Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Aurelia
I t takes a harder tug than usual to settle the layers of the silk gown into place around my waist. As my maids fuss around me, I peer down at the small but increasingly noticeable curve that now protrudes between my hips, holding the baby growing ever larger within me.
It’s still months yet before I’ll get to meet my and Bastien’s child, but I can almost picture that moment now.
Through the giddy flutter that thought provokes, I let out a light laugh. “In another few weeks, I may need a new wardrobe.”
Eusette grins at me with a swish of her ruddy hair. “You don’t have to worry about that. His Imperial Majesty commissioned a whole other trunk full of dresses that we’re to switch to when needed.”
He did?
I stifle any outward sign of my surprise. I probably shouldn’t be surprised. The decision will have been Marc’s, no doubt, and he’s been conscientious of my pregnancy from the first moment I announced it.
He wants to be sure his heir is comfortable—that’s all. I still need to convince him to care just as much about the vessel.
“Good to know,” I say in a grateful tone, and keep quiet while they wind up my hair.
When Jinalle brings out one of the multiple imperial jewelry boxes, I wave it away. “I think less adornment will be preferable for today’s activities. I’ll be more extravagant tomorrow to make up for it.”
She covers a nervous giggle with her slim hand but doesn’t argue. Who would dare to argue with the empress?
Well, other than the empress’s husband, obviously.
And perhaps her lovers. On my way to the dining room, Bastien catches up with me in the hall. He takes on a disaffected tone, as if he’s only speaking to me out of duty, but I can hear the thread of worry beneath his words. “Are you still set on visiting the Temple of Placid Balms today?”
When I asked him a few days ago where I could find the largest temple dedicated to Elox in or around Delphine, he got rather edgy about it. The godlen of peace and healing does often encourage his dedicats to work where the people are neediest.
I put on a mild reassuring smile. “I’m quite prepared, and I’ll be taking more than my usual personal guard. The people of a deprived neighborhood need my compassion, not my fear.”
Especially after some of them may have watched me standing uselessly while two of their fellow citizens tremored with asp venom in the iris field.
Bastien makes a faint rough noise in his throat. I think he’d prefer to have found suitable targets for my compassion in a more reputable part of the city, but he’s aware that I’m not easily intimidated by a challenge. “Safe travels, then.”
His earlier description of the neighborhood is what inspired me, though I wouldn’t provoke his conscience by telling him that. As he spoke of the poor who’ve benefitted least from the improvements his family makes for the city, who Elox’s devouts built their temple to serve, his father’s words about using my gift came back to me.
There might not be anything particularly innovative about the concoctions I’ve spent my spare moments over the past few days brewing, but they’ll get my point across all the same. The empire cares about the people of Cotea. I care about them.
Dariu is more than just its emperor.
Marc nods to me from the head of our breakfast table with a pleased smile. As he promised, he helped make the arrangements for my day to myself, including picking out two additional guards from the soldiers who’ve accompanied our convoy to make sure I’m well-protected.
“I wouldn’t mention your plans to Linus,” he told me when he confirmed the arrangements two days ago, the last time I saw him. “He isn’t fond of your more charitable activities.”
I suppose he didn’t convey the exact nature of my break to his twin either. Linus made a few jabs about me shirking my imperial duties when we were together yesterday, but they were of a vague sort rather than pointed.
He also dragged me off to my bedroom shortly after dinner as if he thought he should fuck the reminder of how much he controls my life into my head.
My thumb grazes the side of my sapphire ring at the memory. Thank the gods I brewed plenty of the hallucinogenic sedative that spares me the worst of his attentions before we left Vivencia.
After I’ve eaten, I walk to the front of our imperial palace to find the two additional guards and a very imperial carriage waiting for me. I bite back a wince at the ornate carvings with their gilding of gold and turn to Kassun, the only one of my guards I’ve really conversed with.
“For this trek, I believe it’s safest to take a vehicle that’s much more subdued. I’d rather not announce who’s traveling in it before we’ve arrived at the temple.”
Kassun’s mouth twitches with a trace of a grimace, as if he’s chagrinned he didn’t think of that problem sooner. He calls over a couple of the footmen. Within a matter of minutes, a plain but still elegant carriage of dove-gray has been brought around.
I clamber in, resting the cloth purse that holds my assortment of potions and ointments on the bench beside me, and we set off through the city.
The most impoverished area of Delphine lies along the south end of the river, after its waters have already flowed through the rest of the capital. Bastien told me that the royal family has implemented various strategies they’ve learned for clearing refuse from the water along its journey, but nothing has kept it truly clean by the time it reaches that point.
It’s safe enough to ensure the citizens there have something to wash with and to boil for drinking if their pipes fail. They plant scruffy gardens along the banks to supplement what food they can afford and what charity the royals and the temple can offer with their thinly stretched treasuries.
But even in a city dedicated to innovation, there are people stuck in the struggle for bare necessities.
The Temple of Placid Balms looms tall and broad amid the ramshackle wooden houses and dingy shops that line the nearby streets. Its stucco walls were clearly once white-washed but have been allowed to fade to a mottled grayish tan. Its pale presence shines over the neighborhood, but with a less imposing glow than the stark glare it must have shone with when it was first built.
The disciples of Elox know how to match the energy of their surroundings. The soft sheen of sunlight catching off the walls still emanates a sense of peace.
Marc sent word ahead for the cleric to expect me. When the carriage draws to a halt outside the short flight of front steps, an aged but robust woman in the standard white robes hustles out to meet me with a few of her devouts trailing behind her.
I step out into a breeze that carries a sour tang of tainted river water and rotting food scraps. Feeling the cleric’s evaluating gaze on me, I suppress the reflexive wrinkling of my nose.
Like every cleric I’ve met, she’s learned the Darium tongue—the better to work with her country’s conquerors, I suppose. Her voice is clear and only softly accented. “Your Imperial Highness, it’s an honor to have you visit our humble temple. I understand you wish to offer aid to our neighbors. Shall we bring those in need to you inside the temple?”
I shake my head. “I’d like all the citizens to see that the empire will care for the people of Cotea. My guards will enforce a safe boundary, and I’d imagine your devouts can guide those who could most benefit from my help to me?”
The last thing I want is a repeat of my spontaneous sharing of my gift in the Darium city of Rexoran, where Marclinus ended up killing a man who grabbed me in his frustration. This time I’m more prepared.
The cleric bobs her head again. “We do what we can for the worst illnesses that affect the locals, but our gifts have their limits. I believe yours is best suited for relatively simple maladies? Those may not be life-threatening, but they can cause a lot of misery. Anyone you can cure would be most grateful, as would we.”
I smile at her. “That would be the perfect use of my gift. I’ve brought several doses of a few different curatives that should cover quite a few milder ailments.”
There are plenty of more serious illnesses I could treat—but not with the sorts of concoctions I could brew ahead of time unknowing. And there are plenty that would only present to me that yawning blackness of impossibility, where there’s nothing I could offer except comfort through the pain.
Perhaps in the future when I decide how I spend more of my days, I’ll set aside many to consult with those most in need and contribute my gift to its full extent. For now, this will have to do.
At least I shouldn’t leave anyone disappointed.
The cleric ushers me up to the top step outside the temple entrance. As my four guards assemble themselves on either side of me and a couple of stairs below like a shield, the devouts spread out through the street around the temple.
A few dozen civilians have already ventured over to see what’s happening at the temple. At the devouts’ murmurs, they keep a few paces back from the bottom of the steps. More drift out of nearby buildings to join the growing crowd.
They gaze up at me with a hunger in their eyes that I don’t think is only for food. These are the people who’ve suffered the worst from the demands Dariu has made on their country.
Some probably wish for vengeance, but others may be searching for reason to hope. For a chance to believe that their latest tyrants may not be quite so tyrannical.
Gods willing, I can give them that much.
I can’t help noticing the shabbiness of much of their clothing, stained and mended with darning and patches that don’t quite match. The eager face of the courtier who promised extra fabrics for Dariu’s use comes back to me.
He’d rather claim the coin and prestige of dealing with the imperial court than see that the people of his own city are properly clothed. Not even the conquered kingdoms are free from that sort of greed.
The cleric positions herself beneath me on the stairs to serve as a go-between. She lifts her even voice to the crowd and switches to Cotean. “Her Imperial Highness Empress Aurelia is offering her healing gift to help those our temple’s efforts haven’t been able to reach yet. We’ll bring forward those we know could benefit from her help, but if you have a discomfort we may not be aware of, please mention it to one of our devouts.”
My grasp of the native tongue is firmer than it was in Rione. What little voluntary trade my home kingdom engages in, it’s with our more accessible neighbors: Cotea and Goric. Still, my pulse hiccups as I prepare to speak. I don’t have that much practice with the language.
I click open my purse full of cures and lift my hand in greeting to the crowd. “I can treat many sorts of infections, rashes, and small wounds with the potions I’ve brewed for you. It will be my honor to leave as many of you as possible happier today.”
To my relief, the temple staff have set a calm tone that keeps our audience subdued. My Cotean words must have gotten my message across well enough. The city folk watch with a curious murmuring that may include a little skepticism but nothing remotely aggressive.
With the first man the devouts bring before me, my gift indicates he’s suffering from a disturbance of his gut. I fish out the appropriate tonic and a small cup to offer him a dose right there. Then I hand the rest of the vial to him. “Drink half of what’s left tomorrow and the rest the day after. That should set you back to rights.”
He gapes at me for a few seconds before ducking into an awkward bow. “Thank you, Your Imperial Highness."
As I show a middle-aged woman how to apply an ointment to raw patches on her arm and spoon out a cloying syrup for a little boy flushed with fever, the murmurs in the crowd turn more excited. I notice a few people approaching the devouts still circulating through the crowd, gesturing to some part of their body that’s troubling them.
A glow as warm as the sunlight gleaming off the temple walls spreads through my chest.
This is how I’m meant to be. This is what I’m meant to be doing—setting wrongs right, curing people of their ills however I can.
It isn’t long before there are only a few vials and packets left in my purse. As I rummage through the remainders for the right salve to offer a young man with a burn that’s showing signs of infection, a softly resonant voice seeps into my head. “Aurelia, don’t react. It’s just me.”
Lorenzo. His illusionary voice makes my heart skip a beat, but my hand only twitches before my fingers close around the container I was looking for. I guide my patient in a reassuring tone, preparing for my lover to speak again.
He waits until there’s a brief lull between applicants while the devouts determine who most needs one of my few remaining curatives.
“We took our own trip into the city—the three of us. Bastien knew a good spot where we could see you work your magic. He says he’s sorry for worrying. You’re obviously doing a lot of good. You look more like the kind of ruler any of Cotea’s people would want than Marclinus ever has.”
A pang of affection brings a smile to my lips. I restrain myself from searching the windows and rooftops along the street for the spot where they might be poised.
“Raul says you look like a godlen,” Lorenzo goes on. “I can’t say he’s wrong. We’ll wait until you’ve had a chance to properly visit the temple, and then Bastien has a few things in mind he’d like to share with you on your way back to the palace, if you don’t mind taking a roundabout route.”
It isn’t the same as touring the city side-by-side with my princes, but I’ll take their partial presence over none at all. I tip my head in a slight nod, curving my fingers by my hip at the same time in a gesture of agreement. Wherever they are, I hope they can see one or the other.
I tend to a woman who’s had a long-aching throat and a little girl whose vision in one eye has blurred. With all my supply gone, I lift my hands to the crowd in benediction. “I wish I could have brought even more. I hope that as the empire gets stronger, we’ll be able to do even more for every citizen under our rule.”
I’m afraid I’ll get shouts of derision for failing to offer more right now, but the applause and calls of blessings for the empress sound nothing but genuine. With my heart swelling, I turn to step into the temple.
No matter what either version of my husband does to me or asks of me, I can have my own bond with the people we rule over. I can earn their favor without needing that of their royals.
But it’d make my mission much easier to have their royal family’s approval too.
After facing the anxious crowd outside, the soft lighting of the temple’s interior washes over me with a welcome sense of serenity. The cleric and her devouts give me space as I walk up to the immense statue of Elox standing at the far end of the worship room.
His kindly face and welcoming pose are shaped out of polished wood rather than marble or precious metals—a humble material for the unassuming godlen. I kneel on one of the white cushions set before him and tap my fingers down my front in the gesture of the divinities.
The act reminds me of all the prayers I’ve sent to Elox before—and the answers he’s given me. Lambs and birds and fences being mended… The pang of guilt I tried to deny earlier comes back to me.
What would my godlen say about Marc’s new kindnesses? It’s because of my husband that I was able to come here at all.
Does Elox really think it’s possible that the saner twin will eventually agree to the changes we’d want to make? That all I need to do is chase and embrace him, and all will be well?
After all the history behind us, I can’t quite believe it myself. And that’s not what I wanted to pray about today regardless.
I close my eyes and extend my awareness toward the statue and the divine presence it represents.
Elox, I’m serving your purpose here in Cotea as well as I can. What could I offer King Stanislas that would prove I understand what matters to him?
Closing my eyes, I slow my breaths and let my mind drift into a meditation. The sunlight filtering through the high windows plays off my eyelids. A gentle lavender scent drifts through the air, soothing my nerves even more.
The light shifts again and seems to form into a face. A face that glows from its forehead and eyes, as if it’s lit up from the inside—as if its very mind is beaming.
The picture fades. I find myself blinking, a sense of certainty welling up inside me.
Bastien told me from the start—Coteans value experimentation and innovation. But that comes not just from the information and technology obtained from beyond their borders but what Cotean minds can imagine doing with it.
I might be able to create a concoction that speaks to such a desire.
The possibilities dart giddily through my own head, but I haven’t forgotten my distant companions on this excursion. I pause after climbing into my carriage, and Lorenzo’s voice reaches me again.
“Ask to return along Cinderoak Road. The driver should know the way.”
I lean toward the window to convey the instructions to the driver. With a flick of the reins, he sends the horses trotting on their way.
In a matter of minutes, the buildings stretch taller and straighter on either side of the road. Civilians in simple but tidy clothes are strolling the streets. Few of them give the carriage more than a glance, with no idea who’s riding inside.
The princes must be following my route, because Lorenzo speaks just as we come up on a large building of silver and marble beyond a courtyard where several of the stone tiles shimmer.
“Bastien says you’re about to pass the School of Entwined Magics. Clerics and devouts dedicated to all different godlen collaborate there to help students determine ways their gifts can work together to produce greater effects.”
That’s fascinating. Normally schools belong to one or another specific temple.
I watch a couple of students near the school building tracing the air in tandem. Something sparks between their hands and lights a quiver of excitement in me.
“They put on public demonstrations a few times a year. Not while we’ll be in residence, sadly, but Bastien hopes we can make a trip back at an opportune time in the future. For now, watch for the café with the pale blue front up ahead. Ask one of your guards to go in and get you an amber spritz. Apparently they’re a popular drink from Silana. Bastien’s promising we’ll all drink one later today.
Kassun retrieves the beverage for me without complaint. As the carriage rolls on, I sip it, imagining my three lovers here to share in the moment with me more directly. I can’t even tell Bastien that the mingling of sweet and sour flavors makes the drink one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.
But in a way, they are all here with me, like a ghostly arm around my shoulders, guiding me through the city.
The burbling of water draws my gaze to the window again. Up ahead lies a statue of Prospira with a pitcher under both arms, pouring water into the fountain at her feet. A sprawling garden of vibrant flowers stretches out around it, with more rivulets of water glinting in channels between the flower beds.
“The fountain you’ll be seeing uses an approach they borrowed from Icarian engineering. The water circulates through the whole garden and back into the fountain, self-sustaining. As long as it rains often enough.” Lorenzo pauses in his commentary. “Bastien says they couldn’t pull off something like that in the northern parts of the country.”
I can hear Bastien’s melancholy over that fact through Lorenzo’s words. My awe fades with the clenching of my gut.
There are so many wonders here in Cotea, and so much pain too.
As we round a bend, I tug back the curtain even farther and stiffen in surprise.
It appears Neven has come into the city today too. The young prince is standing outside a tavern, his arm looped with that of the harpist he’s fond of while two other men who I think are royal musicians from the Cotean palace gesticulate through whatever story they’re telling. Neven has a mug rimmed with froth clutched in one hand.
While I take that in, he glances my way. Our gazes meet. Before I can lift my hand to wave in greeting, his expression goes rigid. His eyes dart away from me with a sallowing of his tan skin, as if he’s upset—or embarrassed?—that I saw him.
As if he wouldn’t want me to know he’d come down here at all.
Lorenzo has started talking again, so I wrench my attention back to my lover’s voice. But as the carriage travels onward, the image of Neven’s guilt-stricken face lingers in the back of my mind.
He swore to work on my behalf and protect me weeks ago, back in Vivencia. He’s barely spoken to me since we left.
What’s going on in the mind of the youngest prince now—and why does he seem determined to hide it?