Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Aurelia
M arclinus’s travel arrangements appear to echo his ego. I’d have thought the huge carriage we’ve set off for Ubetta in was more than enough, with its velvet cushions on the benches, silk curtains by the windows should we want privacy, and gold plates with etchings of the imperial symbols all over the sides from base to roof.
Apparently not. Because a second, even larger carriage hisses across the paved road behind us, enclosed except for a locked door at the back and apparently holding every possession the emperor might wish to access while he’s away from the primary imperial palace.
He generously accepted one trunk of my own clothing inside, for my use once we reach Ubetta. For the week of the journey, I’m restricted to the two loaded onto the carriage we’re riding in.
Clothes are hardly my biggest concern at the moment, though. I can’t help noticing that the color and grain of the polished wooden walls around me and those of the vehicle behind me look like bream cedar. The faint sweetness that seeps through the smell of the varnish makes me queasy.
How many of the Accasians forced into service died just to transport the breamwood logs that created this vehicle down to Dariu? How many were maimed and left destitute on the empire’s orders?
It’s arduous work and a dangerous journey, which is exactly why no emperor or empress has wanted to send their own citizens up to the wild north to carry it out. Certainly not while they have plenty of conquered subjects they can command instead.
My parents and grandparents and generations of Accasian royals before them have attempted to moderate the breamwood trade as well as they can. We don’t have much leverage when too forceful a complaint could be claimed as treason.
An executed ruler does their citizenry no good at all.
There’s an Accasian one step from the imperial throne now, though. So many ills I want to heal—I simply have to play my cards right.
I peer out the window at the passing terrain, rolling grassy hills baking beneath the blazing summer sun. My thoughts drift down the line of carriages behind us.
Where in the caravan of court nobles are the foster princes riding? How are they faring since last night’s torment?
Those are questions I don’t dare ask or even show a hint of while my husband lounges on the bench across from me.
To my relief, Marclinus appears to have simmered down since last night’s cruel intensity. He’s spent the first few hours of our journey paying more mind to a sheaf of reports and records he’s spread out on the cushion next to him than he has to me.
I’m not sure what it’d be safe to say to him, so for now I’ve kept quiet. We’re going to be spending a whole week on the road to the site of the Prospiran confirmation rite. I’ll have no shortage of my husband’s company.
I can bide my time.
A squadron of cavalry trots at the head of the imperial convoy, with more flanking our carriage. Our personal guards sit on the carriage’s outer benches. Kassun is among those riding with us today, and his brief tip of his head to me in respectful acknowledgment heartened me a little.
All the same, memories of the attack during the parade flash back to me at random moments. I mostly keep my composure, letting the flickers of panic wash through me and subside. But when one of the mounted soldiers veers toward my window abruptly, I can’t restrain a flinch.
Marclinus’s head ticks upward. I brace my hands against the bench to steady myself, and the soldier doesn’t even glance my way. She was only dodging a large rock on the field close to the road. After a moment, she eases farther away from our carriage again.
My husband studies me. “Axius vetted the full military host personally. He wouldn’t have risen to the top of our military ranks if he didn’t know what he’s doing—and he’s aware I’ll have his head if there’s another attack.”
I offer a sheepish smile. “I know. But being certain of a thing in your head and convincing your bodily instincts of it are rather different matters, aren’t they?”
Marclinus’s lips curve slightly upward in return. “I suppose you have a point. It does remind me, though—I had something forged for you…”
He digs through the small trunk by our feet and retrieves a slim knife. The sheath gleams with a trim of intricately carved gold, but the grip is covered in smooth leather, and the entire weapon is barely longer than my hand.
Marclinus hands it to me. “I gathered from what I heard of your combat lesson that you prefer a discreet blade. It does seem suitable for a woman who prefers not to fight at all. Still, you should be able to take some comfort that you can defend yourself if need be.”
I draw the blade from the sheath and turn the knife experimentally in the air. It’s light enough not to strain my wrist but maintains a heft that reassures me it can get the job done. My fingers fit perfectly around the grip.
My husband wasn’t even present for my one lesson so far, but he’s observed me closely enough to specify a weapon utterly suited to me.
“Thank you,” I say, with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. And then, because I doubt I’ll get a better opening than this one, “Do you think I need to fear attack from parties within our own court?”
Marclinus cocks his head. “What do you mean?”
I motion vaguely toward the procession of carriages behind us. “You seemed concerned about your foster brothers’ loyalties. Have you seen any reason to believe they pose a threat? Should I be particularly on my guard around them?”
My husband’s gaze lingers on me a beat longer than is comfortable before he replies. “If I had evidence that they were working against me, I’d have already eliminated the threat. I simply thought it was wise to remind them who holds the power in the empire, even if they’re royalty at home.”
If he had ulterior motives regarding my reactions, he clearly isn’t going to admit as much.
I can’t risk my concern for the princes bringing more harm down on them. What can I say that would sound like a woman considering them a problem rather than allies?
I rub my chin thoughtfully. “I suppose they do seem to keep to themselves rather than mingling much with the rest of the court. That sort of detachment is a little concerning. If they were going to conspire together, they’d have plenty of opportunity.”
Marclinus leans back in his seat, his fingers tracing over the hilt of the dagger sheathed at his own hip. “You raise a reasonable point, wife. How would a dedicat of Elox propose we address that concern?”
How indeed?
I make a show of pondering, my mind racing through the possibilities. I need something that would deflect suspicion without disturbing my secret lovers more than necessary.
“Perhaps they need to be prodded to integrate more with the rest of the court,” I suggest. “Have them spend the rest of the journey to Ubetta apart, riding with different groups of nobles. If they come to see your allies as friends, so much the better. And your allies could inform you if they notice any seditious inclinations.”
Marclinus laughs. “I don’t know how friendly my nobles will be to them , but the gist of your strategy has merit. It’s possible my father was too lenient on them, allowing them to shun the rest of us when they took a mind to. Let them shun each other for a little while. I like it.”
That isn’t how I’d have put it, but his approval settles my nerves. His expression has relaxed, no more hawk-eyed stare.
The sooner he trusts my advice, the sooner I may be able to sway him in the directions I actually want.
On the second morning of the trek, Marclinus glances around as we’re heading back to our carriage with a jaunty air. “I fear we’ll become boring if we spend too much time just the two of us, wife. Why don’t we pick a few companions to share our carriage until lunchtime?”
He doesn’t even wait for my response before waving toward Bianca at one of the other carriages. “Vicerine Bianca, I’d enjoy your company for the morning. Ah, and Marchionissa Pontelle, I’m sure you’ll offer lively conversation as well.”
His gaze slides back to me, his gray eyes glinting. Waiting to see who I’ll suggest.
Is he still thinking about the princes—wondering whether I’ll take an excuse to spend time with them under the cover of the strategy I put forward yesterday?
I’m not that much of an idiot.
I catch sight of Raul standing by one of the carriages with a few of the other nobles and twitch my hand at my side in a subtle gesture of apology. His gaze passes over me as if he’s barely noticed me, but he gives a brief nod a moment later.
Who here can I safely invite who won’t make me feel as if I’ve asked a viper on board? I cast my attention farther and spot a couple of ladies who recently arrived for a stint at court—two baronissas married to each other.
I turn back to Marclinus. “Why not Baronissas Damina and Hivette? I haven’t had much chance to get to know them yet.”
And given their romantic inclinations, I may be spared watching my husband paw at four other ladies in front of me rather than just one or two.
Marclinus shows no sign of disappointment. “An excellent gathering. Let them join us, and we’ll be on our way.”
As Bianca climbs into the carriage after me, she shoots me a crooked smile that looks apologetic. I offer one in return that I hope shows I don’t resent her presence.
It isn’t as if anyone can refuse the emperor, even if she would have wanted to.
“I hope you’re well,” I say politely, remembering our fraught conversation over my cauldron.
She bobs her head a little more emphatically than is necessary. “Quite, thank you, Your Imperial Highness.”
Then Marclinus is clambering after us and tucking his hand over her thigh, and all I can do is watch and chatter as if this is the life I always dreamed of.
On the third day, as we partake of the lunch prepared at one of the waystations along the road, Counsel Etta and Cleric Pierus approach the imperial carriage. Marclinus has opted for boredom after yesterday’s socializing, so there’s plenty of room when he motions them inside.
Etta brushes her hands together and gets straight to the point, her close-set eyes fixing on me. “Your Imperial Highness, I gather you’re intending to participate in Prospira’s rite as you did Estera’s?”
I sit up straighter and set aside the roll I was eating. “I am.”
Are they making preparations now? We still have a few more days before we’re even near the temple where the rite takes place.
Pierus purses his lips and looks at Marclinus as if he expects the other man to weigh in. My husband merely waits with a mild expression for them to go on.
The cleric seems to decide it’s better to focus directly on me. “You may find this rite more… demanding than Estera’s. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself in an uncomfortable situation.”
I can’t tell whether he’s truly worried about my wellbeing or making up an excuse to ensure the sole focus is on his emperor.
“You could explain what’s involved, and then I’ll be prepared for whatever it’ll require from me,” I say.
Marclinus tsks at me before his advisors need to say anything. “You know that advance knowledge is reserved solely for those of the imperial line, Aurelia. If you’re concerned that you won’t be able to face the challenge without it, you’d be better off sitting this one out.”
The last thing I want is to appear cowardly or insecure in front of him. “I have all faith that I can earn Prospira’s approval as I did Estera’s. I was simply hoping to address the worries it appears Cleric Pierus has.”
My husband raises his eyebrows at the cleric. “I think she has you there.”
Pierus’s round face reddens. “I don’t mean to diminish Your Imperial Highness’s abilities. It is already irregular for the imperial consort to participate—we have to think through every eventuality.”
Etta clears her throat. “It’s our job to be on guard against any circumstance that might diminish the emperor and his associates in the eyes of the larger public.”
I meet her gaze steadily, even though my stomach has twisted. “Then I’ll make sure to confront the task with all the strength and courage they’d expect from the imperial family. My goal is to increase the confidence of the public and set their minds at ease. I won’t let myself fail.”
Marclinus has drawn his dagger. He spins it between his fingers as he sometimes likes to do as he’s thinking. “I would never criticize your strength, wife. But if I tell the people to respect you, they will. ”
Like the soldier who tried to stab me did? Like my own guard muttering insults in the palace gardens?
Etta tries again. “There will be more pressure with such a large audience. It may be harder to maintain your composure.”
While I bleed to water a plant, as Bastien determined might be the case? How much more is there to this rite?
It doesn’t matter. I’ve committed to this course, and I have too many people to prove myself to before I’ll be more than a pretty doll on the emperor’s arm.
“I’m no stranger to crowds. I promise I won’t embarrass myself or my husband.” I glance at Marclinus. “And I feel respect earned directly is more valuable than that which is demanded.”
“Reasonable enough.” He points his dagger toward his advisors. “It appears my wife’s mind is set. Why shouldn’t more people beyond our court get to witness her commitment? I look forward to the demonstration myself.”
He aims a grin at me so fierce my skin starts to crawl.
No matter what this trial brings, I cannot fail.