Rise of Empire (The Riyria Revelations #3-4)

Arista could not see their faces as she stood beyond the doorway, carefully keeping herself hidden.

“So perhaps this is the nag the king of Melengar escaped on. He could be staying in one of the dorm rooms right now, plotting his next move.”

“Do you think Chancellor Lambert knows?”

“I doubt it,” Lane replied. “I don’t think a good man like Lambert would allow a menace like Alric to stay here.”

“Should we tell him?”

“Why don’t you tell him, Hinkle?” Lane said to the short fellow.

“Why me? You should do it. After all, you’re the one that noticed them.”

“Me? I don’t have time. Lady Chastelin sent me another letter today and I need to work on my reply lest she drives a dagger into her chest for fear I’ve forgotten her.”

“Don’t look at me,” said the remaining one. “I’ll admit it—Lambert scares me.”

The others laughed.

“No, I’m serious. He scares the wax out of me. I was sent to his office last semester because of that rabid rat stunt Jason pulled. I’d rather he’d just cane me.”

Together they walked off, continuing their chatter, which drifted to Lady Chastelin and doubts of her devotion to Lane.

Arista waited a moment until she was certain they were gone, then found the bags near the saddles and stuffed one under her arm. She grabbed the other two and quickly, but carefully, returned across the commons and slipped back up the stairs of Glen Hall.

Hadrian was not in the loft when she returned, but he had the lines up and blankets hanging from them to divide the room. She slipped through the makeshift curtain and began the miserable task of stringing out her wet things. She changed into her nightgown and robe. They had been near the center of her bag and only slightly damp. Then she began throwing the rest of her clothes over the lines. Hadrian returned with a bucket of water and paused when he spotted Arista brazenly hanging her petticoats and corset. She felt her face flush as she imagined what he was thinking. Not only did she travel unescorted with two men, but she was bedding down in the same room—albeit a large and segmented hall—and now she hung her undergarments for them to see. She was surprised they had not questioned her more intently. She knew the unusual circumstances she traveled under would eventually come up. Royce was not the type to miss something as suspicious as a maiden princess traveling alone in the company of two rogues, no matter how highly esteemed by the crown. As for her clothes, there was no other way or place to dry them safely, so it was this or wear them wet in the morning. There was no sense being prissy about it.

Royce entered the dorm as she finished her work. He was wearing his cloak with the hood up. It dripped a puddle on the floor.

“We’ll be leaving well before dawn,” he pronounced.

“Is something wrong?” Hadrian asked.

“I found a few students snooping around the carriage house when I made my rounds.”

“He does that,” Hadrian explained to Arista. “Sort of an obsession he has. Can’t sleep otherwise.”

“You were there?” she asked.

Royce nodded. “They won’t be troubling us anymore.”

Arista felt the blood drain from her face. “You … you killed them?” she asked in a whisper. As she said it, she felt sick. A few minutes earlier, listening to their horrible discussion, she had found herself wishing them harm, but she had not meant it. They were little more than children. She knew, however, that Royce might not see it that way. She had come to realize that for him, a threat was a threat no matter the package.

“I considered it.” No tone of sarcasm tempered his words. “If they had turned left toward the chancellor’s residence, instead of right toward the dormitories … But they didn’t. They went straight to their rooms. Nevertheless, we’ll not be waiting until morning. We’ll be leaving in a few hours. That way even if they do start a rumor about horses from Melengar, we’ll be long gone by the time it reaches the right ears. The empire’s spies will assume we’re heading to Trent to beg their aid. We’ll need to get you a new mount, though, before heading to Colnora.”

“If we’re leaving as soon as that, I should go see Arcadius about that meal he promised,” Hadrian said.

“No!” Arista told him hastily. They looked at her, surprised. She smiled, embarrassed by her outburst. “I’ll go. It will give you two a chance to change out of your wet things without me here.” Before they could say anything, she slipped out and down the hallway to the stairs.

It had been nearly a year since that morning on the bank of the Nidwalden River when Esrahaddon had put a question in her head. The wizard had admitted using her to orchestrate the murder of her father to facilitate his escape, but he had also suggested there was more to the story. This could be her only chance to speak with Arcadius. She took a right at the bottom of the stairs and hurried to his study.

Arcadius sat on a stool at a small wooden desk on the far side of the room, studying a page of a massive tome. Beside him was a brazier of hot coals and an odd contraption she had never seen before—a brown liquid hung suspended above the heat of the brazier in a glass vial as a steady stream of bubbles rose from a small stone immersed in the liquid. The steamy vapors rose through a series of glass tubes and passed through another glass container, filled with salt crystals. From the end of that tube, a clear fluid slowly dripped into a small flask. A yellow liquid also hung suspended above the flask, and through a valve one yellow drop fell for each clear one. As these two liquids mixed, white smoke silently rose into the air. Occasionally he adjusted a valve, added salt, or pumped bellows, causing the charcoal to glow red hot. At her entrance, Arcadius looked up.

He removed his glasses, wiped them with a rag from the desk, and put them back on. He peered at her through squinting eyes.

“Ah, my dear, come in.” Then, as if remembering something important, he hastily twisted one of the valves. A large puff of smoke billowed up, causing several of the animals in the room to chatter. The stone fell to the bottom of the vial, where it lay quietly. The animals calmed down, and the elderly master of lore turned and smiled at Arista, motioning for her to join him.

This was no easy feat. Arista searched for open floor to step on and, finding little, grabbed the hem of her robe and opted to step on the sturdiest-looking objects in the shortest path to the desk.

The wizard waited patiently with a cheery smile, his high rosy cheeks causing the edges of his eyes to wrinkle like a bed-sheet held in a fist.