Ghent: Ecclesiastical holding of the Nyphron Church

Melengar: Small but old and respected kingdom

Warric: Most powerful of the kingdoms of Avryn

Dunmore: Youngest and least sophisticated kingdom

Alburn: Forested kingdom

Rhenydd: Poor kingdom

Maranon: Producer of food. Once part of Delgos, which was lost when Delgos became a republic

Galeannon: Lawless kingdom of barren hills, the site of several great battles

THE GODS

Erebus: Father of the gods

Ferrol: Eldest son, god of elves

Drome: Second son, god of dwarves

Maribor: Third son, god of men

Muriel: Only daughter, goddess of nature

Uberlin: Son of Muriel and Erebus, god of darkness

POLITICAL PARTIES

Imperialists: Those wishing to unite mankind under a single leader who is the direct descendant of the demigod Novron

Nationalists: Those wishing to be ruled by a leader chosen by the people

Royalists: Those wishing to continue rule by individual, independent monarchs

BOOK III

NYPHRON RISING

CHAPTER 1

THE EMPRESS

Amilia made the mistake of looking back into Edith Mon’s eyes. She had never meant to—she had never planned on raising her stare from the floor—but Edith startled her and she looked up without thinking. The head maid would consider her action defiance, a sign of rebellion in the ranks of the scullery. Amilia had never looked into Edith’s eyes before, and doing so now, she wondered if a soul lurked behind them. If so, it must be cowering or dead, rotting like a late-autumn apple; that would explain her smell. Edith had a sour scent, vaguely rancid, as if something had gone bad.

“This will be another tenent withheld from yer pay,” the rotund woman said. “Yer digging quite a hole, ain’t you?”

Edith was big and broad and missing any sign of a neck. Her huge anvil of a head sat squarely on her shoulders. By contrast, Amilia barely existed. Small and pear-shaped, with a plain face and long, lifeless hair, she was part of the crowd, one of the faces no one paused to consider—neither pretty nor grotesque enough to warrant a second glance. Unfortunately, her invisibility failed when it came to the palace’s head maid, Edith Mon.

“I didn’t break it.” Mistake number two, Amilia thought.

A meaty hand slapped Amilia’s face, ringing ears and watering eyes. “Go on,” Edith enticed her with a sweet tone, and then whispered, “lie to me again.”

Gripping the washbasin to steady herself, Amilia felt heat blossom on her cheek. Her gaze now followed Edith’s hand, and when it rose again, Amilia flinched. With a snicker, Edith ran her plump fingers through Amilia’s hair.