Excerpts from Rival
Rival, Vol IV
In the climax of the novel, Rival battles her feelings and her lifelong friend in the rafters above an ongoing opera. She must stop her friend before he escapes with a deadly artifact.
Professor Gahlván, Professor Kand, and Koss experienced this scene when hiding inside the enchanted book.
Read the excerpt
There wasn’t an empty seat in the opera house. The rumor that the finale ended with firing a live cannon had drawn an incredible crowd. For now, the canon sat on stage, a set piece in the background as the cast performed in dazzling regalia. Shock rippled through the seats as the villain removed his mask to reveal his true identity.
Above the audience, in the rafters supporting the roof, blades clashed. The music drowned out the sound for all but the fighters. The two met and parted, leaping between rafters. Their every step sent a shower of dust to the unaware opera goers below. Despite how fierce the battle seemed, both fighters were holding back. Each attack and parry was designed not to hurt, but to tire, and they were evenly matched.
“Why?” Rival asked between exchanges. “Why steal the Blighted Urn?”
Sunil smirked despite the sorrow in his eyes. “Now’s not the best time. Perhaps next week, over coffee?”
His balance and the cloth wrapped around the Urn were all that kept the city alive. Should either fail, the city and everyone in it would be lost to the plagues the broken Urn would release. The Sunil Rival knew fifteen years ago would never have risked hurting others like that.
Sunil lunged, unleashing a series of strikes that tested Rival’s footwork on the narrow beam. She dared not respond in kind, lest an errant strike snap the straps securing the Urn to his back. Instead, she pulled the hidden dagger from her sleeve and found an opening to slip the blade into his rapier’s hilt. She twisted to trap his hand in the hilt’s cage.
Rival hated how much she loved the respect in his eyes as he looked from his captive hand back to her. This wasn’t how she’d wanted to impress him.
“The Urn,” she said.
“I can’t,” was his only response. He yanked his hand free and jumped before Rival could react. His abandoned sword dangled from her dagger, the latter now fresh with blood. She secured both blades and resumed the chase.
Sunil vaulted through the last sets of rafters and onto the catwalk that towered above the stage. The decrepit metal shuddered under his weight. Panic crossed his face and he reached back to check on the Urn before resuming his run to the roof access door. He clearly didn’t want the Urn to break, but Rival could only guess at his true goal. Her instincts told her she’d lose him for good if he got to the roof.
Fatigue strained her muscles, but this was her last chance. She took a leap of faith for the catwalk just ahead of Sunil, the distance more than she’d generally risk. She began falling short but managed to grab onto the railing. Jagged metal dug into her gloves as she pulled herself up and over, leaving crumbs of rust in her wake.
The rough landing shook the catwalk. Sunil stumbled back against the railing. Rival blocked his way forward, so he turned to go backwards. Perhaps hoping to head backstage before the performance ended.
He didn’t get a chance to try. A sharp edge of the metal railing at his back caught the strap securing the Urn, and his attempt to escape caused it to tear. He spun, trying to catch the bundle as it unraveled, but only managed to unravel it further. The Urn came free from its binds, arced over the railing, and began its descent to the stage below.
The colored lights illuminating the operatic finale glinted off the haunted faces etched into the Blighted Urn. Horror painted Sunil's face as he fell backwards, out of reach of the deadly prize, and Rival dived to stop it from killing them all. If she missed, these would be their last moments.
The music reached its climax. She stretched and grasped at the Urn. Her fingertips grazed its side and furthered its spin. One of the two handles rotated into view.
Rival landed with her arm dangling below, hand clutching the Urn by its handle. She’d never wanted to touch the cursed thing, but now she only felt relieved to feel its weight in her grip. Her heart racing in her ears argued with the slowing music. Below, dancers parted to make way for the actors wheeling the cannon forward. All oblivious to what transpired overhead.
Sunil had broken her fall, and his arm around her stopped her from going off the edge. Resting against him, she could feel his chest rising and falling with his breath.
“We need to talk,” she said to him, “and you owe me a coffee.”
He shook his head. “I have to go.”
Despite his words, he made no attempt to move from under her weight. As long as they stayed here, they existed outside of reality, in a universe to themselves full of secrets and void of rules, in the moments before victory and defeat had meaning.
“Would it kill you to say ‘yes’ to something?” She asked as the music faded to a whisper.
“It might.” His words brushed against her cheek.
He was tangled in something, his whole family was. The fire fifteen years ago wasn’t the start, but a warning. It’s why they fled the city without a word to anyone. Now he’s back, and whether he acted to free himself or simply to survive, Rival would have to find out.
But for now, on this precipice, high above the opera, it didn’t matter. Their eyes locked. The cannon fired.
And the lights went out.
Rival, Vol II
Wounded from a mission gone very wrong, Rival limps to her childhood home where her parents greet her. They help bandage her and offer a safe haven while she recovers.
Mistake marked this as her favorite scene in the novel.
Read the excerpt
Rival made it home. Broken, battered, beat, and for the first time in years, empty handed.
She crept through the back door into her kitchen and slumped against the wall. Whatever blood she got on the wood, she’d clean tomorrow.
The way home was a blur, clouded with regret over every wrong step she’d taken tonight. Getting this far took the last bit of energy she had and sleep threatened to overtake her. She shut her eyes and began to smell the herbs her mother always kept, hanging in the kitchen to dry.
“Rival? Is that you?”
Rival blinked her eyes open, shaking herself from the dream. She had to be exhausted to hear her mother’s voice so clearly.
Then she heard slippered feet shuffling closer and started to realize this wasn’t her kitchen at all. She’d managed to sneak into her parent’s house without realizing.
A familiar hand brushed Rival’s hair out of her face as Saphi examined her daughter.
“You’re hurt,” Saphi said, though Rival could only guess which wound she referred to.
“I’m…” fine? Is that what she wanted to say? It would be a lie, and she respected her mom too much for that. Instead, she said: “I lost.”
Saphi helped Rival to her feet and to the nearest chair. The floor creaked from the hall and Ebris appeared in the doorway.
“Saphi, is everything– Rival?” Without his spectacles on, he had to squint to more clearly see his wife and daughter.
“Good, you saved me a trip back upstairs,” Saphi responded. “She’s hurt, could you see to her?”
Without hesitation, he stepped into the room and collected his medical kit from its cabinet. The same kit had seen the family through innumerable accidents. Now the wrinkles in its leather mirrored those in Ebris’ face.
“You know, my clinic doesn’t open until dawn,” he said.
Rival mustered a weak laugh. “I didn’t mean to come here.”
“Maybe your body knew where you were meant to be.” He pulled a chair beside Rival and opened his kit across the table. The first thing he pulled from it was a pair of spare spectacles.
“Dad, I’m fine, really. You don’t have to do all this.”
“I would be neither your dad nor a physician if I left you like this. Perhaps what you mean is, ‘I want to stay in pain because I think I deserve it’?”
Rival started to argue, but couldn’t muster the energy. Besides, she was wrong enough for one night.
Ebris got to work cleaning the cuts, scrapes, and larger wounds she’d sustained. Saphi came over with tea for them both, a third mug in her purple-skinned hands.
“Seems you’ve had a rough night,” Saphi said.
Rival took a breath and began explaining. “I was supposed to steal back something stolen from the triton, but I messed up. Made mistakes, got caught, lost my sword, barely made it out at all…” She put her elbow on the table and rested her head in her hand. The weight of all of her worries pressed down on her. “Now I might not have another chance. Worse, they might follow me home or to here, putting others in danger. What if my biggest mistake was surviving?”
Ebris stopped mid-bandage to look her in the eye. “Your life is never a mistake.”
“But if the people I piss off come after you–”
“Their actions aren’t your responsibility,” he said. “And it’d take a lot more than that to outweigh the joy of having you in our lives.”
He resumed dealing with the arrowhead-shaped hole in her leg. Once that was done, he tidied up and returned the kit to its cabinet.
Saphi ran her long nails through Rival’s hair. “Failure is always hard to deal with, but it doesn’t have to be the end. Stay tonight, and as long as you like afterward to recover.”
“I’m not a child anymore.”
“No, but you’re still our daughter. We’ll care for you no matter what.”
Rival wrapped both her hands around her mug and inhaled its chamomile-scented steam, letting it obscure the emotion written across her face.
She didn’t feel better, but she did feel some measure of relief. Maybe her dad was right, and some part of her knew this is where she needed to be.
Rival, Vol I
Rival forgoes her intended target to stop four would-be thieves from mugging a baker. They attempt to mug her, instead, and find the master thief is more than their match.
Professor Mirsha Gahlván noted this was his favorite scene in the novel.
Read the excerpt
For the fourth hour in a row, Rival sat on the opera house's roof and watched the gated entry to the mayor’s house through a spyglass. Her knuckles hurt from the cold and the stone tile roof sapped all heat from her legs.
The only activity so far was four thugs hiding in an alley nearby. They’d been there for the last two hours, waiting for some fool to wander the streets alone at night. Rival was desperate enough for entertainment, she’d even given them names: Bandana, Armtie, Uglybelt, and Boots.
Then, finally, the sound of a horse pulling a carriage nearby. Through her spyglass, she saw it slow to a stop in front of the mayor’s gate. She recognized the carriage – its owner considered himself a collector, but mostly he stole from other people and claimed that made it his.
She heard footsteps, next. Nearby and below. Turning from the spyglass, she saw a young man shouldering a bag of baked goods. As he walked straight toward the ambush. The four thugs saw, too.
Not now, she thought, and returned her attention to the view through the glass.
She’d heard of this clandestine meeting with the mayor months ago and had been preparing since. It likely related to rising tension with the nearby triton nation, and this would be her only chance to find out what was happening.
Below, voices. Some low, one beginning to panic.
Through the spyglass, Rival saw a woman in a suit exited the carriage and spoke with a gate guard. The woman opened the carriage’s doors and showed the guard something inside. The doors faced away from Rival, she couldn’t see anything from this direction.
Below, a voice panicked more. Feet scuffled against the stone. She looked down and saw Uglybelt and Bandana playing lookout while Armtie and Boots loomed over the breadbearer.
She dropped the spyglass into her pocket and slid down from the roof. Her goal was the mayor’s house and whatever was happening there. Saving some poor fool who decided to take a risky shortcut wasn’t on the agenda.
Her suede shoes were silent against the city stone. Nobody else roamed this part of the city this late. The pained sound of a fool getting mugged echoed through the street, and Rival was the only one around to hear.
Four against one would be rough, even if the four were amateurs. Spying on the mayor and his visitor was simpler, more likely to be successful, and could help more people.
Not that it mattered. She’d already decided where she was going to be tonight.
“It’s time you left," she said to the thugs as she approached. Uglybelt and Bandana were on lookout and saw her first. Armtie and Boots stood on either side of the young man, taking turns threatening and beating him for all the money he had.
On the man’s face was a line of blood from his nose. On the ground was the dropped bag of bread.
“We can’t leave,” said Bandana, “see, we keep the street safe. For a fee.” He grinned wide enough to show off both of his teeth.
“That’s a problem, then,” she said, keeping her face neutral. “I happen to also keep the street safe, but I do it for free.”
She’d hoped she could intimidate them away, but it seemed nothing would go to plan tonight. The two came after her. Uglybelt threw a punch she easily ducked beneath and countered with a punch to the gut.
Bandana grabbed one of her horns and yanked her forward. Idiots always thought that would be effective. Rival rolled with the momentum and spun around into a kick aimed at Bandana’s sternum. She followed up with an elbow to the side of his head and he dropped, conscious but too disoriented to keep fighting.
Uglybelt’s arms dropped around her, pinning her own to her sides as Boots sauntered up. He hit her once in the ribs and again in the face before she could land a backward kick into Uglybelt’s knee. His grip loosened and balance ruined, she grabbed and pulled him around and into Boots.
Then Armtie. With a knife. The best way to deal with a knife was with a bigger knife. Or run. Neither was an option for her.
She stepped back to avoid the first swipe, to the side barely in time to avoid the second. She blocked the third with her arm, but not well enough as the edge cut into her skin. Only the leather armor she wore saved her from the fourth.
A baguette broke in half across Armtie’s head, wielded by a trembling shadow behind him. Rival recovered from surprise first. She hooked a foot behind his and drove her hand under his chin, pushing him up, back, and over.
The breadbearer leapt aside to avoid becoming collateral.
With Armtie on the ground, Rival stepped on his hand and wrenched the knife free. It was a decent knife, good weight and well sharpened. She couldn’t wait to use it.
Uglybelt stared, finally registering concern for his wellbeing. Rival charged him. He tried to dodge but misread her movements. She spun around him and slipped the knife into his waistband. With one pull, she sliced through the ugly (and clearly poorly made) belt and his pants dropped.
She turned to Boots, who was looking rather nervous, and threw the blade. He’d bailed by the time the blade stuck into the wall behind him. Uglybelt collected his pants and dragged the still-woozy Bandana away (but left his dignity on the ground).
And that left one.
Armtie was beginning to get up. Rival pressed her foot into his chest to keep him down.
“I know I said I did this for free, but…” she jingled the four coin pouches she’d stolen from all of them, “I lied. But don’t worry, I won’t keep this money. It’s going to go straight back to the community you took it from. Now get out of here and find something better to do with your time.”
She lifted her foot and let him scramble to his feet. He bolted the direction his friends had.
With him gone, Rival leaned against the wall behind her and slid to the ground. She avoided breaking her knuckles this time, but she’d have some bruises come morning. In the distance, she heard the sound of a carriage pulling away from the mayor’s house.
The breadbearer sat beside her, cradling his bag of bread. Rival had at first pegged him as human, but on closer inspection, he looked half elf.
“Thanks for the save,” she said, nodding at the two halves of baguette on the ground.
He blushed and stuttered out: “Thanks for um, for helping.”
“Sure, yeah,” she said, keeping her disappointment out of her voice. As much as she wanted to blame him, it wasn’t his fault. “I didn’t think the bakery was open this late,” she said, referencing the bread. It smelled fresh.
“It’s not. I apprentice there and this is what didn’t sell. The boss throws it all out, but I take it and bring it to other people. It’s a waste otherwise.”
He held out a bun for Rival and she took it. It had toasted almonds and a jelly center, perfect for getting the metallic taste of blood out of her mouth.
She’d missed her chance to figure out what the mayor is up to, but maybe chances like this were just as important.
Protagonist of the same race aside, no wonder Mistake loves this book.