Rise of the Storm

by Carrie Summers

  Chapter Eight

  Kostan

  The Emperor's public audience chamber, Steelhold

  “TELL HIM I am not interested in a report,” I said to the page at the end of the public audience hall.

  The boy nodded and ducked out the door. This was the fifth time in the last tenday that I’d turned away an audience request from a man who called himself the Master of Information. To everyone else, even we Scions who’d been sheltered and taught ideals rather than realities about the Empire, the man was known as the Snitchlord. The network of Prov informers who reported on the infractions of their peers answered to the man.

  I had no desire to encourage the snitches, nor to punish their neighbors based on information the snitches shared. After enough refusals, perhaps the Snitchlord would get the message and stop requesting meetings.

  There were, however, people I needed to hear from. Awaiting the page’s announcement of the next petitioner, I shifted within the confines of the plush throne and inhaled the cedarwood incense that burned in niches along the length of the chamber. Even I felt faintly intimidated when gazing down the length of the massive hall. Suspended from the vaulted ceiling, a dozen black-iron chandeliers held blazing crowns of flame. The candles never guttered and never needed replacing though they burned day and night. Another enchantment worked by the secretive ferro mages.

  Before me, a dozen protectors stood stiffly in two rows, hands on the butt ends of holstered cudgels. The Prime Protector had wished to assign double the number to the audience hall, but I’d refused, compromising by keeping my scimitar close at hand. It leaned against the throne beside my right knee.

  Every day, I dedicated the hours from noon until dinner to hearing grievances, suggestions, and reports. The invitation extended beyond the palace; it had been posted at the entrance to the Corridor of Ascent and on lampposts throughout the city, inviting any Prov, Atal merchant, or Atal elite to speak. But so far, only those who’d held official positions under Emperor Tovmeil dared enter the hall.

  The page announced the next guest, a merchant-class Atal who had advised Tovmeil on the flow of commerce between the Merchant Quarter and the Prov districts. This information had helped my predecessor and his Ministry determine the rate at which tin scrip should be stamped and paid out to the population. Each coin lasted for just a few transactions because the thin metal lost its shape quickly—all part of the design to keep the Provs dependent on the throne, of course.

  Now, the merchant had little to report. Provs no longer shopped in the Quarter nor patronized the grocers at the edge of the warehouse district. Instead, they traded in hidden markets, bartering services and crafts rather than paying in scrip. The Atal man wanted me to send my protectors into these dens. I told him I’d consider it and sent him away. The man’s eyes told me he saw my lie for what it was.

  I shrugged at his retreating back as he left the hall. Given the chaos in the city, I wasn’t concerned about mollifying a single Atal man.

  “Liaison Vaness’s guest has arrived, your eminence,” the page called from just inside the entrance doors.

  I sat up straighter, eager for this meeting. Vaness, under her new appointment as my liaison with the Prov population, had finally contacted one of the leaders of the rioting in the city—she’d sent a message by hawk just before the midday meal, indicating that she and her contact would appear this afternoon. The man, Jaliss-born and assigned the carpenter Function when he’d come of age, was skeptical but willing to speak with me. Finally, a chance to speak directly to someone with influence among the Provs. If I managed to convince him of my intent to treat Provs and Atal equally, it would be my first major victory since being named Emperor.

  “Bring them in, Page Arvanell,” I said, nodding at the boy. He’d done well in managing my audiences, admitting only the visitors I approved and forcing everyone to use the main doors rather than the closer side entrance. The long aisle that separated the main entrance from the throne served to impress my authority upon guests. If I were going to keep using this ornately appointed room, I might as well leverage its strength.

  At the far end of the hall, the double doors swung open. I expected to see Vaness first, clad in a pressed-linen uniform embroidered with the crest I’d commissioned for her new office. She wore the official mark of her new appointment with pride. At least, I hoped that was what her straight bearing over the past weeks indicated. I wanted her to be happy. Satisfied, even. Though I no longer felt the attraction to her I’d once known, I both respected and cared for Vaness. Behind her beautiful face and graceful build, she was a woman of integrity and cleverness. She deserved much from life.

  But Vaness didn’t step through the doors. Instead, the Prov carpenter strode into the room alone, his hatred for the throne obvious in his surly gait. Well, that was something I might be able to change.

  I stood from the throne and descended the steps. The protectors stiffened in response, alarm on their faces. I ignored their concern. The Prov man needed to know that I considered myself no more important than he was.

  As the carpenter approached, the heavy carpet swallowing the sounds of his footsteps, I watched the door for Vaness. Maybe she’d decided the man would prefer a private audience. Still, I wanted to express to her my approval at this success. At first, she’d struggled with her own, ingrained prejudices—every Atal child was taught they were superior, and no matter the nobility of the heart, early lessons were difficult to overcome. Plus, she’d needed to earn enough trust among the city’s Provs that they’d offer up the identity of one of their rebellion’s leaders.

  The carpenter halted around ten paces from me. Even so, protectors closed gloved hands over the hilts of their weapons. During Emperor Tovmeil’s reign, only his closest advisors had been allowed nearer than one hundred paces. I would not treat my subjects that way.

  “Welcome, sire,” I said to the carpenter. “Did my liaison decide to wait outside?”

  If he appreciated my use of a respectful honorific, he didn’t show it. Standing with feet wide, he crossed his arms over his chest and held my gaze. This close, I could smell his sweat and the faint scent of sawdust. His lip curled. “The dark-haired wench had another errand. She sent me alone.”

  I blinked, tightening my jaw to keep my Emperor’s mask in place. “I will not have you disparage her. She’s working hard to improve conditions for all Provincial citizens, as am I.”

  His mouth curled in a sort of sneer. “They told me your backbone was flimsy. But I didn’t hear you were such a milksop as to take offense at simple words.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Our notions of respectful language clearly differ. Shall we move on? I’d like a chance to explain my plan for changing the Empire. My ultimate goal is that Prov and Atal will meet on equal ground. There will be no differences in your privileges or opportunities.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Yet another Atal who thinks he holds all the answers.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “In the message from Vaness, she said you’ve collected a list of demands. Perhaps we could start there.”

  The man snorted mucus into the back of his throat, hawked and spat on the carpet. To either side, protectors slid blades and cudgels from holsters.

  My face remained even as I stared at the man. Maybe the carpenter would respond more to strength than offers of reconciliation. “I’d hoped for a productive discussion, but if you have no intention of working with me, I will search for those who will.”

  “A boy sits on the throne, and after just weeks thinks he can right a century of wrongs,” the man said.

  My nostrils flared as I drew breath. “I understand the magnitude of the task, which is why I am asking for help from you and others. However, it seems you have little interest in discussing terms. So far, I’ve exercised restraint, but the violence in the city must stop. Though I’d rather not, I’m prepared to quell your rioting by force.”

  As I spoke, I imagined Vaness�
��s disappointment. She’d worked hard for this meeting.

  “We will not bow to yet another ruler we did not choose,” the man said.

  “Cease the riots,” I said firmly.

  “Or what? You’ll send protectors to beat and jail people who have already lost their homes?”

  “Only if they continue to spread violence. If you wish to prove that Provs have the right to their own destinies, you must show that you’re worthy.”

  The man moved faster than I could have expected. Only the flash of the blade warned me of his attack.

  My reflexes were slow after weeks without weapons training. As I backstepped, the tasseled fringe of my storms-cursed cloak caught beneath my heel.

  The cloak’s clasp dug into my neck as the carpenter’s blade sliced the ornate piping on the front of my tunic.

  At the entrance of the hall, the page yelled for help. The closest protector leaped at the Prov man. As her fist connected with his jaw, darkness fell over the hall. Shadows swelled, reaching from niches and stretching across the floor.

  “Back, your eminence!” another of the protectors yelled.

  As I windmilled my arms, fighting for balance after tripping on my cloak, a guard shoved me aside. The protector who had punched the carpenter dove away from where he crouched.

  With a thunderclap, the air left the hall.

  The carpenter froze, eyes wide. Brilliant bolts of light seared the air, lancing from the black-iron chandeliers and striking the man’s body. The spears punched holes through his flesh, and for an instant, light passed through his body until blood filled the gaps.

  Sound returned, and the dead Prov collapsed into a boneless heap.

  ***

  “What will you do with the body?” Lyrille asked. The former servant reclined on one of the lavish sedan chairs placed around the edges of my personal sitting room. In the weeks since my Ascension, I’d turned to her more and more for advice. Blinded by my former guardians before being placed in service to the Scions, she’d nonetheless survived the Ministry’s plot where her fellow servants had been killed. I envied her relaxed posture as I patrolled the edge of my room, agitated yet timid. Despite the weeks since my Ascension, I still moved about the Emperor’s chambers like a guest, afraid to touch things.

  “I don’t know. The ferro magic that killed him… it left his remains mangled and burned. I’m afraid I’ll spark new riots if I allow the Provs to see the body.”

  “But you can’t hide what happened.”

  “No. I’m certain others knew he intended to come here. When he doesn’t return, they’ll accuse me of jailing or murdering him. But if I tell the truth and name him as a would-be assassin, they’ll call me a liar.” I sighed. “I hope Vaness returns from her errand soon. I’m concerned about why she missed the carpenter’s audience, and I’d like her opinion on what to do with him.”

  I turned and stalked the other direction, running fingertips over wood paneling on the wall. “I’m failing, Lyrille. It’s been weeks, and nothing has improved.”

  As I paced, she tracked my motion with her head, ear cocked to follow my voice. “You inherited what many would consider an impossible task. Anyone would feel overwhelmed.”

  “The Provs won’t pause their rioting long enough to give me a chance. Every time I make an overture to the commoners, the Atal elite threaten to abandon me entirely. And just recently, I heard whispers that the Stormshard rebels are organizing.”

  “I seriously doubt the last is true,” she said, a gentle smile curling her lips. “Stormshard has made noise about overthrowing the Empire for decades, and at most, they’ve been nothing but a nuisance. I learned that much in my short time serving Minister Brevt.”

  “Yeah, well…” I stopped in front of a small side table adorned with a cut-glass bowl filled with polished stones. Resting my fist on the tabletop, I sighed. I’d won no loyalty from Evrain and Falla by abandoning them, but I’d hoped that I’d have a chance to redeem myself once I Ascended. Instead, the chaos had continued. “Given the way my plans have gone so far, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Lyrille rolled and turned her face to the ceiling. She still wore the silk mask given to her after she’d been blinded, but she’d abandoned the servants’ robes forced on her as an official caregiver to the imperial Scions. Instead, she garbed herself in simple, undyed linen.

  “Where did you live before you were assigned the servant Function?” I asked.

  For perhaps the first time, I glimpsed a hint of a frown on her lips. “I’m a Guralaner by birth. My father’s Function was logging, but my mother was a seamstress. She couldn’t meet her quota in the forest camps, so she lived in Bellows.”

  Another family kept apart by the Empire. I pressed my fist harder into the tabletop. “And you?”

  “I traveled between. I suppose I preferred the camps, if only for the chance to smell pine sap and moss rather than smoke and dust.”

  “I’d gladly give you enough steel coin to make the journey home, plus enough to provide for your family until I can strike down the Decree. But the roads aren’t safe. I’d rather wait until I can restore order.”

  Lyrille draped an arm over her forehead. “Even if I returned with money to support them, I’d just be a burden to my parents now. Bellows is not the sort of city a person should navigate while sightless. I’d probably be trampled by a logging wagon within days. And the camps are worse. At least here, I have a chance to be useful. I’ve been practicing in the kitchens, learning the locations of various pantries and the bins inside them.”

  Feet shuffling in the deep carpet, I crossed the floor and grasped her fingertips. I lowered myself to a cross-legged seat beside her. “You don’t need to do that, Lyrille. If you wish, you have a home in Steelhold for the rest of your life, no payment or service required. You’ve already sacrificed so much.”

  Sighing, she pulled her hand away. “But that’s not enough for me, your eminence. I’d never be happy in a life of idleness. Though I can’t offer as much as I might have when I could see, it’s important for me to do what I can to earn my keep.”

  I sat back and folded my knees up, wrapping my forearms around them. “Perhaps we can strike a deal. If you finally agree to call me Kostan, I won’t argue against your desire to scour pots or grind flour. Provided, of course, that you reserve time to advise me. I have few friends in the Hold and even fewer who will speak to me with absolute honesty.”

  Lyrille pushed herself upright and extended a hand. “Agreed,” she said as I accepted the handshake. “And if it’s absolute honesty you seek, I have something to offer already.”

  “Please.”

  “It’s past time for you to choose a side, I fear.”

  “A side?”

  “Atal or Prov. Right now, you’re trying to please both.”

  “You’re right. I am. Because I can’t accept anything less.”

  She shrugged. “I know. But your stubbornness may cost you the Empire.”

  As I stood, forming an argument in my mind, a rapping came at the door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  The door swung open, revealing a harried messenger who bent over his knees, chest heaving. “Urgent message, your eminence,” he said between breaths. His gaze flicked to Lyrille as he handed over a strip of parchment from the hawk keeper. “The Prime Protector says you may wish to read this in private.”

  “Thank you,” I said, closing the door while staring at the curl of paper. What disaster must I now confront? My shoulders felt heavy as I unrolled the message.

  Lyrille cocked an ear with undisguised interest. Her manners would keep her from asking directly, but she obviously wanted to know what it said.

  “It’s from the protectors’ post in Jaliss,” I said as I read the opening salutation. My knees buckled as my eyes scanned the scrawled writing beneath. “The carpenter told me Vaness had gone off on another errand. I should have questioned his statement the minute he trie
d to slice my throat. Even earlier if I’d been thinking…”

  “What’s happened, Kostan?” Lyrille asked, standing and sweeping her hands before her as she walked toward me to offer support.

  “The Provs have taken her. They have Vaness shackled to a post in the middle of the Splits. The ranking protector in the city believes they mean to kill her tonight.”

  I crumpled the paper in my hand. This had gone on long enough. It was time to take control of my Empire one way or another.

  Chapter Nine

  Savra

  Tucked in a corner in an ancient fortress

  THE KEEP HAD no doors. With practiced efficiency, Sharders gathered stone blocks from the fortress grounds and stacked them to form barricades at the ground-level entrances. Other men and women delved into the catacombs, seeking fallback positions and alternate exits from the labyrinth. The air smelled of leather and sweat and the sharp scent of oiled blades. Though ragged and weary, Stormsharders were seasoned fighters, and it showed on their faces.

  Father stood with Sirez and Falla on the second-floor balcony, speaking in low and hurried tones. Hanging back from the group, Joran clenched and unclenched his fists, a dark expression on his face. Maybe he blamed my father for this, too.

  After the short conference, my father spun on his heels and trotted toward the archway. I stepped forward from where I’d been pressed against the wall to stay out of the Sharders’ way.

  As if noticing me for the first time, he stiffened. “What are you doing up here?”

  “I want to help. I need to help—the conclave said I’m guilty, Papa. All that remained before you returned was deciding my punishment.”

  His cheeks puffed as he blew air through pursed lips. “I feared that was their reason for excluding me. Listen, Savra. The things that are coming—” He gestured vaguely toward the foot of the valley where the stream cut a narrow gorge between slopes. “—I don’t know if we can fight them successfully. If we survive, I hope the conclave can be convinced to reconsider your judgment. If we’re overrun… well, I suppose it won’t matter then.”