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

“He’s right.” Perin spoke up again. “Perhaps in a few months we could hold elections, but Sir Breckton and his army are still on their way. We need action. We need the kind of leadership that won us this city, or come tomorrow, we’ll lose it again.”


Arista sighed and looked over at Hadrian, who sat near the window. As commander of the Nationalist army, he had also received an invitation.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I’m no politician.”

“I’m not asking you to be. I just want to know what you think.”

“Royce once told me two people can argue over the same point and both can be right. I thought he was nutty, but I’m not so sure anymore, because I think you’re both right. The moment you become queen, you’ll destroy any chance of this becoming the kind of free republic Emery spoke of, but if someone doesn’t take charge—and fast—that hope will die anyway. And they’re right. If I were going to choose anyone to rule, it would be you. As an outsider, you have no bias, no chance of favoritism—you’ll be fair. And everyone already loves you.”

“They don’t love me. They don’t even know me.”

“They think they do, and they trust you. You can give directions and people will listen. And right now, that’s what is needed.”

“I can’t be queen. Emery wanted a republic, and a republic he will have. You can appoint me temporary mayor of Ratibor and steward of the kingdom. I’ll administer only until a proper government can be established, at which time I’ll resign and return to Melengar.” She nodded more to herself than to any of them. “Yes, that way I’ll be in a position to ensure it gets done.”

The men in the room muttered in agreement. After addressing a few of the more pressing matters, the council filed out of City Hall into the square, leaving Arista and Hadrian alone. Outside, the constant noise of the crowd grew quiet and then exploded with cheers.

“You’re very popular, Your Highness,” Hadrian told her.

“Too popular. They want to commission a statue of me.”

“I heard that. They want to put it in the West End Square, one of you holding up that sword.”

“It’s not over yet. Breckton is almost here, and we don’t even know if Royce got through. What if he never made it? What if he did and Alric doesn’t listen? He might not think it possible to take Ratibor, and refuse to put the kingdom at risk. We need to be certain.”

“You want me to go?”

“No,” she said. “I want you here. I need you here. But if Breckton lays siege, we’ll eventually fall, and by then it’ll be too late for you to get away. Our only hope is if Alric’s forces can turn Breckton’s attention away from us.”

He nodded and his hand played with the amulet around his neck. “I suppose it doesn’t matter where I go for a while.”

“What do you mean?”

“Esrahaddon was in Gaunt’s camp. He’s been helping the Nationalists.”

“Did you tell him about the heir?”

Hadrian nodded. “And you were right. The heir is alive. I think he’s Degan Gaunt.”

“Degan Gaunt is the heir?”

“Funny, huh? The voice of the common man is also the heir to the imperial throne. There was another child born that night. The midwife took the surviving twin. No one else knew. I’ve no idea how Esrahaddon figured it out, but that explains why he’s been helping Gaunt.”

“Where is Esrahaddon now?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the battle started.”

“You don’t think …”

“Hmm? Oh no. I’m sure he’s fine. He hung back when we engaged Dermont’s forces. I suspect he’s off to find Gaunt and will contact me and Royce once he does.” Hadrian sighed. “I wish my father could have known he didn’t fail after all.

“Anyway, I’ll take care of things tonight before I leave. I’ll put one of the regiment captains in charge of the army. There’s a guy named Renquist who seems intelligent. I’ll have him see to the walls, patch up the stonework, ready gate defenses, put up sentries, guards, and archers. He should know how to do all of that. And I’ll put together a list of things you’ll want to do, like bring the entire army and the surrounding farmers within the city walls and seal it up. You should do that right away.”

“You’ll be leaving in the morning, then?”

He nodded. “Doubt I’ll see you again before I go, so I’ll say goodbye now. You’ve done the impossible, Arista—excuse me—Your Highness.”

“Arista is just fine,” she told him. “I’m going to miss you.” It was all she could say. Words were too small to express gratitude so immense.

He opened his mouth but hesitated. He smiled then and said, “Take care of yourself, Your Highness.”





In her dream, Thrace could see the beast coming for her father. He stood smiling warmly at her, his back to the monster. She tried to scream for him to run, but only a soft muffled moan escaped. She tried to wave her arms and draw his attention to the danger, but her limbs were heavy as lead and refused to move. She tried to run to him, but her feet were stuck, frozen in place.

The beast had no trouble moving.

It charged down the hill. Her poor father took no notice, even though the beast shook the ground as it ran. It consumed him completely with a single swallow, and she fell, as if pierced through the heart. She collapsed onto the grass, struggling to breathe. In the distance, the beast was coming for her now, coming to finish the job, coming to swallow her up—his legs squeaking louder and louder as he advanced.

She woke up in a cold sweat.

She was sleeping on her stomach in her feather bed with the pillow folded up around her face. She hated sleeping. Sleep always brought nightmares. She stayed awake as long as possible, many nights sitting on the floor in front of the little window, watching the stars and listening to the sounds outside. There was a whole symphony of frogs that croaked in the moat and a chorus of crickets. Fireflies sometimes passed by her tiny sliver of the world. But eventually, sleep found her.

The dream had been the same every night. She was on the hill, her father unaware of his impending death, and there was never anything she could do to prevent it. However, tonight’s dream had been different. Usually it ended when the beast devoured her, but this time she had woken early, and something else was different. When the beast came that night, it had made a squeaking sound. Even for a dream, that seemed strange.

Then she heard it again. The sound entered through her window.

Squeak … squeak … squeak!

There were other noises too, sounds of men talking. They spoke quietly but their voices drifted up from the courtyard below. She went to the window and peered out. As many as a dozen men with torches drew a wagon whose large wooden wheels squeaked once with each revolution. The wagon was a large box with a small barred window cut in the side, like the kind that would hold a lion for a traveling circus. The men were dressed in black-and-scarlet armor. She had seen that armor before, while in Dahlgren.

One man stood out. He was tall and thin with long black hair and a short, neatly trimmed beard.