Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Aurelia
T here’s a kind of meditation to making tea. Breathing in the herbal scents as I pick out the leaves I want to mix. Sprinkling them into the bottom of the cup. Pouring the steaming water with a faint hiss.
As I sink into the padded armchair next to the table, I cling to the temporary calm brought by the ritual. It’s masking a well of turmoil I don’t dare show.
The maid Emperor Tarquin appointed me with, an ever-smiling woman named Melisse who can’t be any older than me, hovers at the other side of the table with obvious uncertainty. She eagerly brought me the teapot of hot water I requested, but I may have put her in fear of her job by insisting on doing the pouring myself.
She starts to twist a lock of her fawn-brown bob around her finger and then jerks her hand back to her side to stop herself from fidgeting. “Is there anything else I can get you, Your Highness?”
A fast horse and the key to the palace gate , I want to say, but I bury that longing deep.
The image of Lady Cadenza crumpling with a gush of blood runs through my mind for the hundredth time. A chill races from my throat to my gut.
What is the emperor playing at? Not just any game, but a fatal one.
This is how he operates, isn’t it? How every Darium emperor in the long line has enforced their brutal control over this half of the continent—how up until a century ago they tyrannized the countries in the western half too.
No doubt the imperial family only ramped up their ruthlessness after losing so much territory to rebellion, determined to ensure that no one ever slipped free of their rule again.
It wouldn’t have been enough for Emperor Tarquin to humiliate the noblewomen whose families claimed unfairness. No, he had to show he could cut their daughters down in front of them without them being able to lift a finger.
Question his authority, and he’ll make you regret ever asking for more.
A different yearning wraps around my heart—to have my family and friends next to me. To be able to talk my horror through with someone who’d be on my side as I certainly can’t trust the woman in front of me to be.
How furious would my sister have become if she’d witnessed the scene in the audience room? What absurd remarks would Lady Nica have said to raise my spirits? Would Lady Cataline’s unconditional encouragement have erased the uneasiness that grips me?
The tightening of the knot in my stomach reminds me that I couldn’t have really poured out my worries to any of them either. Even back home, I couldn’t tell them everything.
We always knew I’d have to leave my family’s side eventually, even if none of us would have guessed how far I’d end up going. The distance loomed between us well before I ever set foot across the border. And a princess can’t indulge in weakness.
I’ve always been at least a little alone.
Melisse is waiting for my response. I push my lips into a careful smile of my own. “I’m sorry. I’m still sorting out my thoughts about everything that happened this afternoon. Perhaps the court was more prepared for these ‘trials’ than I was.”
I keep my tone mild with the slightest nudge of inquisitiveness. I’d be surprised if Emperor Tarquin doesn’t have my personal servant reporting on our conversations—and everything else she observes about me.
Will he be satisfied now, after this one shock? Surely he isn’t going to cull twelve young women from his court in a matter of days?
Today’s bloodshed could have been a simple message to them and a test for me, one I hope I’ve passed. If he keeps going…
It must be mostly Emperor Tarquin’s will. I don’t think the imperial heir was going to order Lady Cadenza’s murder before his father prompted him.
Marclinus will have grown up with these ladies. I can’t imagine he’d prefer to see them all slaughtered.
I won’t make any assumptions about how much he or the emperor care about my own survival, but between the two of them, I have a better chance of swaying him.
Melisse is shaking her head with a nervous giggle. A flicker of a starker emotion passes through her eyes before she regains her upbeat fa?ade. “Oh, no. That was His Imperial Majesty’s first announcement about the trials. I don’t think anyone knew.”
I had the same impression, but it’s good to have my judgment confirmed.
I let out a soft laugh of my own. “I suppose I’ll have to wait and see what else this competition entails.”
My maid offers nothing further, but why would she know what the emperor is planning? Why would she spill his secrets even if she does?
I search for another question I could ask that won’t sound too pointed or paint me in a concerning light. “I hope His Imperial Highness doesn’t already have a favorite among the local ladies—that I do still have a chance.”
“I don’t think he’s at all settled on anyone, Your Highness,” Melisse says hastily. “He hasn’t seemed like the settling down type—I mean, of course he wants to be married—we were all very much looking forward to your arrival.”
She stops with a blush staining her peachy cheeks. I’m not quite sure what to make of her stumbling response other than I’m guessing my ogling husband-to-be may have been getting cozy with quite a few of the ladies of the court.
With his good looks and the power he represents, I doubt he’s lacked for offers to warm his bed.
The memory of him lounging in his throne reminds me of the four men who flanked him, who he paid no mind at all to and the emperor introduced like an afterthought.
I knit my brow. “Who are the four princes—the ones His Imperial Majesty called his foster sons? I hadn’t heard that he’d expanded his family.”
Melisse brightens as if relieved to be able to weigh in on a less precarious topic. “Oh, it’s not like that at all. They’re princes from the other countries of the empire—Rione and Cotea and all those. He fostered a second-born child from each of the royal families to establish better relationships between their kingdoms and Dariu.”
Better relationships? I restrain a shudder.
I’ve heard of past emperors doing this. My great-grandfather’s younger brother was summoned to the imperial palace when they were only kids.
What they really are is hostages. The emperor leaves the other kingdoms’ rulers with the knowledge that any uncooperative move they make could be taken out on their child.
I’m second-born—but my great-grand-uncle is the last Accasian royal I’ve heard of in that situation. Maybe after that, Emperor Tarquin and his predecessors felt we were so beaten down there was no need to fear rebellion.
How long have those four princes been stuck here under his watch, subject to his whims? I can understand those circumstances having put them in a perpetual sour mood.
It’s probably not me they resent but their entire situation.
“Do they participate much in the court?” I can’t help asking.
“Well, it’s not the same since they aren’t Darium—and I don’t know how much they—ah, that is—” Melisse flushes again, foot partway in mouth as she must recall that I’m not from Dariu either, but she manages to recover with a sly glimmer in her eyes. “Prince Raul—he’s the one who’s especially… filled out”—she motions with her hands to in dicate height and muscular breadth—“seems to get along very well with the ladies.”
Her voice drops to a whisper. “Mostly the married ones, they say.”
My mouth twitches with amusement at her conspiratorial tone. “Is that so?”
“Yes. I mean, that’s only what I’ve heard. And Prince Lorenzo—he’s something to look at too, all dark and mysterious—plays music for the court sometimes. That’s his gift. He sacrificed his whole tongue to Inganne for it, so you can imagine how lovely it is to hear.”
I’d just been raising my teacup to my lips. At her last sentence, my head jerks up. “He gave his tongue ?”
I don’t know anyone personally who offered a dedication sacrifice that large. The man mustn’t be able to speak.
Did he really think appealing to the godlen of the arts for improved musicianship was worth it?
Although for all I know, it wasn’t entirely his choice. At his dedication ceremony, he’d have been a boy just turned twelve and likely already living under the emperor’s roof. Even a decision meant to be so personal could be manipulated.
Melisse nods emphatically, looking pleased to have earned so much of my interest. “They all gave a lot, I think. Prince Bastien sacrificed a lung—for control over rain, for when Cotea has its droughts, I heard he said. His Imperial Majesty has him send off rain clouds if they threaten a festive day.”
I think of the auburn-haired prince who was slim to the point of gauntness. I wondered if he’d lacked food—perhaps it was a lack of breath.
“I’m not sure about the young one,” Melisse goes on with a thoughtful frown. “I mean, he gave a bunch of his back teeth, replaced them with steel. But he mostly keeps out of the way. There hasn’t been much gossip about him.”
“And I assume Prince Raul has some talent that appeals to the ladies?”
My maid gives a snort. “It sounds like he has lots of talents that don’t come from magic. His gods-blessed gift has to do with knowing what people are carrying on them. I’ve seen the court men get mad at him after he announced some questionable thing they meant to keep secret that they were concealing in their pocket or a belt pouch.”
Seeking out hidden objects could come in handy for one’s protection. I wonder how far his talent extends.
My fingers curl a little tighter around the cup handle. I sip the brew I intended to steady my nerves, letting the familiar warmth flow down my throat with its sharp herbal tang.
Really I should be more concerned about my rivals in marriage.
I peer at Melisse over the top of my cup. “Are there any other interesting gifts within the court?”
She rubs her chin. “Nothing like that. Most of the gentlemen and ladies don’t want to give up much of themselves in a trade—and I guess they don’t really need to, in their position—not that I have any idea what it’s like—” She clamps her mouth shut for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t be talking so much about any of them.”
She’ll freely share gossip about the fostered princes, but not the Darium members of court. Her loyalties are clear.
I won’t badger her when I’m not sure I’d get much of anything useful out of her regardless. The more comfortable she feels with me, the better.
Clutching my cup, I get up and move across the guest bedroom I’ve been assigned. I can’t complain about the hospitality here. I’ve been given an opulent space with delicately carved wooden furniture, a canopy bed draped in moss-green silk, and matching curtains embroidered with tiny flowers drifting in the breeze from the broad window overlooking the eastern gardens.
My trunks were waiting for me when I arrived with all my belongings as I packed them. Which I was particularly grateful for when I lifted out my box of assorted tea leaves.
The other contents might pose a bit of a problem. I peer down at the heap of dresses that may as well stay in my luggage. I’m already wearing my lightest gown, and it’s clinging to my skin with a dampening of sweat that I can’t entirely blame on stress.
I turn back to Melisse. “Is there a dressmaker who works with the court ladies? I think I’m going to need to commission at least a few gowns to match the Darium style and climate.”
She inclines her head. “You’ll want Madam Clea. I can arrange an appointment for you, maybe tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow would be wonderful. Thank you.”
I reach into the other trunk and retrieve the glazed clay offering bowl I brought with me. I doubt any luck the daimon might give me will overcome the emperor’s will, but it can’t hurt to leave an offering for the roving spirit creatures that flit through our world. I always had a few tidbits set out near my bedroom doorway at home.
“And if I could also get a few bits of fruit or scraps of bread for the daimon?—”
I cut myself off at Melisse’s sudden pinched expression.
She ducks her head as if afraid of reprisal. “That’s not really… done here. Anywhere in Dariu, really, but especially at the palace. Their Imperial Eminences always say we make our own luck. ”
Ah. Of course they’d rather not appeal to any power other than their own.
I manage to smile again and return the bowl to my trunk. “That makes perfect sense. Thank you again for attending to me.”
Melisse dips into a brief curtsy, canny enough to sense her dismissal. “I’ll go straight to Madam Clea, Your Highness. Dinner should be in a couple of hours—I’ll come back to show you to the dining room.”
I wait a few minutes after she’s left, drinking the rest of my tea. Seeing whether she’ll make a sudden return.
When she doesn’t reappear, I retrieve my journal, pen, and inkwell. Pausing to sort through my memories, I jot down every observation I’ve made about the emperor, my supposed betrothed, and the other people of their court that might help me in the future.
I don’t write it blatantly, of course. In precarious circumstances, I’d rather have notes that anyone could look at than try to keep illicit accounts hidden. One of the earliest lessons my sister and I learned from our tutors was to come up with a form of code to make our most private thoughts appear innocuous.
Anyone perusing my journal will think I’ve simply prattled on about the palace décor and the terrain I saw on my journey here.
Despite the tea and the unloading of my thoughts, tension remains twisted through my chest. Setting the empty cup aside, I sink to my knees on the soft forest-green rug.
I sketch the gesture of the divinities down my front and rest my hands on the floor beside my legs. When I tilt my head, the sunlight filtering through the window dances across my closed eyelids.
Elox, I need your guidance. I prepared for my duty so thoroughly, but I wasn’t ready for this . How can I best move onward toward my goals?
I let my mind unspool, my focus detach. Blurred shapes pass across my eyelids with the movements of the curtains.
Then the image comes to me of a bandage wrapped around a wound. Binding the injury. Setting it to heal.
I blink and lean back against the chair, tamping down on a sudden bittersweet pang.
The message is undeniable. I must make my peace with the emperor’s demands and set things right however I’m able to.
What else is there to do, really? I doubt Emperor Tarquin would let me leave the palace alive unless it’s as his son’s bride, even if Elox nudged me in that direction.
With a few measured breaths, I dismiss my uncertainties. I still have my purpose here, even if a few more obstacles have been thrown in my way.
I return to my trunks and paw through the folded dresses for a suitable gown for dinner—something not at all soiled by travel.
Something that’ll illustrate the attitude I want to convey.
I settle on a dress of layered white silk with a draping of lace like snowflakes tumbling across its gauzy surface. White is my godlen’s color. The color of healing and peace.
It also sets off my lightly tanned skin and the bronze luster in my hair. I might not be aiming to hop straight into the imperial heir’s bed, but stirring up a little desire certainly can’t hurt my chances of seeing our marriage through.
I tug the sleeves to make sure they completely cover the splatter of scars on my forearms, purple as bruises that have never quite faded. As I consider myself in the gold-framed mirror, my hand rises so I can run my thumb over my ring.
I look down at it, tracing the shallow grooves that weave through the gold like currents in a stream. They frame a glinting sapphire that’s cool to my touch. It’s almost the same deep hue as my father’s eyes, which I inherited.
I’ve carried my family here with me—the hopes and needs of our kingdom. They’re watching over me even from all the way up in Accasy.
This is what I was raised for. I can do this, no matter what Emperor Tarquin throws at me.