“Long may you rule,” said the child. Then he bowed, and went away.
Erris sat on the makeshift throne as night fell and dawn came again. He sat as the seasons changed from fall, to winter, to spring. He sat as the centuries spun away and he did not age, and he did not die, for he had given away his soul and his time.
And there he sits still, the king of nothing, the ruler of emptiness.
“It doesn’t seem very fair,” Eda always said when her father finished the story. “He was only jealous of his brother.”
“But he should not have made such a reckless deal with Tuer,” her father told her gravely. “The gods are bound by the One who formed them to fulfill their oaths and honor their promises.”
“Is there no way to free him?”
“Perhaps there is a way, and perhaps he found it, in the end.”
“I hope so,” said Eda. “I don’t like to think of him sitting there even now.”
“One must always take care when treating with gods,” said her father. “It might not be worth the risk.”
Which is why, when Eda was nine years old and made a deal of her own, she took very meticulous care. After all, her parents were dead and there was no one to look out for her but herself.
Part One
STONE AND CROWN
Long ago, when the world was young but not quite new, a man dared stand against a god, and the god struck him down.
Chapter One
EDA SWORE.
Rain pounded sharp outside the open window of the council chamber, a gust of wind whipping aside the gauzy curtain to display the sprawling city below the palace. Blue-tiled roofs, silver-spired towers, a maze of stone streets—all were as familiar to Eda as breathing, all gleaming wet in the rain. Bells clamored from the spires, warning of the storm that was already here.
She swore again, with heat.
“Is something wrong, Your Imperial Majesty?” The Baron of Tyst blinked at her from his place midway down the polished ironwood table. He’d been droning on and on for the last quarter hour, to the rapt attention of her other Barons and assorted nobility, but the sandalwood oil drenching his stubby beard was so distractingly potent she hardly knew what he was saying. The courtiers had barely listened to the young steamship engineer she’d brought in to address them earlier; he now sat on her right, looking for all the world like a scrawny, cornered rat.
Eda reminded herself of all the reasons she shouldn’t strangle the Baron of Tyst and reined in her irritation. “I fear the rain might delay temple construction.”
The Baron’s eyes shifted away from hers, and Eda glanced down the length of the table to find most of her Barons unwilling to meet her gaze.
All except for Rescarin Haena-Ar, Baron of Evalla. He sat opposite the Baron of Tyst, his arms folded across his chest. Rescarin was somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty and more elaborately dressed than anyone else in the room. His jaw was smooth, his dark eyes filled simultaneously with laughter and disdain. “Construction is already delayed, Your Imperial Majesty.”
Eda’s whole body went cold. “Why?” Her voice was low, dangerous.
Rescarin raised his eyebrows, as if daring her to react further. “We’ve used all the stone. There can be no further progress until the next shipment arrives from Halda.”
“That is absurd. The plans for the temple haven’t changed—we ordered the correct amount of stone. There should have been enough.”
Rescarin had the audacity to shrug. “We can’t produce building materials out of thin air, Your Imperial Majesty. Halda wasn’t able to send it all in one shipment, and the second one has been delayed.”
It took all Eda’s willpower to keep herself from lunging across the table, dagger in hand. Gods, how she hated him.
Enduena was made up of six provinces, five under the command of Barons, the sixth under direct Imperial control. Each province had its own army, ostensibly to protect itself butalso to temper the power of the Emperor or Empress. Most of the Barons ruled their provinces as a kingdom unto themselves, and the two most powerful provinces—Evalla and Tyst—kept the firmest check on the Imperial seat, as well as keeping a check on each other.
Rescarin had been governing Evalla ever since he’d made himself regent when Eda’s parents had died. He was respected by the other Barons, and any attempt to replace him would have caused an uproar she was not equipped to handle. She had the loyalty of the Imperial army, but it was not a large enough force to subdue all of her Barons and their armies at once. It was a delicate, maddening balance—she needed the Barons to support her in order to remain in control, and they begrudgingly gave her their support to avoid the all-out civil war that would ensue if they got rid of her altogether.
And so when Eda ascended the throne she’d made Rescarin a Baron, which was higher than her parents’ former ranks of Count and Countess. She’d also officially given him the Governorship of Evalla, with the understanding that he would drastically reduce the size of Evalla’s military. That was one thing the other Barons had wholeheartedly supported her in—they didn’t like the threat of Evalla’s army any more than she did. Rescarin had agreed to her terms and disbanded half of his army. But his power in the capital still held nearly as much sway as hers, so she was left with these endless council sessions, pretending she was wholly in charge when everyone in the room knew she was really not.
“How long until the next shipment arrives?” Eda asked through gritted teeth.
