The Complete Empire Trilogy

by Raymond E. Feist

As if uncomfortable with the rush of feelings, for the gift of a family restored, Fumita bowed brusquely. A heartbeat later, he vanished in a breath of air, leaving Mara and Hokanu alone to share a last moment of each other’s private company.

  The fountains sang, and the flowers released their perfume on the deepening evening air. The page who arrived was an intrusion, as he made his bow and announced, ‘My Lady, the Light of Heaven requests the presence of his father, and the Mistress of the Empire, for his council.’

  ‘Politics,’ Mara said with a sigh. ‘Is it the dance or ourselves that are the masters?’

  ‘It is the dance that masters us, of course,’ Hokanu smiled. ‘Else I should never be leaving you, Lady.’ Then he turned, and presented his arm to his former wife. With a dignity born of profound courage and unshakable inner peace, he escorted her toward the imperial suite, and her new role as Regent and Mistress of the Empire.

  • Epilogue •

  Reunion

  The herald struck the gong.

  Lady Mara, Mistress of the Empire, resettled her weight on the gilt-edged cushion that failed to soften the unyielding marble of her official seat on the imperial dais. Hers might be less brilliant a throne than Justin’s gold-overlaid one, but it was no less uncomfortable. In two years of presiding over Justin’s public duties, she had never grown used to it.

  Mara’s thoughts drifted. Gaining in his experience on the golden throne, Justin was more and more capable of managing the decisions presented on the Day of Appeals. He had his mother’s talent for seeing the pattern in complex issues, and his father’s ability to cut to the heart of the matter. Most of the time Mara served at his side more in the role of adviser than Regent; sometimes she sat lost in memories as she endured the lengthy hours of state councils, trusting Justin to let her know when her attention was needed.

  Sundown was near, she saw by the slant of the light through the dome in the grand hall of audience. The Day of Appeals was at last drawing to a close. The last few of the Emperor’s petitioners approached the rail on the floor below. Mara resisted the urge to rub tired eyes as Justin, ninety-two times Emperor, called out the traditional words that acknowledged his approaching subject’s right to be heard.

  ‘Lord Hokanu of the Shinzawai, know that you have the ear of the gods through our ear.’ Justin’s voice was breaking to the baritone that would be his in manhood, but joy at the arrival of his foster father caused him to forget to blush at the roughness that had invaded his speech. ‘Heaven smiles down upon the felicity of your visit, and we bid you glad welcome.’

  Mara started sharply from reverie. Hokanu was here! Her heart leaped as she looked down to see how he fared. Months had passed since their paths had last crossed at a state function. The Shinzawai Lord had left the court, she recalled, to attend upon his lady wife, who had been pregnant with his heir.

  Heirs, Mara was forced to correct herself, as the imperial herald called out two names, and she reviewed the pair of bundles borne in the arms of their father. A nurse and two servants hovered nearby, and another, a slight, pretty girl whose eyes were downcast and shy before the presence of her Emperor.

  Justin was grinning; another trait he had inherited from his outworld father was spurning the Tsurani bent for stiff-faced protocol. These days some of the younger nobles were imitating him, affecting his animated expressions and frank speech, as unmarried women might follow popular fashion, much to the discomfort of the older Ruling Lords. He gave his stately mother a mischieviously unroyal poke in the ribs. ‘Mother, you must have words for this occasion.’

  Mara did not. She could only smile down on the proud father for a long minute close to tears. The babies were beautiful, perfect; if they could not have been hers to bear, she blessed the gods that the quiet Elumani’s fertility had granted her husband’s fierce desire. ‘Sons?’ Mara managed to whisper at last.

  Hokanu nodded, speechless. His eyes mirrored the joy in her own, and also the aching regret. He missed Mara’s quick mind, and the ease of her company. Elumani was a gentle girl, but she had not been chosen for fiery spirit. Still, she had given what Mara could not: the House of Shinzawai now had children for continuance of the line. Hokanu had his boys, and they would grow and come to replace the companionship he had lost.

  The imperial herald cleared his throat. ‘Lord Hokanu of the Shinzawai, presenting to the Light of Heaven his heirs, Kamatsu and Maro.’

  Justin voiced the official acknowledgment of the children. ‘May they grow in joy and strength, with the blessing of heaven.’

  Mara found her voice. ‘I am happy for you both. Lady Elumani, I am especially flattered and proud.’ She paused, deeply touched by the unexpected gift of having a namesake of Hokanu’s blood. She had to force herself not to weep as she continued. ‘When your sons are old enough, I would be pleased to have them visit the imperial nursery, and to enjoy making acquaintance with their half-sister, Kasuma.’

  The tiny, auburn-haired girl at Hokanu’s side gave a graceful bow. She still did not raise her eyes, and the skin of her cheeks blushed pink at this royal recognition. ‘I am deeply honored,’ she said in a voice like a mellow songbird’s. ‘The Mistress of the Empire is too kind.’

  All too soon the Shinzawai party were making bows of parting to the Emperor. Mara gazed wistfully after the blue-armored figure that strode out with all the warrior’s grace she remembered. Then her emotions overcame her. She raised her ceremonial fan and tipped it open to hide her sudden tears. Sons for the Shinzawai: they were now a fulfilled wish, more than a dream for the future of the Empire. Twins! Mara shook her head, bemused. It seemed as if the bounty of the gods outdid itself to make up for the poor infant of hers who had died before birth.

  Her loneliness was now well worth such rewards. Seeing Hokanu, spending time with him, was no longer possible, and she missed him, but a time would come when they could visit without pain, because deep friendship had formed the heart of their marriage.

  Again the gong chimed. The imperial herald’s voice rang out, announcing the presentation of the newly arrived ambassador from the Kingdom of the Isles, on the world of Midkemia.

  Mara stole a peek at the group who approached, then raised her fan swiftly as her heart twisted yet again.

  Never could she behold a group of men in outworld dress without thinking of the barbarian lover who had tossed her life tempestuously into change. Three of them were slender and tall, and one even walked with the barest hitch to his stride. That flawed movement tugged at her memory.

  She chided herself. Too much, today, she had allowed herself to become maudlin over past affairs of the heart. She braced herself to endure greeting a man who would be a stranger, who might speak Tsurani with the odd, nasal twang of a Midkemian, and who, though tall, would not be Kevin. That these men did not wear slave’s grey, but rather the fine silks and rich velvets, with the blazon of the King of Isle upon the tabards of the officers, made no difference. Mara looked away, avoiding even imperfect reminders of personal loss.

  The ambassador from the Isles and his company reached the rail. An official who had visited repeatedly in establishing this exchange of envoys, Baron Michael of Krondor, addressed the court. ‘Your Majesty, it is my honor to present to you the ambassador of the Kingdom of the Isles –’ The sudden silence caused Mara to look.

  The ambassador had one hand half raised to sweep off his plumed hat and bow, in the style of his homeland. But there he had frozen. His knuckles obscured his face. The watching courtiers stilled also; a few of the nearer Imperial Whites peculiarly struggled to hide amazement.

  Then the barbarian ambassador doffed his hat and bowed, slowly, his eyes never leaving Justin’s face. A murmur swept the court as he did so. Mara looked again at the new ambassador, and her heart again seemed to skip. The man who had reminded her of her lost love was replacing his outlandish hat, with the white plume and gold badge. Her eyes again threatened to betray her, so she quickly fanned her face, lest rumors sweep the city this night that
the Imperial Regent had been given over to unreasonable bouts of tears for no good reason. She heard Baron Michael finish the introduction: ‘… emissary from His Royal Highness Lyam, King of the Isles.’

  ‘You may approach,’ the Light of Heaven allowed, sounding all boyishly treble. Mara heard movement as the Imperial Whites stepped aside and opened the railing, inviting the ambassador onto the dais to present his credentials.

  The Midkemian ascended the first stair. His booted foot-fall rang across a chamber arrested into stillness. Carefully Mara closed her fan, as the emissary from the Kingdom of the Isles mounted the last steps between them.

  He paused three paces from the throne and swept into another bow. This time his hat stayed off as he straightened. Mara beheld his face.

  A soft cry escaped her. The profile of the man, and that of her son in his gold-edged robes of state, were mirror images. But where the boy’s features were yet unlined, and only lately beginning to mature into the firmness of adulthood, the man’s were well scored with creases, as fair skin will age with passing years and too much sun. The once red hair was frosted now with white, and the eyes were wide, stunned.

  The Mistress of the Empire saw fully. She was forced to confront what all the Lords in the court had seen, from the instant the ambassador had made his entry. Only the hat, and the high angle of the dais, and the weak moment of cowardice that had caused her to hide behind her fan had made her the last to discover just who stood before her with an air of exasperated startlement.

  ‘Kevin,’ Mara mouthed soundlessly.

  Arakasi, as Imperial First Adviser, stepped forward to receive the ambassadorial credentials. Showing an unusual grin, he said, ‘You’ve changed.’

  Recognition registered. With an answering laugh, Kevin said, ‘So have you. I didn’t recognise you without a disguise.’

  With only the barest glance at the documents, Arakasi turned and said, ‘Your Majesty, before you stands the ambassador from the King of the Isles, Kevin, Baron of the Royal Court.’

  Justin nodded and said, ‘You are welcome,’ but his voice showed he, too, was close to losing decorum. For before him stood the blood father he had only heard about.

  Mara’s hand went to her mouth, as if to prevent words from escaping unbidden. That smallest motion from her caused a shiver to chase over Kevin’s flesh. His eyes – so much bluer than she recalled – turned toward her. His smile warred with a frown on his familiar face that the years had changed little, after all. ‘I expected I might find you here,’ he said in husky, pent-back emotion that only those atop the dais could hear. ‘Who else in these Nations could fit the title “Mistress of the Empire?” But this, your Light of Heaven.’ His large, capable hand indicated Justin, and his eyes brightened to a knifepoint of intensity – ‘Lady, why ever didn’t you tell me?’

  The pair who had once been lovers might have been alone in that vast hall.

  Mara swallowed. Too clearly she recalled their last parting: this man in the street, scuffed and half-beaten, as he resisted the slave handlers who had acted on her orders to send him by force back to his homeworld.

  She had lacked the capacity for speech then. Now words came to her in a rush. ‘I didn’t dare tell you. A son would have kept you this side of the rift, and that would have been a crime against all that you taught me to profess. You would never have married, never have lived for yourself. Justin has been raised knowing who his father was. Are you angry with me?’

  ‘Justin,’ Kevin repeated, trying the name out on his tongue. ‘After my father?’ As Mara gave back a timid nod, he shot a glance that glowed at the boy who sat straight on the golden throne. Then he shivered again. ‘Angry?’

  Mara flinched. He always had spoken at inopportune moments, in a tone that rang too loud.

  He looked at her, quieting his voice, though his inflection was no less harsh. ‘Yes, I am angry. I’ve been robbed. I’d have liked to watch my boy grow.’

  Mara blushed. He had lost none of his ability to throw her off balance. Forgetting to show demure Tsurani poise, she defended herself. ‘You would never have had any other children had I done so.’

  Kevin slapped his hand against his knee. While still low, his rejoinder was starting to carry to those standing at the bottom of the dais. ‘Lady, what is this talk of children? I have none! I never did marry. I took service in my Prince Arutha’s court – for a dozen years I’ve been fighting goblins and dark elves with the border barons at Highcastle and Northwarden. Then out of nowhere, I’m summoned to Krondor, and told to my chagrin that when the Emperor of Tsuranuanni requested an exchange of ambassadors, I was overqualified for the post – I’m noble born, but beyond any chance of inheritance with older brothers and near a dozen nephews, and I speak fluent Tsurani. So my King commanded – or rather, Prince Arutha appointed on his brother’s behalf – and suddenly I’m a beribboned court baron, bowing like some sort of trained monkey before my own son!’

  Here the Midkemian ambassador turned to regard the Emperor. His irritation modulated as he said, ‘He does look like me, doesn’t he?’ Then he grinned and tossed a wink at Justin. The gaze he turned back to Mara was edged as ice as his merriment faded again. ‘I hope that your husband doesn’t come after me with a sword for this!’ he finished in that tone of dry mocking that could either delight or enrage Mara.

  The Mistress of the Empire blinked, realising how little Kevin would know of the past fourteen years. ‘Hokanu fostered the boy, knowing the truth of his conception.’

  Now Kevin looked dumbfounded in turn. ‘Didn’t I just see the Lord of the Shinzawai outside, with a child bride, and two babies?’

  Mara nodded, past speech.

  Never one to be caught speechless, Kevin said, ‘You’re not married?’ Mara could only shake her head no. ‘Yet you had a husband. What Tsurani convolution of traditions is this?’

  ‘It’s called divorce on grounds of barrenness. Hokanu needed heirs, for the stability of Justin’s reign, and the Good of the Nations. You just observed the result.’ Mara shook off the play of feelings that threatened to knock her dizzy. She was in public, in full view of the court; her image as a Lady and a Tsurani must be laughable at this moment.

  Taking his cue from Mara, Arakasi called out, ‘The Day of Appeals is at an end. Let all retire and give thanks for our Light of Heaven.’ Then began a very slow withdrawal, as most of the court nobles lingered, curious to overhear the strange exchange taking place atop the imperial dais. The cadre of Midkemian nobles who had accompanied Kevin exchanged uncertain signals, unsure if they should wait for their leader or withdraw without him.

  Mara saw a hundred pairs of eyes turned toward her, to see how she would react next. And then, suddenly, she did not care. She assumed her most dignified, formal posture. ‘Kevin, Baron of the Court, Ambassador of the Midkemian King of the Isles, I have been remiss in my duties as a mother. I present to you your blood son: Justin, ninety-two times Emperor, and Light of Heaven of Tsuranuanni. I humbly pray he is fair in your sight, and an honor to your family pride.’

  The senior imperial herald, eyes wide in astonishment at what he had just heard, glanced at Arakasi for instruction. The Imperial First Adviser shrugged and nodded, and the herald raised his voice to ring out over the assembled Tsurani nobles. ‘Kevin of Rillanon, ambassador of King Lyam, and father of our own Light of Heaven!’

  Lady Mara was jolted almost out of her skin by the noise of a resounding cheer from the younger nobles of the court, who were halfway to the great outer doors. They flooded back toward the railing and began stamping and clapping their approval. More than any other thing, that impressed upon Mara how swiftly two short years of changed policies were taking deeper root: for there was but one way for a Midkemian to have become the father of a fourteen-year-old boy: if he had visited the Empire previously as a slave and a prisoner of war.

  It had not been long in the past when the idea of a slave’s child becoming Emperor would have been cause for bloody rebellion, a war over
insult and honor that had no point beyond an excuse for each Lord who harbored secret ambitions to see his house triumph over his enemies.

  But as Mara studied the faces on the floor below, she saw mostly bemusement, surprise, and honest admiration. To all but a narrow-minded few, the Laws of the Great Freedom were already coming to replace the Game of the Council. More sons of nobles sought out imperial duty rather than serving with their family’s forces. It was these young men, breaking free of the traditions of their ancestors, who cheered the loudest.

  Once again, Mara had done the unthinkable. Her people of the Empire were coming to expect that of her, so adept had they grown at taking such turns in their stride.

  And then Justin was off his throne, discarding his mantle and headdress into the care of his body servant. He flung himself into the arms of the father he had never known, but whose name had become a legend spoken in awed tones by the older Acoma servants.

  Mara looked on, new tears brightening her eyes, until Kevin’s huge arm hooked out and hauled her off her cushion to share in a three-way embrace.

  The Lady was startled into laughter. She had forgotten how impulsive he was, and how overwhelmingly strong.

  ‘Mistress of the Empire,’ he murmured over a redoubled volume of cheers. ‘You are a Lady of surprises! I trust I will have the chance to spend time in the imperial suite, getting to know my son, and renewing old acquaintance with his mother?’

  Mara took a deep breath, smelling the odd taint of off-world fur, and strange spices, and velvets that were woven on looms far away, in a colder land that someday she must journey across the rift to visit. Her blood quickened to a beat of passion that all but swept her from her feet. ‘You will have a lifetime to share with your son,’ she murmured to Kevin so that only he could hear. ‘And all the years you could desire in the company of his mother, so long as your King permits.’

  Kevin laughed. ‘Lyam’s glad to be rid of me, I think. Things are too quiet on the border for a troublemaker like me.’ Then he pulled her tight against him, for the simple joy of holding her.