Page 25 of A Game of Veils

I push my mouth into an accommodating smile and wait out the last arrow above my head with only a brief skip of my heart.

There is a medic already waiting when I step away, a devout of Elox in the typical white robe. As she seals my arm with her gift for healing, I watch Fausta pose regally amid her three arrows.

Marclinus sets down his bow. His gaze slides along us assembled ladies, his mouth fixed in a smirk but his gray eyes hard as stone. It’s difficult to tell whether he’s taking pleasure in this announcement.

His voice is equally cool. “The lady with the weakest faith must be eliminated.” He glances toward Emperor Tarquin, who gives a tiny nod of confirmation, before going on. “Lady Timille, I’m afraid your lack of trust was quite dispiriting. We can’t let that stand.”

My gut lurches. The willowy woman claps her hand against her mouth to muffle a sob.

“No, please,” she babbles, stepping toward the imperial heir. “I can do better, I swear?—”

There’s nothing I can do. An imperial guard has already marched forward. I hold my face in a mask of perfect indifference.

Marclinus’s expression shows nothing but disdain as the man gouges open Timille’s throat.

Chapter Nine

Lorenzo

The melody flows from the strings of the vielle with every slide of my bow across them. With my eyes closed, everything but the music has disappeared.

There is no crowd of nobles chattering through my performance. There is no ruthless emperor watching, confirming that I’m paying my keep in accordance with his expectations.

The warmed wood of the instrument fits against my shoulder as if it’s a part of my body. My arm glides through the movements of the song as if guided by the godlen of creativity and dreams herself.

The music courses over me like warm sunlight beaming down from on high. For those fleeting moments, it’s nothing but joy.

I can only maintain the illusion for so long, though. As I play on, the effort of using my gift starts to prickle through my nerves.

A faint ache spreads through my limbs. The first jab of an emerging headache pierces my artistic reverie.

I have to keep going longer. I have to keep compelling my magical talent through my music. Everyone in my audience has expectations of how skillfully I’m supposed to work this instrument.

I’ve always had a knack for song. My unenhanced performance would still be enjoyable to the ears. Just not quite as impressive as they require.

Not for the first time, regret nibbles at my gut with an edge of resentment.

Why in the realms did I ruin one of my favorite pastimes for myself? There are few enough pleasures we’re allowed under the emperor’s roof, and I might as well have asked Inganne to destroy this one for me.

Nonetheless, the gift my chosen godlen blessed me with in exchange for my great sacrifice holds true. I carry on through a few more compositions before the pain expands far enough that I know it’s best to call it a night.

No one wants to see the entertainment vomiting his over-exertion all over the polished floors.

When I lower the vielle, scattered applause breaks out through much of the crowded gallery room. Emperor Tarquin sweeps his arm toward me. “Another lively performance from our Prince Lorenzo.”

He speaks as if I’m a dog he trained for his court’s amusement. I force a smile and imagine ramming my bow right down his wizened throat.

A pageboy appears at my side to take the instrument back to my chambers. My foster father avoids treating his royal hostages as common servants as well as circus animals, most of the time.

I remain on the low platform that served as my stage for a few moments longer, my gaze traveling over the nobles who’ve fallen back into their conversations. The dull headache continues to pulse at the back of my skull.

I can’t do much about my status here in the imperial court, but I sow more than musical appreciation when I’m able to. Who most deserves to be unnerved tonight? The prick who led his friends in badgering me this morning?

A new arrival at the nearest doorway catches my attention. Neven prowls into the room, his face set in its usual discontented scowl. He must be finished with his tutoring for the afternoon.

I’m never sure whether to be glad the emperor decided my older foster brothers and I had completed our necessary education or to miss the years past when I didn’t have to spend quite so much time in the company of his fawners.

Raul has positioned himself not far from the platform like he often does when I play, ready to stroll over in full intimidation mode if any of the nobles decide they’d rather hassle me than appreciate the music. I twist my hand in his direction with a few flicks of my fingers and a point toward the pale-haired teenager. Kid’s here. Better keep an eye on him.

---