Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Bastien
I ’ve never trusted Marclinus farther than I could throw him. As he ushers his wife, my fellow princes, and me through the palace halls, I have even less certainty about his motives than usual.
Did someone catch a glimpse of my kiss with Aurelia after all? If he’s taking some kind of vengeance on me, why is he insisting on bringing the others along?
Or has he somehow discovered our plot from nearly a week ago and come up with a sadistic scheme of his own to make us pay for imagining we could escape the empire’s chains?
Aurelia glides along next to him, the picture of serene grace. If the image of her frantic expression when she approached me in the darkness wasn’t emblazoned in my memory, I might have believed she was totally unconcerned.
The imprint of her mouth is burned into my lips. My pulse never had a chance to stop racing before Marclinus summoned us over and gave it a very different sort of reason to scatter.
She willingly admitted her treason to me. She gave me the means to prove it if I decided to be more vengeful.
She put her life on the line to show how much I matter to her and kissed me like she couldn’t bear to spend another moment apart.
How can I doubt her now? How much was my earlier anger even justified rather than the shame that the risks I took that didn’t pan out the way I hoped?
No matter what she’s said, I can’t shake the sense that I’ve been stupid somewhere. I missed things. I presumed things.
What if this situation is even more tangled than I’d have guessed five minutes ago?
Raul saunters along with a nonchalant front, but I catch a hint of the tension he’s suppressing in the flexing of his hands. Lorenzo hasn’t been able to restrain a frown.
Neven marches among us with his shoulders braced and his forehead furrowed, as if he’s ready to fight but confused about whether he needs to. We’re going to have to keep a particular eye on the kid, no matter where this scenario leads.
Marclinus directs us into one of the palace’s smaller sitting rooms, which means it’s still a little larger than my very respectable bedroom. Several embroidered armchairs wait in a loose ring around a low table.
The emperor takes the most ornate chair on one side of the table and motions for Aurelia to sit next to him. As the rest of us sink into the chairs opposite them, one of the staff arrives with a platter holding six goblets and a large bottle of wine.
Marclinus grins in approval and waves the woman over. “Here we go. Something for everyone.”
He sets out the goblets himself with a flourish, one in front of each of us, and then leans back while the woman pours the wine. A slender man I don’t recognize slips into the room and remains near the doorway, just a few paces from the four guards who’ve also followed us in. He studies us, his face taut.
What in the realms is going on here?
Marclinus dismisses the server with a flippant gesture and picks up his goblet. His tone is as jaunty as ever. “I thought we should have a drink and a chat together—me and all my companions from beyond Dariu’s borders. My foster brothers, you haven’t offered our Accasian princess a very effusive welcome. If there are any sour feelings about her rising to a station so high above your own, I hope tonight we can find some common ground.”
Is that all this private get-together is about?
I pick up my glass, no less wary than before. “I hold no animosity toward our empress. We all want what’s best for the empire, don’t we?”
I lift the goblet as if in cheers, a gesture Marclinus eagerly matches. The others grasp their own cups to join us.
It seems safest not to watch Aurelia tip her goblet to her lips, not to trace the bob of her sleek throat as she swallows. I can remember all too well how the soft skin there heated against my mouth just days ago, when for a brief moment she was completely mine.
After I’ve taken a swallow of the tartly sour liquid, I lower my glass. Lorenzo nods as if to say he agrees with my statement.
Raul relaxes into his chair with a faintly amused expression. “If we’ve failed to be gracious enough in some way, feel free to list out our mistakes so we can fix them.”
Neven takes another hesitant sip. “I didn’t realize anything was wrong.”
Marclinus tsks his tongue at us. “A little jealousy of the new arrival is totally normal, I’d imagine. But now you have the chance to speak with her openly. Find out whatever you like about my bride.”
He sweeps his arm extravagantly with a slosh of his goblet that sends a smattering of wine onto the rug. As far as I can tell, he doesn’t even notice.
Aurelia studies him, her expression cautiously puzzled. “None of your foster brothers have troubled me,” she says in a mild tone, which is such a brazen lie I’d laugh if I were drunker. “At least, I haven’t expected anything from them that they didn’t offer. I’m sure they have plenty to keep them busy without thinking all that much about me.”
“We’ll see the truth of that soon enough.” Marclinus flicks his hand in an upward motion. “I hope you’re enjoying the wine while we’re at it. It’s an excellent vintage.”
Aurelia smiles in agreement. “Very good.” She brings the cup back to her lips.
Marclinus tilts toward the rest of us with a clap of his hands. “Let’s get on with it then. I suppose we could start with you all sharing?—”
Aurelia suddenly sways to the side, her goblet wobbling in her fingers. My gut lurches.
Her husband turns to consider her, a thin smile playing across his mouth. “Ah. It didn’t take long at all.”
Aurelia blinks at him. Her arm shakes harder, and she sets her goblet down on the table with a clunk. “What?—?”
Her question is cut off with a wheeze. She clutches at her chest.
Then her limbs slacken. Her shoulders shudder and buckle.
Her body crumples right off the chair, her head narrowly missing the edge of the table before it thumps against the rug.
Horror jerks at my gut, but the satisfied glint in Marclinus’s eyes holds me in my seat. This is some kind of sick game he’s playing.
Lorenzo, tender heart that he is, has jumped to his feet. He stares at Marclinus, emitting an urgent noise.
Raul cocks his head, but his shoulders have tensed. “It seems your wife could use some assistance,” he says in an even tone that only shows a bit of strain.
“Oh, indeed she does.” Marclinus flashes a grin at us. “Her goblet had a rather vicious poison in it, I’m afraid. She has perhaps ten minutes before it shuts down all her essential organs.”
On the floor, Aurelia sucks a breath through her teeth with a hiss that sounds as furious as it does desperate. Her sleeve rustles across the carpet with a groping of her arm.
My heart hammers at my ribs. What under the god’s gaze is this psychopath actually after?
I yank my gaze away from Aurelia’s form sprawled by the table and find that our emperor is watching the four of us , not his wife.
A rush of cold prickles over my skin.
He’s testing us. Evaluating our reactions to her distress.
Why?
As my thoughts whirl, I will my stance to stay loose, my expression merely confused. Does he think we’ll reveal approval at the idea of her death… or a deeper concern than he’d expect from mere acquaintances in court?
Every twitch of her limbs and ragged breath brings me back to the night she collapsed in front of us in her bedroom, after I poisoned her, if mostly accidentally. Guilt knots my stomach.
What does Marclinus want from us? What’s the right response that’ll have him save her?
Gods smite him, does he even intend to?
Aurelia’s pale hand twists against the rug, the motion catching my attention. She repeats the brief gesture once more, swift but clear.
It’s Lorenzo’s sign to say all’s well. She’s telling us not to intervene. To pretend there’s nothing horribly wrong with the entire situation.
She’d know best what her husband is after, wouldn’t she?
Neven’s voice quavers. “Why are you doing this to her?”
Raul speaks up before Marclinus needs to answer, in a wry but firm tone that I’m sure is controlling a more fraught emotion. “She must have offended the empire or our emperor in some unforgiveable way. In which case, our foster brother is completely justified.”
It’s the perfect explanation for his lack of action without leaning too far into concern or rancor. I stiffen my spine. “Absolutely. Nothing good comes of violating Dariu’s laws.”
Lorenzo’s jaw is still clenched, but after a glance around at us, he sits himself back down. His expression stays grim but not outright frantic.
They’re reining in their emotions that well for her. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen either of them so willfully controlled.
She’s been putting on the riskiest performance of her life to overturn the entire empire. The least we can do is hold our tempers to save her.
Marclinus gives a light laugh. “You have so much faith in my judgment. I appreciate that. But no, my lovely wife hasn’t done anything wrong at all. I was merely curious about a few things.”
He’s brought her to the verge of death out of curiosity ?
If I didn’t know one of the things he’s most likely curious about is how invested we are in her fate, I’d be springing off this chair to punch him in the face.
What good would that violent act do Aurelia anyway? We’re even more helpless than the night I meddled with her stew. At least then, we could have decided to summon a medic.
We can’t help her at all while the man who rules over us wants her laid low. He’d simply have his guards haul us away.
All the same, my mind launches into a panicked calculation behind my dispassionate mask. If all of us lashed out with our gifts right now, the guards would focus on protecting their emperor first. Is it possible we could spirit Aurelia away in the chaos?
What would be the point of trying when she’s now down to seven or eight minutes of life and we have no idea how to heal her?
This frozen, desperate despair feels all too familiar. It harkens all the way back to the first time I had to stand by while Darium soldiers beat a man to death in the street outside my old palace, when I was all of five years old with my father’s hand gripping my shoulder like a warning.
I’ve never known how to fight back without losing even more.
Aurelia’s the only person I’ve ever met who’s strong and smart enough to pull it off. Unless she’s lost that gamble after all?
Another chuckle cuts through my anguish. Marclinus beckons the slender man who entered earlier toward Aurelia and leans over to peer down at his wife. “My darling, I’d like to confirm that your gift is working properly. Use it to tell us what substance would work as an antidote to the poison that’s afflicting you.”
For a few agonizing seconds, there’s only the strained rasp of Aurelia’s breath. Then she spits out, “Cottermish.”
Marclinus’s gaze flicks to the other man to confirm. He dips his head before fishing a packet out of his pocket.
As I stare at him, a twinge of recognition hits me. I think he’s one of the palace medics .
I’ve never paid all that much attention to their faces. Without the typical white robe showing his dedication to Elox, I didn’t make the connection.
The emperor smiles down at his dying wife. “Very good. It appears your gift is functioning as it should. You may have some of that cottermish now. I was concerned that something might have gone wrong with your blessing from Elox after you failed to come up with a cure for my father.”
My teeth set on edge, but I keep silent. Raul does as well, even though in that moment his glare looks potent enough to sear Marclinus’s head off.
Neven doesn’t have as much self-control—or as much awareness of how much we’re hiding.
“That isn’t fair,” he bursts out. “We all saw Aurelia try to help Emperor Tarquin. He passed so quickly—how would she have had time to make any cure? None of the palace medics could do anything with their gifts either.”
As the medic crouches by Aurelia’s head to feed the contents of the packet into her mouth, Marclinus slides his gaze to our youngest foster brother. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
But the emperor simply shakes his head with a rueful grin. “So young and so na?ve. Everything is worth testing when it’s a matter so serious.”
Neven frowns, but Raul touches his arm, and he heeds that warning. The kid slumps in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.
In a minute, Aurelia is steady enough to get to her feet. She slides into her chair, her face gone sallow but her spirit as unshakable as ever.
She meets Marclinus’s gaze without flinching. “I’m glad to have cleared up any doubts about my gift.”
“Yes, excellent, excellent.” He pushes her poisoned goblet aside and offers his own. “Have a little undoctored wine and enjoy yourself now. We can all have a pleasant evening.”
I force myself to reach for my own glass, even though I feel ready to vomit.
Did we manage to quell his other suspicions? What will he do to Aurelia if more doubts arise?
No matter what the ordinary citizens of Dariu or our country’s soldiers think of their new empress, she’ll never be safe. Marclinus has just proven that the greatest threat to her survival is the man she has to welcome into her bed.