Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Aurelia
T he open-topped carriage that’s leading our procession to the Temple of Boundless Wisdom puts all other carriages to shame.
The gold-gilded frame stretches half the width of the broad city road, forcing the spectators gathered to watch our passage to squeeze into a dense line along the buildings and crane their necks from the side streets. It’s twice as long, with velvet cushioned benches and smaller seats for as many as a dozen passengers to ride in luxury.
A gold statue mounted on the bow depicts two miniature soldiers holding aloft the imperial crest with its credo CONQUER ALL. More etchings of vines and flowers, animals and weaponry, gleam all along the sides and back.
By necessity, the carriage moves slowly through the streets, rocking with the plodding steps of the four harnessed horses. A contingent of twenty actual soldiers marches ahead of us, with several more flanking the sides of the carriage and many more all along the parade of smaller, less spectacular vehicles behind us.
These soldiers wear the ceremonial uniforms I’ve only ever seen here in Vivencia: black slashed through with dark gray and indigo, like the imperial guard uniforms but a little plainer. How many of our audience have ever seen the menacing garb the Darium army dons when enforcing Dariu’s rule abroad or doing battle as they attempt to reclaim their former territory across the Seafell Channel?
The memory of the black helms, jackets, and pants emblazoned with stark white skeleton bones sends a shiver down my back.
I keep my posture relaxed and my smile gracious, pretending nothing about this horde of military figures could disturb me. That some of their colleagues didn’t murder the first man I loved and so many other Accasian citizens besides.
There isn’t much else for me to do except offer periodic friendly waves, following Marclinus’s lead. My husband and I are poised on the highest bench at the fore of the carriage. Three from each of our usual host of guards crouch lower on the carriage floor, in front of us and at our sides.
I can’t say whether I feel more defended or suffocated.
The guard near my left foot by the middle of the bow hasn’t given me more than a glance, focusing his attention on the crowd along the road ahead of us. My gaze flicks to him periodically, watching for any hint of a threat.
Lorenzo warned me about a guard who made a disparaging remark about me in the garden yesterday. Based on his description—curly light brown hair, a scar near his eye—I believe it was this man.
If he makes any hostile move, I intend to be prepared. The other guards are close at hand, but they won’t expect an aggressive act from one of their own .
The prince of Rione himself stands farther back by the walls of the carriage along with his three foster brothers, each demonstrating a talent to awe the spectators. Naturally, Lorenzo has been assigned to tap into his gift, which as far as the rest of the palace knows is only for music. He glides his bow over the strings of his vielle.
The music doesn’t sound quite as divine as I’m used to from him, but I can’t imagine how much effort it must take to project his illusionary skill over such an immense crowd. He’ll have to moderate himself.
Next to him, Bastien is showing off a skill I hadn’t known he possessed. He’s using a decorative bow to shoot enchanted arrows up into the sky, where they burst into bright streamers and glittering confetti that rain down over the crowd. I suppose his secret gift for manipulating the air made archery an easier study.
After his first few impressive shots, I aimed an awed smile over my shoulder at him. The only response I got was a hardening of his expression.
If Lorenzo related his renewed faith in me to the prince of Cotea, it clearly wasn’t enough to sway the other man.
On the other side of the carriage, Raul slashes a ribboned sword through the air in flamboyant arcs, demonstrating the combat prowess I saw in the city’s arena a few weeks ago. He’s careful never to sweep the blade too close to Neven, who’s crumbling the edges of slabs of limestone with his bare hands and handing over the rough sculptures to an attendant striding alongside the carriage so they can be handed to one or another spectator.
Among the nobles of the court, it’s only the empire’s hostage princes who are being asked to perform. All four of Marclinus’s chief advisors have joined us in the head carriage, but they’ve been allowed to sit in dignified fashion, encircled by the demonstrations .
As we round a corner onto the road that’ll take us the rest of the way out of the city, thunder rumbles overhead. The clouds that have smothered the sky since we emerged from the palace have darkened even more.
I hold my smile in place and offer another wave as if the dim daylight and the dampness in the air don’t bother me. If the rain that’s threatening pelts down on us, is Marclinus going to carry out the confirmation rite drenched to the bone?
The voices of the spectators get louder. Plenty are cheering or hollering encouragement to their new emperor, but the words “bad omen” reach my ears.
I can’t stop my head from ticking toward the sound. My searching eyes can’t determine who said the phrase.
As I scan the crowd, I spot several civilians flicking their fingers down their front in the gesture of the divinities as they look at me. Their solemn expressions suggest they’re appealing to the gods against me rather than for me.
A woman near them swivels her hand in front of her in a warding motion we use all the way up in Accasy too. Her gaze burns into me as the carriage rattles past her.
My smile gets stiffer. I notice a man warding himself while he stares at me, and another woman doing the same.
They’re not daring to call out in open protest against their new empress from beyond Dariu’s borders, but they feel they need protection from my presence. Do they think the weather is another bad sign on top of Tarquin’s death?
I summon all the benevolence and serenity I can into my expression and my wave of greeting. I’m not the enemy here. I want to see all of them living happy lives—gods can be sure I care more about all of them than the man beside me does.
How do I convince them of that fact?
The curly-haired guard adjusts his position near my feet. My pulse skitters for a second before I’m sure he isn’t making any unexpected moves.
Surely he wouldn’t do me any overt harm in front of all these witnesses anyway?
Another rumble of thunder reverberates from the sky. Lorenzo’s lyre music mingles with it. An arrow arcs gracefully toward the clouds and pops with a shower of swirling sparks like a cloud of dancing stars.
And one of the soldiers who’s been marching next to the carriage swings around and heaves himself toward me.
I’ve been so focused on the guard in front of me that my attacker is nothing more than a blur of motion at the edge of my vision. In the space of a blink, he’s leapt up and hooked one arm over the side of the carriage.
He swings his other hand straight toward my bare throat with a blade gleaming in his grasp. A ragged shout of purpose bursts from his mouth at the same moment. “Remove the wild woman before she dooms us all!”
I yelp and flinch away, colliding with Marclinus. The guards around us heave to their feet, swords hissing from sheaths, the nearest whipping toward my would-be assassin.
Except the blow isn’t needed, because the soldier is already sagging over the side of the carriage. The dagger falls from his limp fingers to thump on the carriage floor. His dangling legs bump against the gold etchings he’s sprawled over.
The fletching of a brightly colored arrow protrudes from where the shaft plunged straight between my attacker’s ribs.
The carriage grinds to a stop. The guard who was about to stab the attacker in my defense steadies his sword.
We all stare at Bastien, who’s just lowering his bow.
He shot the soldier—he reacted faster than even the guards trained for that purpose .
He reacted that quickly to save me, even though he’s given every appearance of wishing I was already dead.
My jaw has gone slack. A swell of gratitude and something like relief fills my chest.
I haven’t really lost him after all, whatever good it does either of us.
I should thank him, but Marclinus speaks first. Perhaps that’s for the better, because he’s clearly put together at least some of the same pieces I have.
He waves to the guards. “Get this traitor’s corpse out of our sight and find out who vetted the villain. Then get this procession moving again.”
As the carriage rocks back into motion, Marclinus’s attention veers to my savior. “Prince Bastien. That was quite the shot. I hadn’t realized you were so invested in my wife’s well-being, but I can hardly complain about the results.”
Despite the last part of that remark, his tone is cool enough to send a chill over my skin. Instinct kicks in, making me laugh as if it was all a bit of folly and touch my throat where my attacker meant to sever my life from my body. “Neither can I.”
Bastien’s knuckles have paled beyond his usual pallor where he’s clutching his bow. He dips his head to Marclinus, not even glancing at me.
His voice comes out carefully even. “I actually thought he meant to hurt you, Your Imperial Majesty. I couldn’t let any harm come to my most esteemed foster brother.”
Yes. Pretend it had nothing to do with me. That’s the safest route.
The narrowing of Marclinus’s eyes suggests he doesn’t fully believe that explanation. “The wretched fellow would have had quite the reach to stick that blade into me.”
Bastien’s shoulders lift in a twitch of a shrug. “It happened so fast, I didn’t have the chance to think the situation through. All I knew was he was lunging in your general direction.”
And even more so mine.
“Well,” Marclinus says with a hint of a drawl that doesn’t ease my nerves for a second, “I appreciate you stepping in on my wife’s behalf as well as my own. It isn’t as if there’s any shame in defending both of us.”
Bastien bobs his head. He reaches to the quiver at his back for another enchanted arrow as if he considers the matter resolved. “Naturally, Your Imperial Majesty. I’m glad to have assisted you one way or the other.”
He turns away from us to launch the new arrow toward the sky. Glowing streaks in a rainbow of colors haze the bottoms of the darkening clouds.
I touch my throat—unguarded by the charmed fabric of my dress. The guard must have known it was one of the few spots where a blade could harm me.
The ominous hush of our audience seeps through my stunned state. I yank my attention back to the spectators.
They’re peering up at us with puzzled expressions. I push a smile onto my lips and give another wave to show I’m perfectly fine.
Nothing to concern themselves with here. Just a momentary attempted murder.
The last thing I want them to see is the dread winding around my gut.
One of the soldiers hired as part of our own imperial entourage thought his world would be better without me in it—so much so that he was willing to give his own life to accomplish it. He couldn’t have imagined he’d survive the attempt even if he’d managed to drive his blade home before my guards intervened.
He believed that I’m going to bring doom on them all. Just how many of Dariu’s people feel the same way but aren’t brash enough to deal with the imagined problem so violently?
At least, not yet.
Marclinus studies Bastien for a few moments longer before offering his own jaunty wave to our audience. The sharp glint in his eyes turns my skin clammier.
I don’t know what he makes of Bastien’s response. I have no idea what deeper answers he’s searching for.
Something about the prince’s sudden move bothers him. Something that makes him aim that evaluating look my way next, along with his arrogant grin.
Whether Bastien has truly forgiven me or not hardly matters. If my husband is scrutinizing any association between me and him, I need to put even more distance between myself and all of the princes I care for.