Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Aurelia
W hen the last of the banquet’s dishes have been laid out on the expansive table in the middle of the dining room, I lift my wine goblet. The nobles swarming the room pause in their chattering.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve stood before all these high ranking Darium citizens naked, bleeding, vomiting, and every other imaginable humiliation. Somehow the weight of their attention feels even heavier now.
This is my first official court event as their empress. Until they’ve fully accepted me in that role, every move I make will be scrutinized.
“Good evening to all my friends of the court,” I call out with a gracious smile. “Thank you for joining me tonight for what I hope will be a delectable feast. Consider it my thank you for welcoming me into your world. You’ll find all sorts of delicacies to try. I’ve had the palace chefs give a variety of foods beloved in Accasy their own Darium spin as a demonstration of just how well our two countries can work together. Please, enjoy!”
Applause ripples through the crowd. It’s hard to tell how much is politeness rather than enthusiasm. As the nobles turn toward the banquet table, the expressions I catch hold a fair bit of uncertainty and skepticism.
I sampled all of the new creations being offered tonight as the chefs perfected their recipes. If the imperial kitchen staff’s work doesn’t win over at least the court’s tongues, nothing will.
Marclinus teases his fingers up my neck to give one loop of my hair a playful tug. “It certainly smells delicious. I’m going to dive in myself and see what bounty you’ve created for us, wife.”
I follow him over, taking a plate that one of the servers hands me. I purposefully arranged for this banquet to be a buffet, with small portions that the nobles can nibble on as they continue circulating through the room if they wish to stay on their feet.
The setup will allow me to circulate between them , making the most of this opportunity to talk with them while they’re enjoying my generosity. With a little luck, at least a few of them will view me in a more favorable light by the end of the evening.
Now that I’m empress, the imperial tasters try every dish I’m interested in before I take my portion. I start with the honey-glazed duck and stewed lacquernuts before meandering between the clusters of nobles.
Emperor Tarquin and his son have beaten the expectations of respect into his court. I can’t pass anyone’s sight without them bobbing their head to me. It’s a bit absurd, but it gives me plenty of openings to strike up a conversation.
At the acknowledgment of two pairs of barons and baronissas, I join their small group. “I hope you’re finding the meal to your liking.”
I doubt they’d admit it if they didn’t, but the speed with which they’re devouring their first round lends their effusive words some weight.
“It’s always exciting to discover new flavors,” one of the baronissas gushes.
I beam as if in delight. “I’ve found the same—and there’ve been so many new things to discover since I’ve arrived in Dariu. I know the loss of our former Imperial Majesty has cast a pall over the court. If there’s anything I might not have thought of on my own that would ease your troubles or raise your spirits, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Her husband hums. “It is a great loss, but everything has been handled splendidly. I wouldn’t mind seeing more Ularian wine served at our dinners, though.”
The leadership of his country and the entire empire has changed without warning, and he’s most interested in his beverage selection?
Well, perhaps he’s afraid to say anything that could come across as more critical.
I offer another smile. “I’m sure I can see to that.”
I amble onward from one group to the next. A couple of marchionissas deny that anything in the world could be improved, but a viceroy brings up a graver concern.
He dips his voice low as if he’s worried he’ll spark a panic. “I appreciate knowing that the empire can count on Accasy’s loyalty with you standing by our emperor. I trust Your Imperial Eminences are keeping a close eye on our nearer neighbors. ”
I can’t stop my eyebrows from arching. “Has there been unrest reported in the other territories?” I haven’t heard of any, though I suppose it’s possible Marclinus wouldn’t have brought me into those discussions.
The viceroy clicks his tongue. “The rebellious elements never know what’s good for them—always looking to cause trouble. They might see Emperor Tarquin’s passing as an opportunity to strike out. But of course our new emperor will stamp out any signs of dissention swiftly and firmly.”
Marclinus had better do that, he’s actually saying, just wording it so it can’t sound like he’s telling the imperial family what to do.
From what I’ve seen and heard, the empire’s conquered countries are far too beaten down to spring into major rebellion at a moment’s notice, but I can’t say I’m surprised the Darium nobles would worry about it. “He absolutely will,” I say confidently, with a twist of my gut at the thought of just how brutally my husband is likely to crush even a whiff of discontent abroad.
As I continue my circuit of the room, I encounter a few more anxious murmurs—overheard or spoken to me directly—about the possibility of rebels testing the new emperor’s strength. But most of the matters raised are as vapid as the first baron’s wine preferences.
At least the more superficial matters are easier to address without feeling I’m encouraging hostility toward the outer territories. I smile and nod, nod and smile, promising that I’ll see that the city’s most prominent shoe designer stops by the palace soon, that more marigolds will be added to the gardens, and that a new bath oil scent one marchionissa has heard about will be ordered in.
One gray-haired marchion isn’t so eager to talk. He bobs his head in acknowledgement and takes in my question with chilly eyes .
“The thing I’d most want to ask for cannot be offered,” he says flatly, and returns to the buffet table.
I watch him go, recognition tugging at my mind. His features reminded me of one of my competitors in the trials—maybe Giralda?
Is that her father? Does he blame me for the loss of a daughter, simply because I survived and she didn’t?
I wouldn’t have let anyone die if it’d been up to me rather than Tarquin and Marclinus, but I don’t think going over and reminding the marchion of that will warm him to me. It’s much easier to resent the interloper than the men who’ve held such sway over his life.
As I amble on, my path brings me toward Bastien and Lorenzo more than once. The two princes always happen to drift off in another direction before I get close enough that they’d need to acknowledge me. I catch Raul’s eye and thank him for the combat lessons he’s promised, but saying more feels unwise.
My heart beats a little faster just feeling his dark gaze on me as I move on.
By the time I add more food to my plate and take a moment to sit at one of the tables, I have quite a list of court requests in my head. Whether it’ll engender good will toward me for more than a moment or two, it’s difficult to tell, but at least it’s a starting point.
I accept the compliments of the nobles whose table I’ve joined and make the same appeal for advice. After they’ve informed me of how they’d love to see a new statue of Tarquin erected, perhaps one of solid gold, my smile feels even stiffer.
The dining room is full of light and mouth-watering scents, but I can’t sense any of the warmth that would have permeated a banquet back in the main Accasian palace. For a few seconds, I’m overwhelmed with longing for the spirited conversations and companiable laughter between my family and colleagues that never felt calculated the way every remark and giggle does here.
My friends would have found these concerns absurd. I can so easily imagine Cataline shaking her head in bewilderment. Don’t they ever think even of the people of their baronies or whatever other territories? The ones they’re supposed to watch out for?
Nica would snort and speak up with her sarcastic lilt. Don’t you know a gold statue of the emperor makes all our lives richer?
Picturing them with me lifts my spirits while deepening the wave of homesickness. My gaze drifts over the rest of the room—and jars to a halt on my husband.
Marclinus has come up beside Vicerine Bianca. He leans so close his lips brush the shell of her ear, whispering something to her as he trails his fingers down her back. He caresses her as if the gold marriage band gleaming by his sleeve didn’t exist.
Of course, he’s never cared about her marriage vows either.
It’s not a surprising sight—Marclinus has outright groped Bianca in front of me in the past, and she’s made no secret of their intimate association—but it’s the first time he’s overtly approached another woman since our wedding. I hesitate, unsure how I should react.
Even I’m not supposed to criticize our Imperial Majesty. Should I pretend I haven’t even noticed?
A flush has darkened Bianca’s smooth brown skin. She says something back to Marclinus, turning partly toward him, but she keeps her hands clasped modestly by her waist. Her gaze darts across the room… to me.
Her dark eyes hold mine for the space of a heartbeat. I can’t help thinking there’s a question in them and in the slight slant of her mouth, as if she’s confirming she has my permission .
I don’t know why she’d think she’d need to seek it. She’s enjoyed throwing her closeness with Marclinus in my face plenty of times before. I outright told her I wouldn’t interfere with their ongoing relationship after we married.
I meant what I said. The situation might have struck me with a momentary awkwardness, but not a particle of jealousy nips at me.
If he dallies with her, it should spare me having to use a dose of my special potion on him for a third night in a row, with all the playacting that goes into my performances.
I incline my head slightly and return my attention to my plate.
Is that how a proper empress is supposed to act? Is that what Marclinus’s mother would have done, in the few years she stood with Tarquin after his crowning before she lost her life to childbirth?
As thorough as my training in royal etiquette has been, it somehow never prepared me for the scenario of how to handle a husband who flaunts his affairs in front of your entire court. Marclinus seems to require an additional set of rules of conduct.
There might be more I could learn from the empress who came before me—the one so beloved by the common people they gave her an honor all her own. Perhaps I can use this banquet to get a little something for myself as well.
When I’ve cleared my plate, I weave through the room again, watching for any of the older nobles who’d have been in court three decades ago during Tarquin’s early years as emperor. Here and there, I stop to mingle.
After a little small talk about the food and the atmosphere, I work in a question in a casual tone. “You know, I’ve heard so many lovely things about Empress Fionille, it seems a shame I never had the chance to meet her. I wonder what foods she’d have brought out for a banquet?”
The impact the late empress had on the court is unmistakable. The mention brings a soft smile to every face, and everyone agrees that she was wonderful.
I don’t learn much of anything specific, though, even about her taste in cuisine.
“She would have loved this feast,” one of the elderly vicerines tells me with a pat of my arm.
“She made every meal feel like a banquet,” a grizzled marchion says. “Pleased with whatever we were having.”
A faded baronissa taps her lips with a distant expression. “I don’t know if what was on her plate mattered much to her. She always looked beautiful, whatever the occasion.”
I’m left unsure of whether Marclinus’s mother had little mind of her own or if it’s been so long that recollections are too hazy for details.
She must have done something to earn her people’s affections.
I meander through the room for a little longer, making polite chatter, but the plates have become quite picked over. The crowd is thinning. When I’ve exchanged at least a few comments with everyone who’s lingered, I set off for the library.
The rulers of Dariu are enamored with their own grandeur. Surely there are accounts somewhere of the significant events of any emperor’s rule.
It can’t hurt to do a little research into how a Darium empress has typically behaved beyond the royal standards I’m used to.
Given that Marclinus and Bianca vanished from the dining room some time ago, I don’t think I need to worry about my husband wondering where I’ve wandered off to. Not that he should have any reason to disapprove of this line of research.
I slip past the library’s heavy door and stall in my tracks with its thump behind me.
Bastien is standing by one of the central tables, in almost the same place where we spoke the first time I encountered him in this room what feels like a century ago.
The hardening of his expression is as if no time and nothing else has passed between us since that awkward conversation.
I step forward cautiously, studying his stance, aware of the guards who’ll have trailed through the halls behind me—who’ll follow me into the library as they judge necessary. Most of the things I’d like to say to the prince of Cotea, I don’t dare.
I keep my tone mild, my gaze steady. “Prince Bastien. It’s my good fortune that I’ve run into you here. I was hoping to find records about the life of past empresses—perhaps you know where I might find something like that?”
It’s a subtle overture of peace, one he could accept or dismiss.
Or smack it away like a stinging gnat, as the case may be.
Bastien’s voice comes out as stiff as his posture. “I’m sure Your Imperial Highness can find it on your own, as you prefer to do things.”
He stalks to the door, giving me a wide berth. My lips part, the words to try to call him back rising to them—and at the same moment, two guards arrive.
I nod to them with feigned gratitude and tamp down the ache in my heart as Bastien disappears into the hall.
I shouldn’t be shocked by his vehemence, should I? From what Raul said, Bastien spearheaded the plan to arrange our escape.
He tossed aside all the caution I know he’s clung to so fervently in his determination to keep his foster brothers safe. He tossed it aside for my sake.
And I threw his passionate gamble back in his face, however necessary that choice was.
If I’d realized his devotion to me ran that deep… I don’t know if I could have done anything differently. But the knowledge brings a lump into my throat that I can’t swallow away.
It turns out I could have used Bastien’s help, if the records I’m looking for even exist. I putter around the library until two hourly bells have pealed beyond the palace walls, but I don’t come up with anything closer than historic accounts of imperial military campaigns from more than a hundred years past.
Perhaps I’ve simply missed the relevant books in this vast collection, or possibly those accounts are housed in the records room I don’t have access to.
I make my way back to my chambers. When the door shuts behind me, I’m finally alone.
Standing in the middle of the luxurious bedroom, gold glinting and satin shimmering all around me, my pulse wobbles.
What have I accomplished today other than determining that the people of court are frivolous and xenophobic—both of which I already knew—and giving myself a list of trivial chores? Do the nobles have friendlier feelings toward me now, or will they keep whispering to each other just as much about the wild princess who’s become their empress?
I tip my face toward the gleaming ceiling and close my eyes, tapping my fingers down my front in the gesture of the divinities. Elox, I’m following the path you guided me to. How should I proceed in our quest for peace?
I hold myself still for several minutes in meditative daze. No matter how I detach my mind and let my thoughts drift freely, no message I can discern comes to me.
My godlen hasn’t totally ignored me, though. When I tuck myself in bed in my nightgown and drift off into sleep, a dream is waiting to meet me.
I’m crouched in a vast green field, the grass tickling against my bare shins. Each of my arms is looped around the wooly body of a lamb.
I’m hugging the animals close, but with a sudden bleat, they break from my embrace. The lambs spring off in opposite directions, hurtling away from me.
I can only catch one of them. I must catch one of them. But how can I decide which?
The sense of urgency blares through me, and I jolt awake in the darkness. The shapes of the room swim before my weary eyes.
I revisit the images of the dream in my mind over and over, looking for a clue. What do the two lambs represent? What sort of equal division am I meant to choose between?
I received my message, but I can’t say I have any clue how to decipher it.