Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Aurelia
T he music winds through the expansive parlor, so bright and spirited it almost shimmers in the air. Through sheer force of will, I avoid glancing toward the platform where Lorenzo is stroking his fingers over his lyre.
Marclinus hasn’t called on the prince of Rione to entertain the court since I suggested that the full company of imperial musicians made for a more appealing sound… until today. I hope the break did Lorenzo some good after all the times Tarquin pushed him to the limits of his gift, but it’s coming up on two hours since we retired here after dinner, and my husband keeps motioning for the prince to play on.
I’ve wandered past the windows and between the scattered armchairs and sofas more times than I can count. I’m sure I’ve spoken to every noble in the room at least twice at this point, all smiles and friendly chatter, hearing what else I can do to make them a little happier.
So I’m not lying when I sidle over to Marclinus after he’s just left off a conversation with Counsel Severo and one of the viceroys and rest my hand on his forearm. “This room becomes rather dull after a time, doesn’t it, husband? Perhaps we could suggest a move to the hall of entertainments.”
And perhaps he’d leave off prodding Lorenzo for more music with the change of scenery.
Marclinus clicks his tongue at me chidingly. “Is our court not enough to keep you from boredom? I thought you had more of a creative spirit than that.”
His jaunty tone tells me he’s teasing, but also that he isn’t at all bored himself—and therefore uninterested in changing anything about our evening. But his comment sparks a flicker of inspiration.
I smile at him. “That might be the answer right there. I do love a creative challenge. I wonder how I’d take to the lyre? If Prince Raul can teach me to fight, then surely Prince Lorenzo can offer his empress a quick lesson in his own skills.”
Marclinus raises his eyebrows. “Looking to become a musician as well as a medic, wife?”
I shrug, keeping my reactions as casual as possible. “It would do to pass the time. An empress can never have too many talents up her sleeve, can she? Besides, the princes of the other realms need to remember how much respect they owe the both of us.”
The smirk that crosses my husband’s face tells me I picked the right tactic to get his agreement. “Indeed they do. By all means, requisition his services. Although I don’t know how much guidance you’ll get out of that tongueless mouth of his.”
I restrain a wince at his callous dismissal of Lorenzo’s sacrifice and stride over to the musician’s platform with my best imperious airs.
Lorenzo is just sending out the final notes of his most recent song. At the sight of me approaching, he hesitates. His gaze flicks to Marclinus before returning to me.
“Thank you for providing a lovely accompaniment to our evening,” I say, as formally as if we’ve never really spoken before, let alone lain entwined in passion. “I have a mind to see if I can uncover a little musical talent of my own. The lyre seems one of the simpler instruments. Lend me your expertise, and let’s see what I can make of it.”
He nods in acceptance, with a brief creasing of his brow that I suspect is worry for me, but I hope anyone watching will take as confusion. As he steps down from the platform, I curve my fingers in the subtle gesture to say, It’s fine.
Lorenzo offers me a mild smile, a deeper affection heating his dark gaze as he offers me the lyre. I attempt to position it in my arms the way I’ve seen him hold it. He adjusts my grasp, careful to touch only the instrument, not me.
Being this close but having to pretend I feel nothing for him leaves my heart aching. But it’s worth it to release him from his constant performing.
Lorenzo reaches past me to strum the strings, demonstrating the ideal pressure and speed. I imitate him a few times until the sound that resonates from the instrument is reasonably appealing. Then he leads me through the notes of a simple melody, adding a few at a time and watching to make sure I can remember the whole composition so far.
The strings dig into my unpracticed fingers. It must take many days of practice to start to build up the callouses that protect Lorenzo’s hands.
The thought brings back the memory of those hands moving over my body with a sudden flush. I will down my reaction and train all my attention on my lesson.
When he’s taught me enough that I can play a short but sweet little song, if somewhat haltingly, I cast my gaze around the room as surreptitiously as I can. Is Marclinus distracted enough that he’s unlikely to push the prince into resuming his playing?
I can’t spot my husband’s golden-blond curls anywhere. Has he gone off with one of his lovers? That’ll make the rest of the night easier for me.
In any case, he certainly can’t give any orders if he’s not here.
I offer Lorenzo a polite smile. “Thank you. I’m not sure this is a skill I’ll pick up all that easily. I’d imagine you’ve been practicing for a long time.”
He accepts the instrument back from me with another dip of his head in agreement and a broad motion in the direction of Rione, as if to say he started in his early childhood there. I wonder how intensely he focused on that one familiar pastime after he was dragged here as a hostage. His music must have given him comfort—at least until Emperor Tarquin started exploiting it.
Lorenzo makes a stealthier motion of his hand that thanks me emphatically in return. He knows what my real goal must have been.
As much as I long to, I can’t tarry here next to him any longer without it looking odd. My husband might not be in the room, but plenty of people happy to gossip are.
I meander through the parlor for several minutes longer, but Marclinus never reappears. Well, if he doesn’t feel the need to host this gathering, I hardly see why I shouldn’t have some time to myself too, even if I’ll have to spend it less thrillingly than I’d imagine he is.
I slip out of the room and head down the hall toward the nearest staircase. A couple of pages go hustling by from that direction, but I don’t pay much attention until the emperor himself emerges at the bottom of the staircase I’m approaching.
“Ah,” Marclinus says with a tighter grin than before. “Were you going to turn in for the night? I thought of something we should take care of before we leave for Ubetta tomorrow morning.”
I have no idea what he could be talking about, but his measured tone sends an uneasy shiver down my spine. I’m still not sure whether I prefer him buoyantly chaotic or chillingly calculating. Both moods often lead to unpleasantness.
I lift my chin in a show of spirit. “I can certainly help you with whatever that is.”
He eyes me for a few heavy thuds of my heart and then motions for me to follow him in the direction I was coming from. “I’ll explain once we’re all together.”
Who is ‘we’?
Keeping my expression composed, I trail after him down the hall. He leads me to the audience room where we first met: the long, high-ceilinged space with its two thrones on the dais at the far end.
We haven’t held an official palace audience since Tarquin’s death. Will I take the seat that was once Marclinus’s while he claims his father’s, or will some lesser chair be brought in for me as his consort while the other stays vacant waiting for the next heir?
There’s no one else in the room at the moment except for one of the pages I saw earlier, who’s setting up a small brazier in front of the dais on a stand that brings it to waist height. As he lights a flame inside it, the other page hurries in carrying a wrought-iron rod about the length of my arm .
Marclinus accepts the rod from her and spins it between his fingers. “Very good.”
He continues ushering me toward the dais, handing the rod to me when we’re halfway there. My fingers close around the cool surface automatically. It’s heavy, and one end holds a broader metal disc that might indicate its purpose.
Before I can inspect it, a few more sets of footsteps draw my attention back toward the room’s entrance.
Another page is just escorting the three older foster princes inside. Bastien, Raul, and Lorenzo peer at us from across the room.
My stomach sinks. I thought we’d settled whatever Marclinus was concerned about the other night when he poisoned me. What is my blasted husband up to now?
Marclinus beckons the princes over with a sweep of his arm. “Come along, come along. We can get this over with quickly, and then you can go back to whatever you were occupying yourselves with before.”
Lorenzo shoots me a quick quizzical glance, but I don’t know what’s going on any better than he does.
While the pages depart, their work done, my and Marclinus’s guards assume their positions along the walls. Marclinus has me stop next to the brazier and stands at its other side. He waits until the princes have almost reached us before motioning them to a halt a few paces away.
Bastien gazes back at the emperor with an impassive expression, not acknowledging me at all. “What’s this about, Your Imperial Majesty?”
Marclinus folds his arms over his chest. “It occurred to me with our upcoming treks across the country and the recent unrest beyond Dariu’s borders that I should implement a concrete reminder of who you owe your loyalty to ahead of any consideration of your birthplace. You should be as dedicated to the empire as you are to your chosen godlen. So you should wear our brand as well as theirs.”
The rod wobbles in my hands. Gods help me, that’s what it is: a brand. I tip the broader circle toward me and make out the etching of the imperial crest.
CONQUER ALL. He means to conquer his foster brothers down to their very spirit if he can.
And make his wife a party to their humiliation. Marclinus tilts his head toward me. “Your empress will do the honors so that I can focus on ensuring I see no signs of revolt in any of you. Especially our prince of Lavira.” His eyes narrow slightly as he considers Raul.
Raul’s mouth opens and closes again with a tightening of his jaw. There’s no precedent that I know of for this act. Marclinus is acting out of pure tyranny.
But who can say what worse consequences they’d face if they refuse?
I don’t know why he’s spared Neven in the same fate. Maybe he decided the younger prince didn’t pose the same sort of threat—or that the others would be less inclined to accept his request if it included harming the teenager they shadow like protective older brothers.
No, this is about something else. As my husband’s gaze lingers on my face, I’m increasingly sure it’s mainly about me .
He poisoned me to see how they would react. Is he testing me now to see if I’ll balk at harming them?
Surely a little protest would make sense given my nonviolent inclinations, regardless of the target?
Marclinus gestures for the princes to sink down. “On your knees. Pull off your shirts so she’s got plenty of skin to brand. We’ll place it right below your godlen sigils, since I won’t claim to be above the gods. Wife, get the brand heating up in the fire. It won’t do much while it’s cold.”
The princes are already dropping to their knees and tugging off their shirts without further protest. My throat constricts so tightly that for a moment I can’t breathe.
I turn toward my husband. “I’ve never done anything like this to another person before. To inflict that kind of pain—I’m afraid I’ll falter and make poor work of it.”
Better to focus on how it’ll affect me than what I’d rather not do to the only men in this awful place I actually care about.
Marclinus simply shakes his head. “You’ll have to steel yourself and get the job done. If you’re going to rule over this empire by my side, you need to be able to deal out pain as necessary as well as take it.”
Bastien’s mouth sets in a tense line. “We’re perfectly happy to do what it takes to show our loyalty.”
He hasn’t looked away from Marclinus, but I know that message is meant for me. He’s telling me it’s okay, that they understand I have to do this.
All our lives depend on the psychopath giving these commands. And none of these men want to see my own in danger any more than I want to risk theirs.
With a lurch of my stomach, I place the brand end of the rod into the brazier. As the flames lick over the etched disc, my queasiness only grows.
My mind scrambles for any excuse I could use to divert Marclinus, to offer a different course of action he’d find even more satisfying without doing the same permanent damage. No options swim up through my whirling thoughts.
I could simply refuse. Claim I can’t bear it and back away.
And then what? He’ll probably do the branding anyway. The princes wouldn’t be any better off, and I’d have shown my husband that he can’t count on me for a difficult task.
Not to mention inflaming any suspicions he still harbors about my interest in his foster brothers .
This is the best way forward, even if it’s horrible.
Still, when the metal disc is glowing and I can’t put off the task any longer, my gut churns so hard I have to grit my teeth against the urge to vomit. I lift the rod, tensing my muscles to keep my arms as steady as possible, and step toward the princes.
Lorenzo is first in line, Inganne’s sigil showing in the middle of his chest, even darker than his deep brown skin. His gaze follows me as I approach with the searing tool.
When I’m close enough that my body will block part of Marclinus’s view of his body, the prince of Rione twists one hand in a few small, fleeting movements.
I belong to you.
All at once, I’m choked up for a completely different reason. He’s taking this act of possession and making it a bond between us rather than between him and the empire I represent.
As if somehow the agony I’m about to put him through could be a gesture of love.
A renewed swell of affection stokes my courage. Through the racing of my pulse, I clamp my jaw and press the brand forward.
The sizzle of it against Lorenzo’s skin makes my nerves jump so badly I almost flinch. Only the thought of how much worse I could hurt him if I lose my grip holds me in place.
Lorenzo gasps, and I jerk the brand back.
The sickly smell of burnt flesh trickles through the air. The brand mark shows as a ruddy near-black shape on Lorenzo’s chest.
He rocks into a sitting position, his expression taut. I blink away the tears that prick at my eyes as hastily as I can.
Marclinus speaks with no detectable emotion. “Very good. I knew you had it in you. Get the brand nice and hot again and then proceed.”
It takes all my will and the deepest well of calm inside me to keep my hatred off my face as I carry out his command. Raul waits for me without a hint of concern in his expression, though his pale eyes smolder with everything he can’t say.
I can only imagine how much rage he’s tamping down, both at the humiliation aimed at them and the agony it’s putting me through in turn. Marclinus could never imagine being as strong as these three men have needed to become under his vicious rule.
When I’m poised to go through with the act, Raul gives the same discreet, silent message he must have seen Lorenzo offer. I belong to you.
For all the signal might be an attempt to reassure me, the process is no easier with him. Even the toughest of the princes can’t hold back a grunt at the hissing impact of the brand.
By the time I’m approaching Bastien, my head feels as if it’s detached from my body. I can’t let myself sink into my queasiness or horror too deeply, or it’ll all spill out of me.
Bastien meets me with his back rigid and the same gesture as his foster brothers. I belong to you.
My husband could never be capable of such true devotion either.
Fresh tears well in my eyes. I force myself to press the brand forward.
Bastien’s face twitches, what little color his already sallow skin contains draining from it. At his stifled cry, I wrench the brand away.
A tremble runs through my limbs. There. It’s done.
Please, let this be the end of it.
Marclinus retrieves the rod from me and douses the brazier. “Nicely done, wife. You’re every bit as strong as I expected. Foster brothers, you may go.”
As he turns to set down the brand, I aim a hasty motion of my fingers at the other men. Meet me in the room below.
I hope I’ve conveyed my meaning well enough. I have to do something to offset the pain I’ve unwillingly inflicted on them.
They trudge out of the room, and Marclinus aims one of his sharp smiles at me.
What really provoked this cruelty? Could his suspicions have been renewed by my interrupting Lorenzo’s performance?
My listing stomach compresses into an aching knot. How can I protect the men I’ve fallen for if even the most innocent gesture sets them up to be punished?