By Raymond E. Feist
Magic and homicide engulf the world of Kelewan. Fierce warlords ignite a sour blood feud to enslave the empire of Tsuranuanni. While within the opulent Imperial courts, assassins and spy-master plot crafty and devious intrigues opposed to the rightful heir. Now Mara, a tender, untested Ruling girl, is termed upon to steer her humans in a heroic fight for survival. But first she needs to rally a military of insurgent warriors, shape a pact with the alien cho-ja, and marry the son of a hated enemy. Only then can Mara face her most threatening foe of all--in his personal impregnable stronghold. An epic story of event and intrigue. Daughter of the Empire is fable of the top order by way of of the main proficient writers within the box this present day.
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Extra info for Daughter of the Empire: An Epic Saga of the World on the Other Side of the Riftwar
The manner of the First Strike Leader of the Acoma was outwardly easy, but Mara sensed he wished to be holding his spear and unsheathed sword. For a wild, angry instant Mara considered immediate vengeance. At her word, Papewaio would assault the Minwanabi lord in his own chamber, in the midst of his army. Although the warrior would count it as an honour to die in the effort, she shunted away the foolish impulse. Neither Papewaio nor any other wearing the Acoma green could get within half a day's march of the Minwanabi lord.
Softly she said, 'Rest, my father. Rest, my brother. ' She laid the vial aside and with a jerk ripped open the bodice of her robe. Despite the heat, chill bumps roughened her small breasts as the breeze struck suddenly exposed, damp skin. She reached up and again ripped her gown, as ancient traditions were followed. With the second tear she cried out, a halfhearted sound, little better than a whimper. Tradition demanded the show of loss before her ancestors. Again she tore her robe, ripping it from her left shoulder so it hung half to her waist.
Silently she begged the goddess's forgiveness, pleading nerves - fatigue and excitement combined with apprehension. Mara prayed to the Lady to guide her to the inner peace she so fervently desired. The gong chimed again, the third ring of twenty-two, twenty for the gods, one for the Light of Heaven, and one for the imperfect children who now waited to join in the service of the Goddess of Wisdom of the Upper Heaven. At seventeen years of age, Mara prepared to renounce the temporal world, like the girl at her side who – in another nineteen chimings of the gong - would be counted her sister, though they had met only two weeks before.