Leona DâAuron was born to be a queen, but she was taught to be obedient. Week after week, she watches as villagers fight to the death in the arena. Barbarians. Not the ones who cling to life as their blood turns the sand red, but the nobles who cheer and shake hands from well-placed bets.
Itâs her reign. Her throne. Her decision to free those enslaved to the games. Will the nobles approve of it? No. But whatâs the worst that could happen?
Ashes of Revival is a dark fantasy novel that contains adult language, graphic violence, and sexual content.
Leona DâAuron was born to be a queen, but she was taught to be obedient. Week after week, she watches as villagers fight to the death in the arena. Barbarians. Not the ones who cling to life as their blood turns the sand red, but the nobles who cheer and shake hands from well-placed bets.
Itâs her reign. Her throne. Her decision to free those enslaved to the games. Will the nobles approve of it? No. But whatâs the worst that could happen?
Ashes of Revival is a dark fantasy novel that contains adult language, graphic violence, and sexual content.
A breath is a fickle thingâeasy to hold and easier to lose. I exhale as I smooth my hands over the golden lace bodice, hoping to loosen the knots twisting within my stomach. My fingers trail over the silk ties keeping the bodice closed. In the corner of the floor-length mirror, I glimpse at Gracen standing behind me, her forehead creasing with worry.
âIs it too tight, Your Majesty?â
The frail hemline swishes silently over the marble floor as I spin to face her.
âNo. Itâs perfect, thank you.â I offer a weak smile and return my view to the mirror. âItâs just my nerves.â
Gracen takes a step forward, her hands folded neatly in front of her. âIf youâd like, I could get you a cup of tea from the kitchen? Jasper has a fresh stock of chamomile. Or maybe peppermint?â
I lower my eyes to the floor. No amount of herbal tea could ease the gut-wrenching torment within me. If only it were as simple as drinking a tonic to make all my problems go away. After a moment, I lift my head and our eyes meet again. âThat wonât be necessary.â
I cross the room to the vanity with Gracen following behind. She pulls the stool from under the table and absentmindedly sweeps her hand over the cushion. Dust never settles around here. Once Iâm seated, her hands are in my hair, a brush gliding down the length.
âEarlier,â she says, braiding the hair at my temples, âthe Lord Commander was determined to see you.â
My hands clasp tighter in my lap. âWhat did you tell him?â
âThat you were busy, shoulders-deep in audiences with diplomats.â A soft chuckle escapes Gracenâs mouth, and it vibrates through to her fingertips. âHe almost had half a mind to go room to room searching for you, anyway.â
âHe does have half a mind. Iâm still trying to figure out where he keeps the half that works.â
At this, Gracenâs full laughter carries throughout the room. Itâs a pleasant sound to hear. Thereâs not much amusement in the castle anymore. She pins the plaits to the crown of my head, then moves to gather the rest of my hair. I reach up, and she pauses when I touch her hand.
âI think Iâll wear it down today.â
She nods, then uses her fingers to fan out my hair along my back. When sheâs satisfied with its placement, she rests her hands on my shoulders. âI wish I could take this burden from you.â Her voice is faint behind me. âYour mother despised attending as well. And she, too, wore her hair like a blanket on these days.â She pauses again. âI suppose it brought her some comfort.â
My eyes sting at the mention of Mother. I press them shut, hoping to will the tears away. Itâll only do more harm than good for the Council to see me with puffy, bloodshot eyes. Gracenâs hands fall to her sides when I turn around to face her.
I clear my throat, pushing back the emotion from my voice. âThatâll be all, Gracen. Thank you.â
Gracen drops her head into a bow, her graying hair falling forward in front of her face. Itâd been thrown up in a tight chignon at the start of the day, but loose strands have escaped during her morning chores.
She shuffles out of my bedchamber, the thick maple door closing effortlessly as she exits. There arenât many people I like around here, but sheâs one of them. I hate that Iâve been keeping her at an armâs length recently, never allowing myself to feel the maternal value she once gave me. Now that my mother is gone, it feels like a betrayal. Still, sheâs one of the few people within these castle walls who doesnât smile with kind eyes in my face only to utter their dissatisfaction of my reign behind my back. Sheâs an honest soul, more truthful than those whose allegiance shouldâve been sworn to me. The others follow me only out of necessity, not support.
Six months have passed, and this has gotten no easier to stomach. When I claimed the throne, the nobles didnât rejoice at my coronation. They looked on in polite disinterest, muttering words they thought I couldnât hear as I passed. Mother warned me that might happen. Iâve held onto her hope that I could be the leader the country needs, a queen who could soften the firm edges of a manâs world. The country is entombed in its traditionsâits gamesâand the nagging thought pulls at the corners of my mind.
A breeze rushes in through the open balcony doors, carrying with it the spicy scent of the lilac gardens below. Thereâs warmth in the springtime air, yet an icy chill grabs my spine, leaving me paralyzed for a moment. Once the sensation passes, I walk over to the bedchamber doors and hold on to one last deep breath before pulling it open.
The guard posted outside in the corridor stands an entire head taller than me, and still, his body stiffens at attention when my eyes land on him. He peers down at me, eyes wide, as he waits for my instruction.
I give him a curt nod. âIâm ready.â
A thunderous crowd grows louder with each step I take toward the arena. Theyâre chanting, not my nameâno. The word fight echoes like a ricochet around the coliseum.
Everyoneâs waiting, and when I step into view, the crowd falls silent. I pull my shoulders back as I emerge from the tunnel that leads to the monarchâs gallery. A crimson chenille canopy, pulled tight between four stone columns, bucks when the wind catches underneath it.
I march past my Council, six men whose judgmental glares are lost against the other hundreds of eyes directed toward me.
Everyoneâs waiting.
My feet carry me to my chair, though theyâd much rather had taken me somewhere elseâanywhere else but here. Iâm numb, my vision focused in front of me, with only the crowdâs expectations driving me forward.
I hate this.
I hate the dingy stench of the arena, an odor that comes from hundreds of years of use. I hate looking upon the masses, knowing that they find enjoyment in their lack of humanity.
But none of that matters now, as I am here.
I stand in front of my seat for a moment, letting the noon sun caress my face and the tops of my shoulders. Itâd be such a beautiful day, if not for the dread looming over me like a shadow. I lower myself onto the chair, and a booming vibration rattles the structure as the crowd cheers.
Itâs time.
When I was reading this book, I was surprised this was a debut. It has the aura of an author with vast love and skill for teen fiction. I guess Alex Shobe's a YA book junkie like me too.
The beginning is one of the best ways to start a book I've read in ages. In life, fantasy or otherwise, there are laws, but it takes resources to enforce them, and sometimes whether the law will be respected is dictated by those with the weaponry, coin, and commitment to wreak havoc. AKA, the resources.
When Leona enforces the release of all prisoners, it essentially means the end of a cherished sport by those privileged enough not to care that it is forcing people who may not even be charged as guilty yet to fight to the death. And there are things in lives that the privileged and carefree will fight to keep, and in this case it's entertainment. Plus it sends fear in those people they'll be robbed or attacked. Leona having to pay the price for her groundbreaking decision was both realistic and monumentally infuriating. I was forced to ask myself how I would react if I loved a sport and it got not just cancelled but outlawed. Would I be willing to listen to the corruption and torture that caused it to be shut down? I like to think so, but so many in the world wouldn't.
The main idea of this story is the disgraced queen and a warrior brutalized by the system must try to take back a kingdom and town that wronged them and don't regret doing so, and when it sticks to these roots, it's deliciously entertaining.
Some of the sublime fast pace gets diluted after the second half of the book while getting to know side characters who aren't quite as interesting, and there's a third act that gets a little weird (why would Leona's sworn enemy let her sleep in the same bed as him, as he's sleeping, without proper cuffing?). But I will admit, this is beautiful work. Alex Shobe's writing is naturally medieval and scrumptiously edgy. She's always immersed in the crumbling, poverty-stricken non-technological world she's crafted.
The ending may be a tad discomforting to some, but there's also a sense of satisfaction that, when you compare it to the world right now, makes you wish for a similar kind of revolution. Ashes of Revival is a book that understands how doing the right thing can lead to enemies who'll never tolerate those deviant from them, but there are heroes out there, who do it anyway.