Ashes of Revival (The Abdicate Series Book 1)

by Alex Shobe

  An outcry from behind brings me back to the arena grounds. Henrik charges full-speed, his blade leading the way. I duck and angle my wounded shoulder toward him. The crowd applauds when he flips over my back, landing head first on the ground. Maybe I should’ve taught him how to fight instead.

  As I stand over him, his face no longer displays anger, but despair.

  “Do it...” he whispers, tears welling in his pleading eyes. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  I kneel to his side and bring my mouth close to his ear. “Su batale cono tulest. Ghydri fe vali pembrutari fen syntadaros.” Your fight is over. Rest in the eternal grace of the gods. When I stand, his eyes are pressed loosely together, and he nods. A sad smile creeps upon his mouth. My body shudders at his acceptance before I center my sword over his chest and drive it in. His final breath comes much too soon.

  I pull the sword from his chest and fling it across the ground. The crowd cheers, beside themselves with joy, as they rise from their seats. I spit out in front of me and stomp back toward my cell, leaving the body of my childhood friend as another casualty of this world.

  Leona

  I stand up with the other spectators, though not for the same reasons. Smiles stretch far and wide across their faces as men clutch each other in handshakes from well-placed bets. My stomach clenches. I’ve had enough of this.

  The Councilmen smirk as I walk past them to leave the arena. They think I don’t notice, but I do. Yet another reason why they have doubts about me being on the throne.

  Me.

  A woman.

  There’s never been a female monarch in this kingdom until I came along. I never asked for this, however, it’s my birthright—my duty—and I will fulfill it regardless of how they feel.

  A guard joins me in the tunnel, flanking my side and staying just a step behind me. I don’t too much care for the constant escorts. It’d be nice to take a walk alone sometimes. Lately, they’ve been a dense shadow of murky air intent on smothering me. My muted footfalls get lost in the clumsy pounding of the guard’s boots as we descend the stairs and exit into the courtyard.

  Hurried footsteps come up behind us. I should ignore them. I should pretend the footsteps’ owner is as repulsed by the fights as I am. We could be united in putting some distance between us and the bloodshed. I wish I didn’t know who’s approaching me, but I do. With a sigh, I pause and turn around.

  “Forgive me, love,” Aerok says. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  I cringe at his use of the pet name love. It implies that I am a pet—and I heel for no one. The slow release of a breath is enough to calm my growing temper. “You didn’t.” I glance at my guard and hold up a hand, dismissing him from my side for a moment. When I turn to face Aerok again, he’s fumbling with the gold commander’s pin on his lapel. He always requires it to sit aligned. “What is it?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” Aerok runs his fingers through his neatly trimmed hair. “You left the fights early again.”

  I offer a slight smile, the best I can do for now. “I’m fine. Just a headache.” I wish I could feel guilty about lying, but I don’t.

  Aerok steps forward, closing the already narrow distance between us, the scent of smoke and sandalwood invading my nose.

  “Allow me to accompany you—to make sure you’re taken care of properly.”

  I take a step back, my gaze flicking upward toward the sky. “No, that’s all right. I’ll have my handmaiden.”

  I turn and begin walking toward my destination when Aerok falls into step with me. I pause again, my limited patience already wearing thin.

  “I insist. What kind of suitor would I be if I abandoned you? Besides, it’s the first time all week I’ve been able to get an audience with you and there are things I wanted to discuss.”

  I’d done all right avoiding him over the past few days. Meetings with my advisers usually keep me busy, and when those are finished, I seek the solace of my bedchamber. I look into his brown eyes and search for a valid reason to decline his company, but a grin pulls at his lips.

  “Very well.” Now, my head really is starting to throb.

  When he offers his arm, I hook my hand around it, my fingers tucking into the fold of his elbow. The fabric of his sleeve is velvety, the finest material he could find for his garb. His talent for military strategy is surpassed only by his vogue tastes.

  The trees sway above us as we walk in unison through the courtyard. The lawn is a healthy carpet of green, made more beautiful by the various gardens speckling the grounds. I do my best to keep them maintained, as my mother did before me.

  “Have you settled on a date for our union?” he asks. “I’m sure you would make a stunning summer bride.”

  I roll my eyes. His gaze is focused ahead so he doesn’t notice. “I’m sure I would make a stunning bride regardless of the season,” My words are terse despite my attempt to reel in my annoyance.

  “Of course,” he says, “I only meant that perhaps you’d consider summer as a sound date.”

  The constant pressure to wed weighs heavily on my shoulders. If Aerok and the Council had it their way, I’d be married tomorrow with an heir, preferably male, conceived the week after.

  He’s far from my ideal husband. His use of brute force and clever tactics have no place in a marriage, but unfortunately for me, the Council believes our union will be ideal from a political standpoint. Aerok has excelled in maintaining the security of the country. Out of all the possible suitors, the Council urges he is most deserving to fill the place by my side. People like me don’t get the privilege of marrying for love.

  Love is something that’s as rare as an ice storm in mid-summer. Impractical concept, really. It’s fleeting. To love someone means one day you can hate them, and hate is a wasteful use of energy. Mother didn’t marry for love, although, over the years she came to love her husband. More or less.

  Every decision I make is not for myself, but for the betterment of my kingdom. Irony laughs in my face as I sit atop the highest position in my territory, and yet I’m not allowed the simple pleasures of being human.

  I sigh. “I haven’t decided on a date, but summer is too soon.”

  He darts his eyes down to me, his jaw clenched in disapproval of my answer. He catches his slip up and relaxes his face.

  “Perhaps we’ll get married here in the courtyard”—I extend my hand toward the nearby wooden gazebo—“at the first sign of autumn. As the leaves change colors, hues of orange and red could be behind us.” I force a smile that resembles one of sincerity.

  Even when you’re upset, Leona, use a smile to hide how you feel.

  My father’s words play in my head. I wonder if he would’ve given this advice if I were born a son. If I wore pants instead of pretty dresses. There have been plenty of times over the years where I’ve had to disregard my displeasure in lieu of a smile. I’ve mastered the technique.

  Aerok nods slightly and smirks. He returns his gaze in front of him as he begins talking about the decorative possibilities that come with an autumn wedding.

  My smile fades into a firm line, my eyes narrow. I know getting married will be in the best interest of my reign, but I can’t help stalling my current betrothal.

  The sounds of Aerok’s words blend together into a subtle hum passing over my ears. It’s not until we reach the castle door that I realize he’s asked me something and awaiting my answer.

  “Well?” His mouth is twisted into a devilish grin.

  I glance around in search of a context clue as to what he’s been talking about. No luck. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said, the paymaster predicts the gold made from today’s matches will be able to fund future upgrades to the Crownsguard.” He flashes a bright smile that would make an ordinary woman’s knees go weak.

  I’m no ordinary woman.

  I tilt my head and arch an eyebrow. “Didn’t the Crownsguard just get upgrades last winter?”

&n
bsp; “Yes,” he says, “But I’m looking to expand the company in the next few months.”

  I withdraw my hand from his arm, the heat welling in my core as my irritation returns. “And, why is that?”

  I glimpse over Aerok’s shoulder at my escort guard—Regineau, I think his name is. His eyes are focused on a fixed point in front of him and I’m sure he’s pretending not to listen. The subtle twitch in his lips suggests otherwise.

  Aerok draws his arms behind his back, one hand cradled in the other, and shifts his weight to his heels.

  “The ratio of fighters to guards is becoming imbalanced. To ensure the safety of my men, I’d prefer that those odds change.” He pauses. “We anticipate an additional ten to fifteen fighters be added by mid-summer.”

  “The fighters are just criminals, are they not? How is it that anyone can anticipate just how many more criminals will be locked up?”

  Regineau’s lips twitch once more, so I step to the side, removing Aerok from my line of sight of the guard. My mouth opens to speak—

  Aerok scoops my hands into his, pulling them close to his chest. A soft beat thumps against my knuckles.

  “Leona,”—Aerok drawls out my name longer than necessary—“there have been whispers of minor uprisings in the villages—an increase in crime, and the like.”

  I remove my hand from his grip. “When were you planning on making me aware of this?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you with the mundane dealings of the people.” Aerok jaw is firm, but his eyes are soft—a deceptive expression that nearly throws me off. “...my love,” he quickly adds.

  I study his face for a moment. A lie is etched between his brows, though how deep the deception runs still remains to be seen. My lips pull upward into a modest smile. Cue the artificial resolution.

  “Very well, Aerok.” I force myself to lighten my voice into its non-combative state. “I’m sure they’re being dealt with accordingly. Now, forgive me, but I really should lie down for a bit.”

  His curled lips wrap around his teeth and he drops his head into a bow. “Of course. Rest easy and I’ll be by to check on you later.”

  Before pivoting on his heel, he makes eye contact with the guard, almost as though there were unspoken words between them. Then, there’s a bounce in his step as he strides back to the arena.

  I push the study’s doors close, separating me from the watchful eyes of the new guard posted in the corridor. Regineau was all too happy to pass on the responsibility. He’s a brute of a man, wide shoulders with a thick head on top. When he’s my escort, he doesn’t speak to me unless I’m giving him an order, and when he does speak, there’s an underlying hostility in his tone. Whether it’s naivety or apathy on my part, I ignore him. He’s one of plenty men in the Crownsguard who are displeased to serve a queen.

  The sun’s rays pierce through the study’s hand-cut tinted windows, an amber glow on everything the light touches. There’s history in this room. Dozens of previous monarchs have graced this area with the privilege of using its wealth of information.

  Bookcases stretch from floor to high-vaulted ceiling, hundreds of intricately designed books stored on the shelves. Leather bound pages, their spines worn from years and years of existence. If I stand close enough, I can smell the almond oil used to condition the leather.

  I cross the room to a plush chesterfield near the window. Its velvet fabric and dark wooden legs sit just as it had when I first was allowed entry into the room many years ago. My body sinks into the sofa, and I reach down to loosen the laces of my boots. I kick them off, one after the other, then pull my knees up and against my chest.

  The tension in my mind eases when I let my head tilt back against the sofa. My eyes wander around the room, my vision bouncing from the doors to the adornments on the ceiling to the fireplace. The fire crackles, almost rhythmically, as the logs char to the color of night. Even as the heat pours into the room, the chill on my skin remains undisturbed.

  I witnessed two more people die today. That was as much as I could bear. They swung swords and behaved as animals for no other reason than they chose to commit a crime and got caught. A theft of a wool cloak shouldn’t justify dying in the arena.

  In Erenen, being sent to the arena is the punishment for the magistrate’s conviction. Once upon a time, the gallows in the plaza were used as the highest level of penance. Now, the outdated structure stands as a place for young children to run around and climb on the beams.

  I keep my gaze moving until it catches on a small chest tucked away on the lower shelf of a bookcase. I sit up, my feet stinging against the coldness of the floor, and walk to it.

  The chest is pushed back toward the wall. I crouch in front of the bookcase then reach to pull the chest forward, books tumbling over from the sudden lack of stability. The chest, a dark wooden box with metal trim, is one I hadn’t seen before. I’ve had six months in this room, but most of that time had been spent getting out of sight of the guards and Council.

  I undo the front buckle of the box and the lid opens with a muted creak. Parchment papers, some rolled and some flat, fill the brim. I lift one and unroll it, and scoot on the ground toward a stream of light. My eyes scan the document. The precision of the penmanship makes my breath catch in my throat. It’s Father’s handwriting. He had a peculiar way of writing, always taking the time to make each letter perfect before moving onto the next. I shake my head, pushing past my memories of him and focus on his words.

  CountryGoods for Trade

  Gasmana Gemstones

  Braer Spices

  Espela Tobacco

  Daol Furs

  Obron Metalwork

  Asharia Ivory

  Erenen Iron ores

  Line by line, he’s listed the countries and what goods they hold. Most of the goods aren’t available in Erenen, at least not in as much quantity as the other countries. Intrigued, I drop the paper back into the chest, then carry the box to the desk. My fingers rummage through the papers, a smile playing on my lips as I read all the research my father had done. My father—the man who I thought was devoted to the traditions of Erenen—had a more open mind than he let on. Our country has always prided itself on being self-sufficient, never looking to another country for prosperity. But here it was, a chest full of evidence that could bring our country to a better future than the one presumed.

  I reach the bottom of the box and pull out the last stack of papers. They’re different from the others, each formally drafted with the royal letterhead at the tops. I brush my fingers over the embossed foil that bears my family’s crest. So much history behind the tiny symbol. So much pain, too. Each page is a letter addressed to the kings and queens of neighboring countries—an invitation, of sorts, to allow open trading amongst us. He wanted to extend an invitation for international trade. In the letter, he’d written about how beneficial the policy would be for all countries involved. Both foreign relations and revenue would’ve stood to improve.

  A warmth spreads in my chest, fighting back the chill I’ve carried most days. I plop in the chair behind the desk, then laugh as I tuck my legs underneath me. The papers stare at me from the desktop, their inked scripts merged together into a sea of black, the gentle waves inviting me to step further from the shore. I smile again and reach for the papers to reread them, this time, committing each of my father’s words to memory.

  Hours later, I stand in front of the oversized tapestry mounted to a wall above the fireplace. Three times my height, both length and width-wise, the art piece is meant to signify everything I am—everything my forefathers have been. It is made from silks collected from the different towns and villages in my kingdom, offerings from each of the communities I reign over. A mural of golds and turquoises, magentas and indigos, my family’s insignia stitched in the middle.

  Apparently, this tapestry is more valuable than the silk it was crafted from. It has a wealth that never depreciates, even long after the threads become tattered and worn. I close my eyes, and when I
open them again, I’m six years old, standing in this same spot when Mother told me the tapestry’s story.

  I had tilted my head back, resting it against the center of her belly. My baby brother or sister was inside, and I had pretended that it was listening to Mama talk as well. I’d smiled each time a light thump nudged the back of my head, as though the baby heard my thoughts.

  Mama’s hands cupped my shoulders, the scent of rosemary on her skin filling my nose. She always smelled so nice. I reached up and slid my fingers around hers, our size difference made more clearly as my tiny digits laid in a crosshatch pattern. I pressed my nose against her knuckles and breathed in deeply.

  “Pay attention, my sweet girl.” Mama chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “This is important.”

  I pulled my eyes back upward and scanned the artwork from side to side—it was much too large for me to view in one glance. Golden lace twisted and turned in a flow along the edges, creating a border that retained the mural of images within.

  “Each picture represents a territory in our kingdom. There’s Durst”—the warmth of her hand left my shoulder when she extended a polished finger towards the wall—“and beside that is Toveen. You’ll learn all their names, in time, but what’s most important is that you know they are all Erenese.”

  She spun me around so that I faced her, then dropped to her knees. I could see my reflection glinting in her eyes.

  “One day, this will all be yours.” She nodded toward the window. The distant mountain peaks were lost among the clouds.

  “But why?” My lower lip pouted. “Papa doesn’t want it anymore?”

  Her smile was all but enough to soothe my confusion. She peered up at me from under her dark eyelashes.

  “No, no… Papa loves it, but some day, he’ll need to pass it on to you so that you can have a turn at loving it just as much.”

  “Why?” My voice quaked as I thought about the huge responsibility and stress I saw Papa deal with on a day to day basis.