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

He glanced at Royce, then lowered his eyes. “In any case, if I survive, I won’t be returning to Riyria.”


Royce nodded. “You’ll probably get killed, anyway. But … I suppose you’re okay with that—as happy as a dog with a bone.”

“How’s that?”

“Nothing.”

There was a pause, then Hadrian said, “It’s not completely hopeless. It’s just that damn cavalry. They’ll cut down the Nationalists in a heartbeat. If only it would rain again.”

“Rain?” Arista asked.

“Charging horses carrying heavy armored knights need solid ground. After the last few days, the ground has already dried. If I could engage them over tilled rain-drenched farmland, the horses will mire themselves and Dermont would lose his best advantage. But the weather doesn’t look like it’s gonna cooperate.”

“So you would prefer it to rain nonstop between now and the battle?” Arista asked.

“That would be one sweet miracle, but I don’t expect we’ll have that kind of luck.”

“Perhaps luck isn’t what we need.” Arista smiled at him.





The Dunlap household was dark except for the single candle Arista carried up the steps to the second floor. She had said her goodbyes to Royce and Hadrian. Mrs. Dunlap had gone to bed hours earlier and the house was quiet. This was the first time in ages she found herself alone.

How can this plan possibly work? Am I crazy?

She knew what her old handmaid, Bernice, would say. Then the old woman would offer her a gingerbread cookie as a consolation prize.

What will Alric say when Royce reaches him?

Even if she succeeded, he would be furious that she had disobeyed him and gone off without telling anyone. She pushed those thoughts away, deciding to worry about all that later. They could hang her for treason if they wished, so long as Melengar was safe.

All estimates indicated Breckton would arrive in less than four days. She would have to control the city by then. She planned to launch the revolt in two days and hoped she would have at least a few days to recover, pull in supplies from the surrounding farms, and set up some defenses.

Royce would get through with the message. If he could get to Alric quickly, and if her brother moved fast, Alric could attack across the Galewyr in just a few days, and it would take only two or three days for word to reach Aquesta and new orders to be sent to Sir Breckton. She would need to hold him off at least that long. All this assumed they successfully took the city and defeated Lord Dermont’s knights to the south.

Two days. How long does it normally take to plan a successful revolution?

Longer than two days, she was certain.

“Excuse me. Hello?”

Arista stopped as she passed the open door of Emery’s bedroom. They had put him in the small room at the top of the stairs, in the same bed where the princes of Rhenydd had once slept on a stormy night. Emery had remained unconscious since they had stolen him from the post. She was surprised to see his eyes open and looking back at her. His hair was pressed from sleep, and a puzzled look was on his face.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“Terrible,” he replied. “Who are you? And where am I?”

“My name is Arista and you’re at the Dunlaps’ on Benning Street.” She set the candle on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed.

“But I should be dead,” he told her.

“Awfully sorry to disappoint, but I thought you would be more helpful alive.” She smiled at him.

His brow furrowed. “Helpful with what?”

“Don’t worry about that now. You need to sleep.”

“No! Tell me. I won’t be a party to the Imperialists, I tell you!”

“Well, of course you won’t. We need your help to take the city back from them.”

Emery looked at her, stunned. His eyes shifted from side to side. “I don’t understand.”

“I heard your speech at The Laughing Gnome. It’s a good plan, and we’re going to do it in two days, so you need to rest and get your strength back.”

“Who are ‘we’? Who are you? How did you manage this?”

Arista smiled. “Practice, I guess.”

“Practice?”

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve had to save a kingdom from a traitorous murderer out to steal the throne. It’s okay. Just go back to sleep. It will—”

“Wait! You said your name is Arista?”

She nodded.

“You’re the Princess of Melengar!”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

“But … but how … Why?” He started to push up on the bed with his hands and winced.

“Calm down,” she told him firmly. “You need to rest. I mean it.”

“I shouldn’t be lying down in your presence!”

“You will if I tell you to, and I’m telling you to.”

“I—I just can’t believe … Why … why would you come here?”

“I’m here to help.”

“You’re amazing.”

“And you’re suffering from a flogging that would have killed any man with the good sense to know he should be dead. Now you need to go back to sleep this instant, and that’s an order. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She smiled. “I’m not a ruling queen, Emery, just a princess. My brother is the king.”

Emery looked embarrassed. “Your Highness, then.”

“I would prefer it if you just called me Arista.”

Emery looked shocked.

“Go ahead, give it a try.”

“It’s not proper.”

“And is it proper that you should deny a princess’s request? Particularly one who saved your life?”

He shook his head slowly. “Arista,” he said shyly.

She smiled at him and, on an impulse, leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. “Good night, Emery,” she said, and stepped back out of the room.

She walked back down the steps through the dark house and out the front door. The night was still. Just as Hadrian had mentioned, the sky was clear, showing a bountiful banquet of stars spilling across the vast blackness. Benning Street, a short lane that dead-ended at the Dunlaps’ carriage house, was empty.

It was unusual for Arista to be completely alone outdoors. Hilfred had always been her ever-present shadow. She missed him and yet it felt good to be on her own facing the night. It had been only a few days since she had ridden out of Medford, but she knew she was not the same person who had left. She had always feared her life would be no more than that of a woman of privilege, helpless and confined. She had escaped that fate and entered into the more prestigious, but equally restricted, role of ambassador, which was nothing more than a glorified messenger. Now, however, she felt for the first time she was finding her true calling.

She began to hum softly to herself. The spell she had cast on the Seret Knights had worked, yet no one had taught her how to do it. She had invented the spell, drawing from a similar idea and her general knowledge of the Art and altering the incantation to focus on the blood of their bodies.