Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Lorenzo
T he melody flows from the strings of the vielle with every slide of my bow across them. With my eyes closed, everything but the music has disappeared.
There is no crowd of nobles chattering through my performance. There is no ruthless emperor watching, confirming that I’m paying my keep in accordance with his expectations.
The warmed wood of the instrument fits against my shoulder as if it’s a part of my body. My arm glides through the movements of the song as if guided by the godlen of creativity and dreams herself.
The music courses over me like warm sunlight beaming down from on high. For those fleeting moments, it’s nothing but joy.
I can only maintain the illusion for so long, though. As I play on, the effort of using my gift starts to prickle through my nerves.
A faint ache spreads through my limbs. The first jab of an emerging headache pierces my artistic reverie.
I have to keep going longer. I have to keep compelling my magical talent through my music. Everyone in my audience has expectations of how skillfully I’m supposed to work this instrument.
I’ve always had a knack for song. My unenhanced performance would still be enjoyable to the ears. Just not quite as impressive as they require.
Not for the first time, regret nibbles at my gut with an edge of resentment.
Why in the realms did I ruin one of my favorite pastimes for myself? There are few enough pleasures we’re allowed under the emperor’s roof, and I might as well have asked Inganne to destroy this one for me.
Nonetheless, the gift my chosen godlen blessed me with in exchange for my great sacrifice holds true. I carry on through a few more compositions before the pain expands far enough that I know it’s best to call it a night.
No one wants to see the entertainment vomiting his over-exertion all over the polished floors.
When I lower the vielle, scattered applause breaks out through much of the crowded gallery room. Emperor Tarquin sweeps his arm toward me. “Another lively performance from our Prince Lorenzo.”
He speaks as if I’m a dog he trained for his court’s amusement. I force a smile and imagine ramming my bow right down his wizened throat.
A pageboy appears at my side to take the instrument back to my chambers. My foster father avoids treating his royal hostages as common servants as well as circus animals, most of the time.
I remain on the low platform that served as my stage for a few moments longer, my gaze traveling over the nobles who’ve fallen back into their conversations. The dull headache continues to pulse at the back of my skull.
I can’t do much about my status here in the imperial court, but I sow more than musical appreciation when I’m able to. Who most deserves to be unnerved tonight? The prick who led his friends in badgering me this morning?
A new arrival at the nearest doorway catches my attention. Neven prowls into the room, his face set in its usual discontented scowl. He must be finished with his tutoring for the afternoon.
I’m never sure whether to be glad the emperor decided my older foster brothers and I had completed our necessary education or to miss the years past when I didn’t have to spend quite so much time in the company of his fawners.
Raul has positioned himself not far from the platform like he often does when I play, ready to stroll over in full intimidation mode if any of the nobles decide they’d rather hassle me than appreciate the music. I twist my hand in his direction with a few flicks of my fingers and a point toward the pale-haired teenager. Kid’s here. Better keep an eye on him.
The prince of Lavira gives a slight tip of his head in acknowledgment and saunters through the crowd to join Neven. I hop down from the platform with a roll of my shoulders.
It’s a couple of hours before dinner yet, but performing both my music and my gift always leaves me hungry. My stomach gurgles. I spot a server weaving through the crowd and pluck a morsel off her tray.
Eating anything more solid than pudding is always a careful process. I break off small pieces and nudge them between my teeth, chewing carefully.
The tart flavor of the berry-laced pastry absorbs into my cheeks and the stump left where my tongue used to be. With a twitch of my jaw, I swallow.
Such a great sacrifice for such a great gift, and so little I can accomplish with it.
By the time I’ve polished off the pastry, my headache has retreated, my legs feel perfectly steady again, and I’m sick of the thoughtless blathering around me. It’s not as if I can contribute to the nobles’ conversations anyway.
Now that I’ve done my part, the emperor won’t mind if I duck out for a bit. I haven’t seen Bastien in a while. Maybe he’s gone to the library.
I weave through the bodies clad in billowy silk and escape into the relative silence of the hall.
It’s only a short trek along that hall and down another to our usual meeting spot. Easing past the heavy wooden door into the vast space with its labyrinth of bookshelves, I suck in a deep breath of the still, utterly silent air.
No rustle of turned pages or padding of careful footsteps reaches my ears. Bastien must be occupying himself elsewhere.
He could always turn up before long, and I can occupy myself perfectly fine in this room on my own. The stories in the volumes lining those shelves provide no shortage of inspiration.
I’ve just picked out a couple of promising titles and carried them over to one of the padded reading chairs when the door sighs open.
I lean forward in time to see Princess Aurelia slipping inside.
My body goes still, mostly tucked out of view behind one of the jutting bookcases. As she gazes around the cavernous room, I study the intruder in our midst.
She’s traded the more fitted, stiffer dresses she’s worn since her arrival for a flowing, airy gown in the Darium style. A paler blue than her sapphire-dark eyes, the thin silk courses around her elegant hourglass figure like water streaming over a fountain.
The billowy sleeves reach all the way to her hands. A lot of the ladies prefer to keep their arms covered to avoid the sharpest rays of the sun on their skin, but the princess’s tan suggests that’s not a significant concern of hers.
She might simply have wanted to cover the lingering scar of this morning’s arrow wound.
Raul was probably pleased with the result of his supposed clumsiness, but the memory of the flare of crimson blood against her sleeve makes my stomach knot.
I don’t like that she’s here either. I don’t like what her ambitions would mean for the four of us and the kingdoms we were torn from. But I can’t help connecting that burst of blood to the stuff splattered on the floor when the imperial guard slit one of the other ladies’ throats.
We’re better than the emperor and his heir. Better than all of the toadying nobles of his court.
I have to keep believing that, even if I’ve lost most of my faith in anything else that might comfort me.
As Aurelia wanders farther into the room, she nudges her hair back over her shoulder. The rich walnut-brown waves that frame her soft features remind me of the polished frame of my favorite lyre.
Her looks definitely won’t be what could turn Marclinus away. If I didn’t know what she stands for, I’d enjoy gazing at that pretty face.
But I do know, and any moment now she’ll glance my way and notice me. I’d rather she didn’t realize I’ve been sitting here gawking at her.
Setting my books on the chair arm, I get up and step forward as if I’m just emerging from one of the aisles between the shelves.
Aurelia startles at the rap of my shoes and then lets out a brief laugh. “Oh. I’m sorry—I didn’t know anyone else was in here.”
She smiles at me, the friendly light in her deep blue eyes like the last rays of evening sun warming the sea outside the palace where I was born. As if we could be friends.
As if we aren’t both aware that everything she’s striving for threatens the home I’ll someday return to.
What has she sacrificed? Up until now, she’s lived her life freely while empire shoves the rest of us around. And she thinks she should be able to barge into our midst and rule over us?
She seemed to show a little kindness to one of the other ladies during the trial, but I saw no emotion whatsoever on her face when that lady was murdered. I can’t even say whether Aurelia was trying to help or simply to make Fausta look worse in comparison.
I offer a noncommittal shrug, refusing to return her smile. Uncertainty about how to proceed prickles over my skin.
I might have turned and left, but Aurelia moves toward me.
She stops with one of the narrow tables between us, resting her fingers on its smooth edge. “You were wonderful on the vielle. I’ve never heard anyone play like that before.”
I dip into the slightest of bows. Ever so pleased to have entertained her.
“Of course, I’ve never met anyone who’s created an entire language before either.” Aurelia looks down at her own hand and then at mine. “I’d like to understand you better, if you’re willing to show me.”
A chill shivers under my skin. She’s been here less than two days, and she already noticed some of my silent communication with my foster brothers?
Feigning ignorance, I pull out one of the small papers I keep in a sheaf in the pouch on my belt, along with a small pencil. I have to lean over my side of the table to write. I can talk this way if you need a longer answer.
When I turn the paper toward Aurelia, she shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. You say things to the other princes using your hands.” She pauses. “If you don’t want to share that with me, I won’t push. I only wondered. After hearing the music you create, I have to think there’s a lot you could say.”
What does it matter to her? Why would she even care?
She sounds like she honestly does. The thoughtful curiosity in her expression tugs at something deep in my chest.
No one’s ever bothered to ask before—not a single one of the nobles who could have witnessed my vocabulary of gestures in the decade I’ve been developing them.
Even my family back in Rione, on the brief occasions I see them, has never known quite what to make of my muteness. On my first visit after my sacrifice, my older sister turned so despondent that I was afraid sharing the truncated secret language I was developing would make the situation worse. After five years trapped in the imperial court, my foster brothers felt far more like my siblings than she did anyway.
Bastien said we should unsettle Aurelia, trip her up. That’ll be easier to do if we find out more about her. If I accommodate her request in some small way, who knows what she might reveal to me?
I spread my hands in the fairly universal motion that says, I’m at your disposal.
What does she want to know?
She tilts her head as she considers. “How would you show that you agree with what someone’s said?”
I bring my thumb to my palm and curl my fingers around it.
“And if you disagree?”
I flick my thumb across my forefinger from tip to base.
Aurelia watches the motions and then imitates them. Not only observing but feeling the signal from the inside out.
My foster brothers sometimes use the gestures if they want to convey something between us when we’re around uncertain company, but only them, and not often. It’s far stranger watching her slender hand form the shapes like a secret message meant only for me.
She tilts her head toward the nearest bookcase. “And if you wanted to refer to books or reading?”
I aim two fingers out straight and brush my thumb over them a few times.
As the princess copies that gesture, some impulse drives me onward. I flick a finger toward her, make the reading gesture, and then expand the space between my thumb and forefinger wide.
Aurelia tracks the series of movements. “Do I read a lot?” she confirms.
She does pick things up fast. I nod to indicate that was the question I meant to ask.
“Some,” she says in answer. “The more I learn about practices of potion-making and healing herbs, the more I can use my gift without it becoming a strain. And I’ve always been curious to read the histories of both Accasy and the continent’s other realms.”
Those studies didn’t give her any sympathy for the rest of the empire’s conquered countries? Make her realize how privileged she’s been?
She seems interested enough in someone beyond herself now. She nods toward me. “How about you?”
I pinch my finger and thumb to almost touching. Just a little . My hand ripples with the sign I use for music, and then I lift my arms to mimic the pose of playing the vielle so she’ll grasp my meaning.
Her expression brightens with understanding. “You like to read about music.”
And stories of the macabre, but I don’t see how it’ll help anything to let her in on that distinctive hobby.
My pulse has quickened at her enthusiasm. I come around the table so we’re standing only a few feet apart, giving her a clearer view. Then I twitch a finger toward her again, graze my fingers past my temple with a discreet tap, and swivel my forefinger around the head of my thumb.
Aurelia’s brow knits. “What do I think about…?”
I angle my thumb so it stands upright and circle the tip more slowly. Then I raise my hands to form a crown of fingers on my head.
The princess’s mouth twitches. “The emperor? Or the imperial heir?”
I have ways of distinguishing, but I don’t see the point in getting into them here. I shrug again with a swift tap of two fingers together. How about both?
The light fades from her eyes, sending an unexpected pang of loss through me.
“I think they’re the most powerful men in this half of the continent, if not the whole thing,” she says in a careful tone. “And they require all due praise.”
She doesn’t indicate that she believes they deserve that praise. I can’t help thinking she hardly seems excited about the prospect of her marriage, although maybe that’s been diminished by the bloody trials leading up to it.
I motion toward her again and then wave my fingers away from us—once, twice, three times, as if to indicate the palace, the lands beyond, the entire damned country.
Aurelia’s canny gaze absorbs it all, and her expression firms. “Am I going to leave? No. Just because one’s goal has become harder, that doesn’t mean it isn’t still worth obtaining.”
The sympathy that was twining through me snuffs out in an instant.
That’s all this scenario is about for her, isn’t it? Obtaining her goal. Setting herself on a throne, no matter who lies bleeding along the path there.
And here I was admiring her lovely smile. Regretting the dulling of her shine.
She wanted me to.
A burst of anger laced with guilt propels me straight toward her. Aurelia scrambles backward in my wake. Her shoulders hit the bookshelves behind her.
I glare straight into her deep blue eyes and drag my finger across her throat just shy of touching the skin. A gesture every human being can recognize.
Aurelia swallows audibly. When I ease back a step, she peels herself off the bookcase and lowers her head. “I can see my company is no longer welcome. I apologize for interrupting your reading.”
She strides out of the library with a swish of her pale skirt, and I tell myself the burn at the base of my own throat is all fury, no regret.