by Laura R Cole
Her Reputation
(The Empire: Book 1)
By Laura R Cole
Copyright 2013 Laura R Cole
CHAPTER 1
Rhys darted through the streets, swerving in and out of the throng of people effortlessly. He deftly side-stepped an oncoming wagon and twirled around to avoid getting trampled by a horse going the other way. Ducking underneath a canopy, he raced down an alley and emerged into another crowded marketplace.
There was hardly a clear area in the square. Vendors took up all the free space along the side of the road, and the road itself was lively with activity. Though the sun had barely appeared in the sky, it seemed the whole city was already awake.
Someone threw something out a second story window, creating a flurry of angry shouting and shaking fists below. The person hollered something rude in response and slammed the shutter doors. The grumbling shoppers below hurried along their way.
The smell of freshly baked bread assaulted Rhys’s senses, and his mouth watered. He looked around for the source, his stomach grumbling of its own accord. He’d skipped breakfast that morning in his rush to leave, and he was beginning to regret it. He spotted a woman carrying many loaves of bread at the end of the street, but she was walking the opposite direction. He sighed. A cart went whizzing past him, and he jumped back from the splash of the puddle that it kicked up at him.
He shook his head ruefully and stepped onto the cobblestone pathway. Almost immediately, he ran smack into someone. The merchant sputtered and swore as the basket of apples he’d been carrying tumbled to the ground, rolling away under the feet of the bustling citizens. Rhys quickly collected them back up, snatching them from underfoot before they were trampled. He sheepishly returned them to the merchant, who gave him an annoyed grunt before rushing off. Everyone was in a hurry.
Rhys watched the merchant dashing away and smiled to himself. He took an apple out of his pocket and threw it up in the air before catching it with a flourish and taking a large bite. He sauntered off, chewing loudly, the newly acquired coin-purse jingling with satisfying heft from his belt. No doubt the man had swindled his customers for it anyway; that particular merchant wasn’t known for his honesty.
Rhys finished his apple and tossed the core into a gutter, ignoring the undignified squawk of a woman who clicked her tongue at him before prancing away. The rats would take care of the remains. Having almost arrived at his destination, he slowed. More careful now, he made his way into yet another alleyway. He glanced around him before knocking on an almost-concealed doorway. It cracked open. Rhys scanned the alleyway once more before pulling it open just enough for his slim frame to slip through.
Hands clamped around his arms roughly.
“Jak’ll be wantin’ to talk to you, Rhys.”
“A lot of people want to talk to me, Jessup,” he answered casually. “What does Jak want with me?” He was dragged into the cramped room and forced to sit at a table. He didn’t bother trying to resist. The windows were covered with rags, letting in just enough light to see the sad state of the room. Flies buzzed around days-old remains of past meals on the table, and dirt and grime caked every surface. Several forms could be seen slumped against the walls; they were either so far strung out on Sparkle Dust – or whatever the newest rage of drug was – that they were currently comatose, or dead. Rhys couldn’t tell. He decided he didn’t really want to know.
“He says you owe ‘im money.”
“I also owe a lot of people money,” Rhys pointed out, averting his eyes from the nearest limp form.
“Aye, but Jak wantsta collect. Says he knows you can get it. What with your connections an’ all.”
Rhys sighed.
“He’s got a big project comin’ up he needs the capital for.” Jessup said the word cap-i-tal in syllables, as though he wasn’t quite sure what it was he was saying. “Gotta gets to it before-”
“Jessup!” a harsh voice barked from farther within the darkened room, cutting him off. “That’s none of his damn business.”
“Yes, Jak, sir,” Jessup mumbled his apology and slunk back against the wall, kicking one of the bodies in the process. It hardly stirred, but emitted a faint groan, indicating it was still breathing.
Jak turned his attention to Rhys. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence once again.”
Rhys reached to his belt and unsheathed his knife. Jessup moved forward menacingly, with surprising agility for his bulk, but Rhys held up his hands. Then he pointed down to his belt, demonstrating what he was doing by running a finger through the air. Jessup relaxed. He returned to his previous position, resting against the filthy wall.
Rhys held out several coin-purses away from his belt and sliced the knife through the cords holding them there. They plunked down on the table heavily, and Jak eyed them a moment. He sucked in one side of his cheek, contorting his mouth unattractively, and strolled forward. He emptied each of the pouches onto the table before them. He ran his fingers around the table, pushing the coins here and there. Dark filth was caked underneath cracked and yellowing fingernails.
“What is this?” he finally asked, waving a hand dismissively over the table.
“The money I owe you,” Rhys answered, speaking to him as though he were a small child.
Jak gave a small nod and in moments Jessup had disconnected himself from the wall and rammed a ham fist into Rhys’s cheekbone. The blow hit with a resounding smack, and Rhys took a moment to blink his eyes then open and close his jaw, determining whether or not it was broken.
When he spoke again, Rhys dropped the mocking tone. “It’s all there; fifty silvers. That’s what I owed you. We’re even.” He tried to stand, but Jessup’s meaty hand clamped itself onto his shoulder.
Jak laughed softly. “Fifty silvers was what you owed me a month ago, Rhys. With penalties and interest…” he trailed off, a malicious smiled playing on his lips, “I’d say you’re up to, oh,” he ticked amounts off on his fingers, adding up the supposed fees, “five hundred gold?” He glanced over at Jessup. “Wouldn’t you say that sounds about right?”
Jessup nodded dumbly, a huge three-toothed grin slapped on his face.
“That’s ridiculous!” Rhys exclaimed, jerking out of Jessup’s grip, whose grin had disappeared at Rhys’s comment. He was looking like he might hit him again. “Surely that must be a miscalculation,” Rhys quickly amended. “How did I get from fifty silvers to five hundred gold?”
“That’s what happens when you make me wait,” Jak replied dangerously, “and I’ll have Jessup here give you a preview of what will happen if you make me wait much longer. I suggest you use those connections of yours, and get me the money you owe me.”
“I already have!” Rhys protested again, but any further comments were cut short as Jessup’s fist collided roughly with his stomach, knocking the wind from him.
Half an hour later with many bruises and possibly a broken rib or two, Rhys limped out of the doorway back into the alley. The congested streets hadn’t cleared in the least and perhaps had even gotten worse. Rhys hobbled his way back into the thick of it. He wound around the familiar streets, avoiding the marketplace this time and slowly making his way to the center of the city.
Naoham was the sister city to Endlyfta on the other side of the soon-to-be recombined country. Centuries past, the country had split into two: Gelendan and Treymayne. But now, history was in the making as soon they would reunite once more. Both capitals were still in use, and both served to house the many Council members that ran the country. Queen Layna, along with the head of the Triumvirate – a position cur
rently held by Lady Aria – were the figureheads. They had final say in matters once the Council put issues to a vote. There were opportunities for Rhys to practice his skills at both capitals, but Rhys preferred his hometown of Naoham.
Naoham was densely populated as a commercial center whereas Endlyfta was a more open and flowing city. Naoham was much more to Rhys’s liking; more people squashed together meant easier prey. Though technically he earned a small stipend that made him enough money to survive, Rhys had certain less-than-legal activities that lately were beginning to require more substantial means. It was precisely these activities which had gotten him caught up with Jak in the first place.
Rhys grumbled at the thought of the man. He stepped roughly on his hurt ankle and threw his weight to rebalance himself, sending a jolt of pain throughout his abused body. He scowled. Obviously that particular decision should have been more carefully thought out. If he had just been a little more patient, he could have avoided this whole mess.
He spied a small child exchanging money with an undesirable on the street corner and was reminded of the goal he was trying to accomplish. The urchin’s eyes met Rhys’s briefly as Rhys moved to intercept the trade and the dealer grunted something to the child. Both scattered before Rhys could get his aching body over to them. He sighed and turned away. Rhys may have a slightly different view of right and wrong than most people, but he believed himself to be a good person. Mostly.
The money he’d borrowed hadn’t even bought him what he’d been hoping for, however. Now, he not only had to find some way to meet Jak’s outrageous demands, but he also had to go home having very obviously been beaten. Because of today’s significance, there was no way he could disappear until he healed. He saw no way out of it without a lot of lecturing, and there was nothing Rhys hated more than lectures.
He reached the gates and one of the guards nodded to him.
“Morning, Master Riley,” the man greeted him, his gaze lingering where Rhys could feel the beginnings of a black eye, but he at least didn’t comment.
“Morning,” Rhys mumbled shortly.
He didn’t feel like answering any questions. He’d have plenty of them once his mother got a look at him. When he reached to open the door to their suites, the knob moved underneath his hand before he touched it. His mother stood in the doorway, staring at him with one of her impassive looks. Her gaze drifted to the faint bruises taking form on his face. She tilted her head slightly sideways, her lips tightening the tiniest of amounts.
“You need to get ready,” she said finally, breaking the tense silence that had been thick in the air between them.
Rhys let out the breath he had been holding and squeezed by her into the room before she could change her mind and ask the questions he knew she was holding back. Maids scurried around this way and that, and Rhys spared another glance back at his mother. She was eyeing them as well, and though most would have thought her expression neutrally serene, Rhys knew her well enough to know she was crawling inside. She hated having servants around touching her things. No wonder she didn’t feel like giving him another lecture today. Before she could turn her attention to him again, he bolted to his rooms, shutting the door behind him.
“Eventful morning?” inquired his attendant and friend, Jayson. Though Rhys was under no illusions that Jayson wasn’t reporting directly to his mother – out of fear of the woman, if nothing else – Jayson was still his confidant in many respects. Not so, however, for the kind of activities he had needed to deal with this morning. He hoped that the end result of his dealings would eventually be looked upon with acceptance, but he knew that Jayson would never approve of means necessary to accomplish that result. He evaded the question.
“You know, another day, another…” he trailed off without finishing, strolling over to his closet where he threw open the doors. “So what am I to wear today?” he asked, knowing better than to think that he would have any say in the matter.
For some reason, his mother seemed to think that by forcing him to dress a certain way, it would then follow that he would act that way. She was usually disappointed.
“The black suit,” Jayson said, giving him a lopsided and sympathetic smile. Rhys had long ago begged him to forgo the formalities, so unless there were other people around, they spoke casually. Rhys hated being addressed as “sir”.
He groaned. “Not that thing again. What is she trying to do, marry me off to an old lady? Because those are the only women who will be interested in that old relic. I swear it could have come from the Dark King’s era.”
“You shouldn’t joke about things like that, Rhys,” Jayson replied seriously.
He was rather paranoid about everything blood-magic and Dark King related. Jayson’s grandfather had spent a lot of time telling the impressionable young boy horror stories of those dark times.
Rhys sighed dramatically. “Oh, come now, Jayson. That’s all ancient history.” He shuffled through the dreadful clothes his mother had specially tailored for him, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
“I don’t know how you can be so casual about it when you know full well the events that took place recently. The Dark King may be ancient history, but we now know that he wasn’t the true evil behind it. It was Nuko, trapped here in essence and trying to reunite his mind and physical form by manipulating people. And it was only a mere eighteen years ago that your mother, Lady Katya, helped defeat him!”
Rhys tried hard not to roll his eyes but didn’t fully succeed. He was sure the result must have been funny, but the look Jayson gave him was anything but amused. “I know, I know,” Rhys conceded to get him off his back, “but now even Nuko is gone, right? So now, it is all history.”
He finally found the black suit Jayson referred to and took it out, throwing it unceremoniously onto the bed. He stripped off the more comfortable dark brown leggings and flowing shirt and squeezed himself into the gaudy masterpiece his mother called his “fine clothes”.
By the time he’d gotten all the lacings tied, fastenings secured, and accessories accessorized, his mother and father both appeared at his door. He scowled at his mother for her choice in his clothing, but she remained as unreadable as always, apparently having gotten her earlier disquiet under control. At least she was fidgeting slightly; it was one of the only ways Rhys could tell when she was uncomfortable. She looked gorgeous in her lavish gown, but Rhys got pleasure knowing that she was as uncomfortable as he in the dress-up clothes.
His father, on the other hand, looked handsome and confident as always. He took in Rhys’s black eye, by now turned a dark red bordering on purple hue, and sighed.
“What have you done now, son?” Hunter asked, but before Rhys could answer, he held up his hands. “Never mind. I don’t want to know right now. We need to get going, or we’ll miss it.”
“That would be a shame,” Rhys mumbled too low for anyone to hear – or at least he thought. His mother gave him a reproachful look. He sighed and waved a hand towards the door. “After you.”
