Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Aurelia
I ’d enjoy my lunch with Lorenzo more if my stomach wasn’t listing around from our hours on the road toward Rione. And if we could talk properly rather than only by the means I’m supposed to know he can communicate.
The prince tips his dark head toward my plate, where I’ve moved around the meal the waystation staff prepared more than eaten it. He makes a surreptitious gesture with his free hand while the other continues moving his pencil across the paper he’s been writing on. Not hungry?
I sigh and keep my tone light as if I’m making a random observation. “The bumps and dips of the road can be a little hard on the stomach, can’t they?”
Lorenzo grimaces, his gaze flicking to my belly for just an instant. At the same time, he finishes the list he was scrawling and slides the paper over to me.
I poke at the bits of fish and roasted vegetables while scanning the names. “Your grandmother, your mother, your father, your older sister and her husband, and the most important cousins. There are more cousins than these five?”
He’s already taken out another paper to answer me with, his pencil scraping hastily across it. Big family. Most won’t get involved with the visit.
“At least I have several more days to commit the names to memory.” As well as the other details he’s noted about each—particular preferences, typical attitude. “Your mother is the more assertive one, hmm? She’s the one in the royal line.”
Lorenzo nods and scrawls a little more. She inherited when my grandfather passed.
As his older sister will inherit after her.
I rub my fingers across my mouth. Queen Anahi will be the one I most need to endear to me, then. But sometimes the easiest way to get someone’s ear is through those more inclined to be swayed who already have it.
I nudge the paper back toward Lorenzo. “Of course they’ve all been loyal to the empire, but have any of them shown a particular openness to working with Dariu?”
He’ll understand what I’m mainly asking—which of them is most likely to trust me if I extend an overture.
Lorenzo considers his list for a moment and then marks off a few names—a couple of the key cousins and, to my surprise, his grandmother.
“Very useful to know,” I say, accepting the paper back. The rustling of skirts and clinking of dishes from the tables around us tells me that the court is preparing to depart. Our consult on Rione will have to be put on hold, as the motion of the carriage interferes with clear handwriting as much as it can one’s appetite.
I offer the prince one of my polite smiles, aching with the longing to at least touch his hand. “Thank you for all the help you’ve offered so far. I’m sure I’ll have many more questions so that I can set the right tone with Rione’s royalty. And it’ll be good to have you there for guidance once we’re actually speaking with your family.”
A flutter passes through my pulse at the thought of getting to see one of the men I love with the people who raised him for the first seven years of his life, in the place that’s far more home to him than Dariu could be.
The slight but noticeable tensing of Lorenzo’s shoulders dampens my enthusiasm. I lower my voice for a more furtive question. “Should I be concerned about speaking with them?”
He scrawls a quick answer that’s punctuated with a more affectionate sign of apology. After so long apart, I only know the basics of their interests and hopes.
I thought I picked up on more discomfort from him than his response reveals, but there isn’t time to push further. Especially when the prince of Rione has other worries occupying him.
As Lorenzo tips his head farther into what’s close to a bow, his gaze darts away from me. He must judge Marclinus’s guards far enough away that it’s safe to extend a little of his gift without them sensing the magic. “Are you all right? You can’t starve yourself.”
I push the plate away from me. “A shame I wasn’t hungry enough for more of this delightful food. I did have a sizeable breakfast. I’ll make up for it at dinner.” When I’ve had more time to rest from our travels before I need to force anything down my throat.
One of the waystation staff scampers over to collect my dishes. Concern shines in Lorenzo’s eyes, but there isn’t any way he can help.
I can at least let him know I’m looking after myself decently well. I tug open the pouch at my hip and murmur as if speaking only to myself. “Better get a little of that avitus paste to settle my gut.”
It doesn’t take away the nausea completely, especially when I’m trying to swallow food, but the herb has ensured I haven’t needed to call a halt to our convoy to vomit into the road. I’ll consider that some kind of success.
Lorenzo’s lips twitch with a small smile. He gets up as I do, with a deeper bow than before. “We’re looking out for you in every way we can. If you need anything, just signal us.”
I walk back toward my carriage on steadier feet.
Marclinus catches up with me just shy of the massive purple-and-gold vehicle, tossing what looks like a bright yellow ball in his hand. I can’t help imagining Sprite leaping to bat at it, with a twinge of loss that I had to leave my kitten behind for the staff at the Vivencian palace to tend to. Weeks confined to a carriage would be much more torment to a cat than her absence is to me.
As our guards clamber onto the carriage’s outer benches, my husband sweeps his arm for me to enter ahead of him. As with this morning, he doesn’t invite any of the other nobles to join us for this leg of the journey. So far, he’s spent the day consulting books and a sheaf of records while commenting to me about his own experiences in Rione.
Based on that evidence, I’d already assumed I’m dealing with the supposed Marc at the moment. My guess is confirmed with his first words as he sinks onto the velvet cushion across from me. “I heard this scent could alleviate some of the distress from your condition. You’ve been looking a bit peakish this morning, and the waystation had a few spares.”
He shows me what he was tossing: a fat lemon. In a few quick movements, he unsheathes his dagger, slices the fruit in half, and rubs the halves together to spread more of the sour citrusy scent through the carriage.
It does dampen my nausea even more. I’d have asked to bring along lemons for the ride myself if I hadn’t been uncertain about whether my husband would be in a temper to mock me about it.
“That does help,” I tell him with a cautious smile. “I always find it amazing how simple some of nature’s cures are.”
“Indeed.” Marclinus sets both halves of the lemon on the ledge that juts out beneath the window. “With your talents, I’m sure you have that matter well in hand, but if I can make the journey a little more comfortable for you, I will.”
How awfully obliging of him. He finds it so much easier to summon kindness when he believes I’m carrying his heir in my belly.
As the horses pull forward with a rock of the carriage, I brace myself. My stomach still twists, but it’s a mild sensation I can ignore without much trouble.
Which means I can focus on other concerns this seems an ideal opportunity for.
I push my smile a little wider and hold out my hand to beckon him over to my side of the vehicle. “You’ve been focused on work all morning. Why don’t you let me take care of you a little too? My studies may have been mostly focused on potions and similar substances, but I’m also familiar with the benefits of a massage to loosen one’s muscles and one’s mind.”
Marclinus hums approvingly and crosses the carriage to sit next to me. “I can’t say no to such a generous offer.”
He really is trying to butter me up, isn’t he? Well, I can’t complain when it gets me what I want.
I motion for him to turn his back to me, draw myself up as straight as I can so our differing heights don’t matter as much, and tug his collar a little looser. As I make a show of brushing his unruly golden curls to one side of his neck, I peek at the back of his left ear.
Not the slightest blemish mars the pale skin there—no hint of the spot of dye I applied just a few nights ago.
My pulse hiccups. I place my hands on either side of my husband’s neck and dig my thumbs into the muscles with practiced effort, but my mind has spun off in another direction.
My ploy worked. I couldn’t ask for more confirmation.
I really am married to two separate men who look utterly alike—other than the mark I’ve placed on one of them.
On Linus. While the man with me today is definitely Marc. From what he said when he explained their situation, his brother must be riding in the expansive locked carriage just behind us that holds all his needed belongings as well.
They must switch off sometimes when one or the other ducks inside as if to grab some possession or change clothes. And no one ever suspects—not the court, not their guards…
I’m the only one who knows this secret besides the two of them. The only one who’s ever known since their father eliminated the few who were aware of the birth and needed to support them as infants, other than Tarquin himself.
And that means I have two men to eliminate myself. Tarquin came up with this scheme in part to ensure that assassinating his heir was particularly difficult.
If I could reassemble his ashes to poison him all over again, I would.
As I adjust my grip to work on Marc’s shoulders, he lets his head loll. A whiff of his cologne, tart amber mingling with smoky vetiver, tickles my nose.
I’ve gotten my full confirmation that I have two husbands. If I want to rid myself of them, I’d better get on with finding out as much as I can about their habits and true intentions. Which means it’s time for a little buttering up of my own.
I swivel my thumb against a particularly tight knot of muscle at the crook of Marc’s neck. “Prince Lorenzo may be able to convey a few facts, but I’m glad my first visit to Rione will be with you at my side. I can’t imagine there’ll be any trouble after you ended their revolt so soundly.”
The corner of Marc’s mouth crooks upward at the reminder of the military response he led several years ago. “The aim in ending an uprising is always to shut down any thought of future revolts as well. But we should never get careless. Make sure your guards are always nearby.”
“Of course,” I say, and then, because very little stokes the ego more than being asked for advice, “How would you suggest I speak with the Rionian royal family? Are there any topics I should avoid that might seem to rub salt in that wound?”
Marc huffs dismissively. “You’re their empress. We speak to them however we like, and they can manage their own feelings about it. If they don’t like reminders that their people stepped out of line, they should have corralled them better to begin with.”
What a very imperial attitude to take. I bite back the choice remarks I could make about his approach and slide my hands farther along his shoulders. “Perhaps I should focus on more pleasant considerations, then. Is there anything about the place you enjoy that I can look forward to?”
Marc is silent for long enough that I start to wonder if he thinks my question was absurd. Finally, he speaks, more slowly than before. “Some of the ocean views are quite spectacular. And I’m sure it’s easier to appreciate when you’re not battling traitors. I’d imagine we’ll have more than one chance to go out on their seacraft—they are renowned for their boat-building skills for a reason. The speeds those skiffs can reach…”
I hadn’t expected the wistful note that creeps into his voice. But despite his appearance of relaxation, Marc’s mind must be as alert as ever.
He says his next words quietly so our guards won’t hear them over the hiss of the carriage wheels, but he keeps his statement carefully vague too. “There are many endeavors I’d enjoy partaking of with you. You’ve had quite a bit more time to consider my proposition.”
I manage to stop my fingers from twitching with the stutter of my pulse.
He means his proposition that I help him murder his twin. Which I’m still not sure is a genuine request rather than a test of my loyalty.
There’s no way for me to know what the right answer would be, but I’m reasonably sure he isn’t going to accuse me of treachery for not agreeing to kill one of the men I married.
“There hasn’t been much to reconsider about my original stance,” I say evenly. “My principles remain the same. I haven’t seen any reason for concern in any of the treatment I’ve faced.”
That’s true enough. Linus has dressed down a few noblemen, but I can’t say he’s been any worse than usual with me.
Marc sits up straighter, easing away from my touch. “He’s recovering his footing after his confusion over your pregnancy. Once he’s back at full confidence, there’s no telling what he’ll do. He certainly hasn’t been solidifying any alliances within our court. And some of the things he’s said recently…”
A chill tickles over my skin. “Has he complained about me?”
“Not like that. I’m not sure what he’s up to, but he’s been plotting something that clearly amuses him. And that he knows I’ll disapprove of if he tells me.”
“Then I hope you’ll advocate for me as my husband if I should need it. I take the vows I make seriously. Whatever happens, we’ll face it as a team—with due consideration for every part of that team.”
Marc lets out a short chuckle that doesn’t hold much humor. “I can’t say your dedication isn’t admirable. I only hope it doesn’t hurt you in the long run.”
I rest one hand on my belly with a twinge of defiant protectiveness at the thought of the fledgling life inside me.
My voice drops even lower. “You don’t think he’d do anything that could jeopardize the baby, do you?”
Surely both of the twins would draw the line there. I’ve convinced them the child is Marc’s—an heir of the imperial line.
But when Marc turns to meet my gaze, his gray eyes have darkened. “A year or two ago, I’d have said no. Now? I can’t promise you anything at all.”