciating that wealth for its own sake.

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. ‘Enter.’

The door opened and Branimir Ward, the captain of her personal bodyguard, appeared. His beard was trimmed with precision, his black uniform as crisp as the day it had been made. He acknowledged her with a shallow bow, then stood aside. Behind him entered a middle-aged woman with short, grey hair. She curtsied as Cassaya nodded in greeting. ‘Miss Grace.’

‘My lady.’ Miss Grace had served as Cassaya’s chatelaine for as long as the Empress could remember. Since Alexander Fairweather had fled Lyvain, she had also taken up the position of imperial spymistress. Her plumpness and motherly demeanour concealed an intellect as sharp and cold as starlight. Cassaya had no wish for a repeat of the Fairweather debacle, and so she needed someone exactly like Miss Grace in charge of her spy network. Someone who she could trust to have her best interests at heart.

A maid followed her through the door—a Kagisoki girl, Cassaya had seen her before but couldn’t recall her name—carrying a breakfast tray. Miss Grace let her through and propelled her in the direction of the table by means of a firm hand between her shoulder blades.

‘Put the tray on the table, girl—yes, that table—gently, girl! Don’t make such a clatter. Now set out my lady’s breakfast like I showed you—no, the fork goes on the other side. Don’t drop that! Goodness, girl, that’s valuable china, you must take more care. Now pick up the tray—careful—and the next job is to tidy my lady’s bedchamber and make her bed. That way.’ She pointed the girl through to Cassaya’s bedchamber, throwing an apologetic look at the Empress as she did so. When the girl had vanished, Miss Grace closed the door on her, giving them privacy.

‘Ah well,’ said Cassaya, moving over to the table to inspect her breakfast. ‘That’s another one who will have gone running home to her mother by lunchtime.’ She selected a pastry and bit into it, delighting in the buttery flavour as it melted on her tongue. ‘Would it not make more sense for Ila and Rayeni to train the new girls?’

Miss Grace sniffed. ‘They would not do such a good job as I do, with all due respect, my lady.’

Cassaya repressed a smile. With the passing of her twenty fifth birthday she had decided the time had come for her to have some female companionship. Such a companion could not be her equal, since she was the most powerful person in the world, but as much as she hated to admit it to herself, she needed a friend. She owed Ila and Rayeni their reward for years of devoted service, and she told herself that her decision was not influenced by the fact that Ila was also her lover. She preferred not to have the woman with whom she shared her bed running around cleaning up after her the whole time. Far better to be able to rest her head on Ila’s shoulder while somebody else did all the running around.

She had failed to foresee the effects of elevating her former maids to ladies-in-waiting, although she remained adamant that it had been the right thing to do. Now she had to contend with the constant stream of girls Miss Grace engaged, none of them able to live up to the woman’s exacting standards.

She finished the pastry in another two bites, wiped her fingers on a napkin, and changed the subject. ‘What news?’

‘The Crommenach left safely an hour ago. General Colley and his daughter went with them.’

‘Good. And Tihana?’

Miss Grace shook her head. ‘There is no sign of her, Highness. And although the Crommenach Zelim has agreed to remain in the mountains for the duration of the summit, and Lars and Marten will stay with the Colleys for the protection of all of them, we have had no success eliciting a similar commitment from Jasper.’

Cassaya