Chapter 57
Aurelia
My maids insist on going into my bedroom for me to see what they can salvage. All I can see from the doorway are scorched surfaces and cinders.
Did fire seep right into the contents of my trunks? Even after everything I’ve survived, a pang shoots through me at the thought of losing my most precious potion-making supplies.
Who knows what kind of concoction I might find myself needing to brew next, after all the insanity I’ve already overcome?
It seems some of my clothes escaped the inferno. Eusette emerges with a gown and new underthings from the back of my wardrobe and bustles along next to me as the horde of staff that’s gathered in the hall ushers me to the nearest vacant room.
When I step inside, clutching Coraya to my chest, a trace of an unsettlingly familiar smell tickles my nose—the same cologne that permeated the emperor’s apartment last night. More staff dash about, yanking off the sheets that covered the furniture and scrubbing the dust from every surface.
These rooms haven’t been used in months. A glance around reveals the same sorts of furnishings my own apartment held—fine wood, gold gilding, velvet and silk—but there’s a desk rather than a vanity on the far wall between the windows.
Understanding prickles into my bones.
The imperial wing of the third floor holds an emperor’s apartment, an empress’s apartment… and chambers for their heirs. I never visited Marclinus’s rooms before last night, but when his father was still alive, he must have spent his nights here.
Jinalle and Eusette usher me into the bathroom to change with a little privacy. I reluctantly hand my daughter over to another maid, who rocks her gently in her arms. Thank all that’s holy, my daughter has mostly slept through the catastrophe.
After the medics’ ministrations, only a faint, dull ache remains in my belly. I cringe as I peel off my blood-soaked drawers and submit myself to my maids’ hasty swipes of a damp cloth before re-dressing. One of the medics who attended to me packs my underthings with more protective layers of padding.
“Some bleeding is normal, even necessary,” she tells me. “As long as you don’t face another significant strain…”
My mouth twists, but my voice comes out wry. “I’ll do my best to avoid that, believe me.”
As soon as I’m fully clothed, I reach for Coraya again. The thought of leaving her behind even for a few minutes sends a spike of panic through me.
With my daughter tucked in my embrace, I return to the hall on somewhat steadier feet.
All four of the princes and Marc have waited for me amid the chaos. Marc watches the door to the heir’s apartment close and then surreptitiously rests his hand against the carved wood next to the doorknob.
His mouth tightens. It takes me a moment to understand.
The palace is imbued with enchantments tied to the imperial line. It used to be that my husband could unlock every door in this building with a touch.
Did the strange mix of fire and magic warp his body so much that even the enchantment no longer recognizes him? He might have been able to convince the court of his real identity if he’d kept that connection.
As it is, my guards aim a wary look at my rescuers and step closer to escort me. “They’ve brought His Imperial Majesty into the temple. You can see him now, but I hear it’s not… pretty.”
I lift my chin. “I will pay my husband the respect he’s due now that I’m able to. And his foster brothers and the guard who let himself be so injured to save our daughter and me should be allowed to honor his loss too.”
The guard who spoke bobs her head. “Yes, Your Imperial—” She hesitates, with a flicker of a smile crossing her face before she flattens her lips again. “I suppose it should be ‘Your Imperial Majesty’ now.”
A sudden exhilaration cuts through my fatigue.
I’m now the highest power in the empire. This is the goal I’ve been reaching for since nearly a year ago.
I just didn’t expect to reach it in such a horrific way.
“Let’s not worry about the exact formalities just yet,” I say. “There will be plenty of time to sort that out once my husband has been laid to rest with his soul at peace.”
Even if I can’t imagine Linus being capable of peace no matter where his soul has departed to.
While I cleaned up, the staff must have sent word for a sedan chair. Four footmen hustle into view with a padded throne-like seat on two long posts.
As they set it down in front of me, embarrassment pricks at my cheeks. But the medic’s comment about straining myself lingers in my mind.
I’d rather get this duty over with than argue.
Resigning myself, I settle onto the chair. The footmen heft it up again carefully and set off through the halls at a steady march. My guards take the lead, with Marclinus’s falling into step on either side of me as if they feel I need a larger escort.
Which makes sense, considering their previous charge got murdered during their brief absence.
With the posts braced against the footmen’s shoulders, I’m well above the heads of everyone we pass. It’s a good thing the palace ceilings loom so high.
Servants and nobles alike bow at the sight of me. Most of the nobles look rather dazed, the news of their new emperor’s death still sinking in, but a few noticeably brighten as they watch me go by. No one appears disgruntled.
The glimmer of exhilaration expands through my chest. I’ve won over quite a few of these people in the past year. Enough that some will be happier seeing me rather than my husband on the throne.
At the doorway to the temple that’s attached to the palace, I’m allowed to make my way on my feet again. Beneath the traditional domed ceiling, the head cleric and several devouts cluster around a wide ceremonial plinth that’s been brought out and draped in imperial purple. Linus’s body sprawls across it.
It isn’t pretty at all. As carefully as they’ve laid his limbs straight, it’s clear several of his bones were broken. Bloody blotches stain his clothes, as well as his golden curls where the side of his head must have hit the ground. His skull has dented inward.
But even scratched and scarlet-speckled, his pale face is undeniably the emperor’s. His icy gray eyes stare at the ceiling with his usual air of haughtiness. The old scar on his upper lip shows amid the more recent wounds.
I flick a glance toward Marc. His scar appears to have been swallowed by the smooth swath of gray that’s discolored the left side of his face.
Nothing remains that could distinguish him as the emperor, does it? Especially when the “real” Marclinus is lying here in front of us. How could anyone believe his story as anything but a crazed tale?
I suspect if he tried to tell it and no one supported his claim, he’d be tossed in jail and executed as a lunatic traitor.
Staring down at his no-longer-identical twin, Marc taps his fingers down his front in the gesture of the divinities. I echo the motion, with the princes following a moment later.
The cleric approaches us with a deep bow of his head and a roughness in his voice. “My immense condolences for your loss, Your Imperial Highness. Such a startling tragedy. May our emperor find peace in the arms of his godlen.”
His attention shifts to the mottled man in the burnt clothing at my right. “I understand you attempted to save Marclinus and prevented his wife and heir from meeting the same fate. Your devotion is admirable. What is your name?”
Fuck. My heart stutters at the question I wasn’t prepared to answer when I spun my story, but thankfully Marc has had time to do his own thinking.
He looks at me first, with an evaluating expression that sets me on guard. But perhaps it isn’t hard for him to guess how this scene would play out if he tries to stake his claim.
He knows I meant to take the empire from him. He knows he’d need my confirmation to take it back.
I might have saved his life, but I’m not going to save the throne for him.
Apparently that’s enough for him, at least for now.
He offers the cleric a slight bow of his own. “My name is Marc—chosen in honor of the imperial heir who was born shortly before me, though of course my parents used a humbler version. I only wish I could have served the empire even better.”
A note of truth rings through his last words.
I swallow thickly and stroke my fingers over Coraya’s head. “I suppose the rites will be the same as we offered Emperor Tarquin?”
The cleric nods. “We’ll prepare the body with all divine honors first, and then there will be a private familial ceremony tonight.”
As his gaze drifts over me and my daughter, his voice softens. “We’ll let you know when it’s time to return for the official service. I’m sure your husband would want you to take care of yourself for all that lies ahead of you and the empire, Your Imperial Highness.”
I have to restrain a snort at the idea of my would-be murderer worrying about my well-being, but I understand the cleric’s sentiment. And he isn’t wrong that I’m on my last legs.
I swipe at my eyes as if brushing away tears. “It’s hard to think that far ahead. I still can’t believe what happened.”
As my guards step in to ease me back toward the temple’s doorway, a tall, grizzled figure strides through it. High Commander Axius halts at the sight of me and dips into the lowest bow he’s ever offered.
His gaze slides past me to the plinth. “This is a sorrow-filled day for us all. Thank the gods it didn’t claim both of you and Marclinus’s daughter.”
My embrace around Coraya tightens slightly. “Indeed. Is there something you need to report, High Commander?”
His face twitches at my words, and I remember belatedly that Marc stripped him of his position days ago.
He bows again, his expression turning even more somber. “I can no longer accept the honor of that title. I do hope that you might let me stay on with the palace’s dedicated military force for however I might help with the transition. But in the meantime, Tribune Valerisse has arrived and wishes to speak to you with some urgency.”
A large part of me wants to say that the tribune can wait until I’ve slept, but the mention of urgency sets my pulse thrumming again. What other disasters have befallen the empire in the past day?
I suppress a yawn. “I’ll see her. Have her meet me in whatever private room is closest to the temple.”
One of my guards eyes the princes who’ve followed us in our travels through the palace. “I think you’d best return to your own concerns, Your Highnesses. This is a matter of imperial business.”
Raul’s stance tenses, but I catch his eye with a subtle nod. We’ll have plenty of time to sort out the rest of our way forward after today.
Marc speaks up in an unusually subdued tone. “I would like to see the medics about these odd… burns. If you would give me leave, Your Imperial Highness.”
I don’t know how to respond to his deference, especially when I can only imagine he’d like the scars removed to confirm his real identity. But it would hardly be charitable of the empress to deny her supposed savior the chance at proper healing.
I nod to him. “Of course. May you be well. And… thank you. If I forgot to say that before.”
His newly dark eyes hold mine for just a beat longer than is comfortable. “I’m sure you did, one way or another.”
Bastien stiffens, but Lorenzo aims a swift string of gestures at me. We’ll watch him. Neven draws himself up sharply with a fierce flash of his eyes that would make me more nervous if I wasn’t equally uncertain of Marc’s intentions.
They won’t let him get away with anything, but I don’t think they’ll let each other go too far either. I can let go of one concern for the moment.
We locate a small sitting room down the hall from the temple entrance. Axius marches off to summon Valerisse, and I sink into one of the armchairs while my temporary new host of four guards shadows the doorway.
I doubt my usual protectors are going to want to let me out of their sight for years now. Hopefully they’ll still respect the privacy of my bedroom.
Coraya squirms with a whimper that’s already familiar. I hesitate for only a second before loosening my bodice enough to offer her my breast.
My husband-to-be had me bare my whole body before the court and palace staff for his satisfaction. Why should I be ashamed to reveal so much less to feed my child?
Footsteps rap outside the door while I’m still nursing. Coraya shows no inclination to finish her meal just yet.
“Let the tribune in,” I tell the guards. Valerisse can’t be terribly offended by my breast when she has two of her own, can she?
And if it’s not full imperial propriety, the empire is just going to have to get used to a new way of doing things.
Valerisse enters the room with her usual forceful strides, her keen eyes settling on me. Her mouth pulls into a subtle grimace.
Fine, let her be offended.
All four guards move to flank my chair. Valerisse considers them and then plants herself about five feet away from me, staying standing while I sit. Her chestnut-brown hair is pulled back in the three-braided style she favors, adding to the severity of her coppery face and its sour expression.
“Your Imperial Highness,” she says in a clipped tone. “I understand I’ve arrived on the heels of an immense tragedy.”
I bite back a remark that the immensity of the tragedy depends on how you look at it. “Immense and unexpected. I’m afraid I’m rather shaken, but I didn’t want to delay hearing your news, which I gathered is urgent. The empire’s needs continue even in our grief.”
A hint of a smile curves the tribune’s lips in the opposite direction. “How convenient—the needs of the empire are exactly what I wanted to speak to you about.”
Something in her cool tone sends a twang of alarm through my nerves. I sit a little straighter, gathering Coraya against me. “In what way?”
Valerisse folds her arms over her chest. “Elox’s devotees tend to possess at least a little wisdom. The people of the palace are already starting to speak of your rule. Surely you can recognize that you’re not meant to lead the empire.”
Her boldness knocks the words from my throat for a few seconds.
I gather myself, firming my voice. “I don’t think it’s reasonable to draw that conclusion when I haven’t had a chance to attempt it.”
The tribune scoffs before I can say anything else. “It’s obvious. You bleed pity rather than gathering strength. You’ll stretch yourself too thin, forgive where you should avenge, falter when you should conquer. This empire was built by those dedicated to Sabrelle and Creaden, might and authority. What can you offer us of either?”
My guards shift their weight behind us. “Watch how you speak to the empress,” one warns.
But I don’t think it’s just speaking that’s the problem. As her words sink in, an inkling sparks in my mind.
I watch her. “There are different kinds of strength, different sorts of authority. I held my own through every task asked of me. And what would you have me do instead? I can’t place my daughter on the throne yet.”
“Choose an inheritor,” Valerisse demands. “With the guidance of the imperial counsellors, select a figure who embodies our principles to steer the empire until Marclinus’s heir is of age.”
I measure my next words carefully. “And what will you do if I don’t? Send another of your soldiers to secretly trip me up with their gifts? I already dealt with two.”
The tribune’s face goes blank, but not without a startled tick of her eyes and a slight tensing of her stance. I’ve struck my mark.
The woman who lashed out at me at the waystation was one of the new arrivals from Lavira as well. I assumed the new soldiers simply knew me less than those of the palace and so were more likely to hold ill-feelings.
An even simpler explanation is that they were sent specifically by the woman commanding that branch of the army to do away with me at her will.
Valerisse has never liked me. She’s always seen me as weak—I felt it from our very first meeting. And now she’s admitted as much to my face.
“Your Imperial Highness?” one of my guards asks, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.
I motion him still. “Let her speak.”
Valerisse’s eyes flash, as if my tolerance angers her more than my accusation. “Look at what’s already become of the empire since you arrived. Two emperors dead in the course of a year. A rebellion breaking out. Nobles slaughtered and banished. While you sit serenely by and let it happen.”
I did a lot more than that, but I keep that fact to myself. “I’ve followed the guidance my godlen has offered me.”
Valerisse’s fierce grin sends a shiver through my nerves. “So have I. And it’s with Sabrelle’s approval that I’ll call the entire imperial army against you if you insist on clinging to the throne.”
With those last words, she hurls herself at me, a dagger leaping to her hand from her sleeve.
My guards move before I’ve done more than flinch. Valerisse smacks into a magical barrier still a pace away from me. With a shout, the other guards lunge at her.
I think the barrier was meant to hold my attacker as well as block her—the same way Marclinus’s guards did with the hound that sprang at him due to my scheming months ago. But though the tribune jars to a halt, she manages to wrench herself out of its grip, away from the charging soldiers.
Valerisse bolts toward the doorway—and her own gift becomes clear. As her shoulder turns to slam into the door, instead she passes straight through it as if it were only illusion.
Sputtering curses and shouting for help, my guards haul open the door to give chase. The one who shielded me braces herself against the side of my chair as if she fears Valerisse’s return.
But as I hold my daughter against me and catch my breath, it isn’t the thought of the tribune herself that turns my veins to ice. Her parting words echo through my mind.
With Sabrelle’s approval.
Neven had visions from the godlen of war too. He said he was feeling torn in two directions. My would-be assassin spoke of being on the “right side.”
Even Marc mentioned strange dreams of bloodshed.
My mouth has gone dry. Just how many people has Sabrelle tried to turn against me?
How many has she succeeded with?
I fought so hard to reach the heights I’ve only just achieved. If I want to hold on to them… it appears I’m going to war against a god.
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