The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“Your Highness.” She felt a gentle hand jostle her shoulder.

Opening her eyes, Arista saw Orrin Flatly. The city scribe, who once kept track of the punishment of rebels in the Central Square, had volunteered to be her secretary. His cold efficiency had given her pause but she relented, realizing there was no crime in doing one’s job well. Her decsion proved sound and he had turned out to be a loyal, diligent worker. Still, waking to his expressionless face disturbed her.

“What is it?” she asked, wiping her eyes and feeling for tears that should have been there.

“Someone is here to see you. I explained you were occupied, but he insists. He is very…” Orrin shifted uncomfortably, “hard to ignore.”

“Who is he?”

“He refused to give his name, but said you knew him, and claims his business is of utmost importance and he must speak to you immediately.”

“Okay.” Arista nodded drowsily. “Give me a moment and then send him in.”

Orrin left, and in his absence she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress to ensure her appearance was at least marginally presentable. Having lived the life of a commoner for so long, what Arista deemed acceptable had reached an appallingly low level.

To replace her bloodstained gown she borrowed a frock from Mrs. Dunlap. Despite a seamstress’s attempt to alter it, the garment remained a poor fit. Designed for an elderly matron, with a tall, stiff collar and heavy stays, the dress was not at all flattering. Checking her hair in a mirror, she wondered where the Princess of Melengar had gone and if she would ever return.

While she inspected herself the door opened. “How may I help—”

Esrahaddon stood in the doorway, wearing the same flowing robe whose color Arista could never determine. His arms, as always, were lost in its shimmering folds. His beard was longer and gray streaked his hair, making him appear older than she remembered. She had not seen the wizard since that morning on the bank of the Nidwalden River, when he admitted to orchestrating her father’s death.

“What are you doing here?” she asked her warm tone icing over.

“I am pleased to see you as well, Your Highness.”

After admitting the wizard, Orrin had left the doors open. With a glance from Esrahaddon, they swung shut.

“I see you’re getting along better without hands these days,” Arista said.

“One adapts to one’s needs,” he replied, sitting opposite her.

“I didn’t extend an invitation for you to sit.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

Arista’s own chair slammed into the back of her legs causing her to fall into it.

“How are you doing that with no hands or sound?” she asked, disarmed by her own curiosity.

“The lessons are over, or don’t you remember declaring that at our last meeting?”

Arista hardened her composure once more. “I remember. I also thought I made it clear I never wanted to see you again.”

“Yes, yes, that’s all well and good, but I need your help to locate the heir.”

“Lost him again have you?”

Esrahaddon ignored her. “We can find him with the basic location spell I taught you.”

“I’m not interested in your games. I have a city to run.”

“We need to perform the spell immediately. We can do it right here. Right now. I have a good idea where he is, but time is short and I can’t afford to run off in the wrong direction. So, clear your desk and we can get started.”

“I have no intention of doing anything of the sort.”

“Arista, you know I can’t do this alone. I need your help.”

The princess glared at him. “You should have thought of that before you arranged my father’s murder. What I should do is order your execution.”

“You don’t understand. This is important. Thousands of lives are at stake. You can’t allow childish notions of personal feelings to stand in the way. This is larger than your loss. It is larger than the loss of a hundred kings and a thousand fathers. Do you think I enjoyed it? Any of it? You forget—I lost my life as well. I had parents of my own, friends, and—” he caught himself and continued. “All of them are gone now. Do you think I enjoyed rotting in a prison for a thousand years? Yes, I used you and your father escape. I did so out of necessity—because what I protect is more important than any single person. It’s why I haven’t sought revenge for the destruction of the Old Empire, for the murder of my emperor, or even the loss of my hands.

“Arista, as a wizard, you must understand personal vengeance and gain are barred to you. We are obligated to seek no recognition, fame, nor fortune. A wizard must work for the betterment of all—and sacrifices are always necessary. Now stop this foolishness…we are running out of time.”

“I am so happy not to be of service to you,” she smirked. “I can’t bring back my father, and I know I could never kill you, nor would you allow yourself to be imprisoned again, so this is truly a gift—the opportunity to repay you for what you took from me. Your thousand year imprisonment and the loss of your hands will be for nothing, because you made the mistake of callously arranging my father’s death.”

Esrahaddon sighed and shook his head. “You know the church was behind everything. They orchestrated the events so I would escape. They needed me to lead them to the heir. They enticed you to Gutaria knowing I would use you. Even if I hadn’t taken that advantage—even if I chose to remain locked up—your father would still be dead. Look at what happened right here in Rhenydd and in Alburn. King Urith and King Reinhold were both murdered so imperial usurpers could take their places. Your father was doomed the moment Braga married your mother’s sister.”

“Get out! Orrin! Guards!”

The scribe struggled with the door and it opened a crack, but a slight glance from Esrahaddon slammed it shut again. Orrin beat on the wood and pulled at the latch. “Your Highness, I’ll get help.”

“You don’t really hate me, Arista. It’s guilt that’s eating you. It’s knowing you had as much to do with your father’s death as Saldur, Braga, or even myself. Your father wanted to make you a prisoner of your station, but your hunger for the power of the Art drove you to me. Amrath was going to sentence you to life in a forced marriage, but instead he died and you got what you wanted.”

“GET OUT!” she screamed. With a wave of her hand, the office door burst open, nearly coming free from the hinges.

“You need to forgive yourself, Arista,” Esrahaddon continued, even as Orrin and two armed men entered. “You didn’t kill Amrath any more than I did. The Patriarch is responsible. He used both of us in his search for the heir.”

“Remove him!” Arista ordered, and the guards grabbed Esrahaddon.

“You have to help me, Arista, or all is lost,” he urged as they pulled him from the room.