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

She felt her blood go cold. Her body trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she watched the man set off to fetch the rope.

No man had ever touched her before. No one dared to think in such terms. Doing so would mean death in Melengar. She had no midnight rendezvous, no casual affairs or castle romances. No boy had ever chanced so much as a kiss, but now … She watched as the man with the stubble beard came at her with a length of twine.

If only I’d learned something more useful than tickling noses and boiling water, I could—

Arista stopped crying. She did not realize it, but she had stopped breathing as well.

Can it work?

There was nothing else to try.

The man grinned expectantly as Arista closed her eyes and began to hum softly.

“Look at that. I think she likes the idea. She’s serenading us.”

“Maybe it’s a noble ritual or something?”

Arista barely heard them. Once more, using the concentration method Esrahaddon had taught her, she focused her mind. She listened to the breeze swaying the grass, the buzz of the fireflies, the whine of the mosquitoes, and the song of the crickets. She could feel the stars and sense the earth below. There was power there. She pulled it toward her, breathing it in, sucking it into her body, drawing it to her mind.

“How you want her?”

“Wrists behind the back works for me, but maybe we should ask her how she likes it?” They laughed again. “Never know what might tickle a royal’s fancy.”

She was muttering, forming the words, drawing in the power, giving it form. She focused elements, giving them purpose and direction. She built the incantation as she had before, but now varied it. She pushed, altering the tone to shift the focus just enough.

The crickets stopped their song and the fireflies ceased their mating flashes. Even the gentle wind no longer blew. The only sound now was Arista’s voice as it grew louder and louder.

Arista felt herself pulled to her feet as the man spun her and maneuvered her arms behind her back. She ignored him, concentrating instead on moving her fingers as if she were playing an invisible musical instrument.

Just as she felt the rough, scratchy rope touch her wrists, the men began to scream.





The ruins of Amberton Lee stood splintered on the hilltop. Pillars, steps of marble, and slab walls lay fractured and fallen. Only three trees stood near the summit of the barren hill, all of them dead, leafless corpses, like the rest of the ruins, still standing long after their time.

“There’s a fire up there, but I only see Arista,” Royce said.

“Bait?”

“Probably. Give me a head start. Maybe I can free her before they know something is up. If nothing else, I should spring whatever trap is waiting and then hopefully you can rush in and save the day.”

It bothered Royce how quiet the hill was. He could hear the distant snorting and hoofing of horses and the crackle of the campfire, but nothing else. They had raced as fast as their horses could manage, and still Royce was afraid they would be too late. When riding, he had been certain she was dead. Now he was confused. There was no doubt that the woman near the fire was Arista.

So where is Etcher? Where are those they intended to meet?

He crept carefully, slipping nimbly around a holly tree and up the slope. Half-buried stones and tilted rocks lay hidden beneath grass and thorns, making the passage a challenge. He circled once and found no sentries or movement.

He climbed higher and happened upon two bodies. The men were dead, yet still warm to the touch—more than warm, they felt … hot. There were no wounds, no blood. Royce proceeded up the last of the hill, advancing on the flickering fire. The princess sat huddled near it, quietly staring into the flames. She was alone and lacked even her travel bags.

“Arista?” he whispered.

She looked up lazily, drunkenly, as if her head weighed more than it should. The glow of the fire spilled across her face. Her eyes appeared red and swollen. A welt stood out on one of her cheeks.

“It’s Royce. You all right?”

“Yes,” she replied. Her voice sounded distant and weak.

“Are you alone?”

She nodded.

He stepped into the firelight and waited. Nothing happened. A light summer breeze gently brushed the hill’s grass and breathed on the flames. Above them, the stars shone, muted only by the white moon, which cast nighttime shadows. Arista sat with the stillness of a statue, except for the hairbrush she turned over and over in her hands. As tranquil as the scene appeared, Royce’s senses were tense. This place made him uneasy. The odd marble blocks, toppled and broken, rose out of the ground like teeth. Once more he wondered if somehow he was tapping into his elven heritage, sensing more than could be seen, feeling a memory lost in time.

He caught sight of movement down the slope and spotted Hadrian climbing toward them. He watched him pause for a moment near the bodies before continuing up.

“Where’s Etcher?” Royce asked the princess.

“He left. He was paid by Luis Guy to bring me here, to deliver me to some men.”

“Yeah. We found that out a bit late. Sorry.”

The princess did not look well. She was too quiet. He expected anger or relief, but her stillness was eerie. Something had happened—something bad. Besides the welt, there was no sign of abuse. Her clothes were intact. There were no rips or tears. He spotted several blades of dead grass and a brown leaf tangled in her hair.

“You all right?” Hadrian asked as he crested the hill. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and one of the bits of grass fell out.

Hadrian crouched down next to her. “Are you sure? What happened?”

Arista did not answer. She stared at the fire and started to rock.

“What happened to the men down on the hill?” Hadrian asked Royce.

“Wasn’t me. They were dead when I found them. No wounds either.”

“But how—”

“I killed them,” Arista said.

They both turned and stared at her.

“You killed two Seret Knights?” Royce asked.

“Were they seret?” Arista muttered.

“They have broken-crown rings,” Royce explained. “There’s no wound on either body. How did you kill them?”

She started trembling, her breaths drawn in staggered bursts. Her hand went to her cheek, rubbing it lightly with her fingertips. “They attacked me. I—I couldn’t think of—I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared. They were going to—and I was alone. I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t hide. All I could do was make them sneeze and boil water. I didn’t have a choice. It was all I could do.” She began sobbing.

Hadrian tentatively reached toward her. She dropped the brush and took his hands, squeezing them tightly. She pulled at him and he wrapped his arms around her while she buried her face into the folds of his shirt. He gently stroked her hair.