Page 109 of A Pact of Blood

“It’s all right, Your Imperial Highness.” The woman’s voice is so warm with gratitude it’s impossible for me to disbelieve her. “Just helping us this much—if it works even a little—thank you so much.”

Murmurs are passing through the crowd, but they sound more eager than the earlier muttering after that man dismissed my confirmation rite.

Another woman pushes through the crowd toward me,raising her hand for attention while the other rests on a child’s head. “Empress! Can your gift work on sickenings you can’t see? My boy’s ear has been aching inside for a week now.”

One of the nearby guards clears his throat. “Her Imperial Highness can’t be expected to tend to every little?—”

“No,” I interrupt, with a swell of elation. “It’s really all right. I’m glad I can help however I can.”

This is what I’m meant to be doing here. This is what I came for. I may be healing the empire on only the smallest scale at the moment, but it’s a start.

After the boy with the earache, there’s a man who’s been suffering from breathing pains and an elderly woman who’s developed a scaly rash on her hands. All of them haven’t had the money to pay for a medic’s healing gift, and I suspect the old woman hasn’t even scrouged up enough for an herbalist’s cure, the balm my gift brings to mind is so simple.

As the number of revelers who’ve turned into spectators grows, Marclinus saunters over behind me. I don’t acknowledge him other than a flash of a smile, but I’m starkly aware of his presence just a step behind, watching the proceedings over my shoulder.

He doesn’t try to stop me, but he doesn’t offer any words of encouragement either.

Perhaps my husband is simply hoping that people will associate some of my generosity with him.

The next petitioner for my gift approaches the ring of guards with a wary glance at the emperor before focusing on me. The woman looks no more than a few years older than my twenty-one, her loose stringy hair indicating she’s unmarried. There’s a sallowness to her skin that niggles at me before she even speaks.

She places a thin hand on her belly, which bulges slightly on one side beneath her thin dress. “I’ve been feeling sick foralmost a month now. Can’t be a baby because I had my bleed. Hard to keep food down. Hard to work. If there’s any way to make it better…”

She trails off, sounding a little hopeless.

I ease closer so it’s easier to focus on her rather than the guards and the watching figures all around us. “Let me see what I can tell you.”

I gaze at her, calling on my gift.

For the first time this day, my mind remains blank. It’s as if there’s a dark hollow where the answers should have arrived.

My chest constricts. I’ve had that result occasionally before, but it’s never welcome.

Tamping down my own queasiness, I adjust my thoughts, directing them more toward comfort and secondary concerns rather than healing the main problem. Several images flit past my eyes, none of them contradicting what I already knew.

It takes a moment before I can speak. “I’m afraid I can’t see any concoction that could be brewed that would heal what ails you. It’s beyond my gift. A medic might still be able to?—”

The woman’s face has outright blanched. “I can’t afford a medic.”

I swallow thickly. “I’m sure we could help with that, considering your need. And I can suggest a few things that might soothe your queasiness and some of the other symptoms.”

Tears streak down her cheeks before I’ve even finished speaking. “It’s that bad. I knew something was really wrong. They kept telling me I was making a fuss, but I knew. Iknew.”

An angry voice bellows from somewhere behind her. “The empress helped all those others. Why can’t she doanything for Vinette who really needs it?”

At the chorus of frustration that echoes him, my pulse stutters. Is all the good I’ve managed to accomplish going to be undone because of the limits of my talent?

I reach between the guards to touch the woman’s shoulder, trying to offer as much reassurance as I can, to let her know that her fears and her pain matter to me even if I can’t cure them. The soldier to the left grunts in objection and starts to nudge me backward.

And a gaunt figure lunges past the sick woman to snatch at my arm. “You don’t really care at all about any of us, you bitch from?—”

His fingers claw at my wrist, the nails digging in for one painful instant. Then a small shape whips past my ear.

My attacker’s fingers loosen before the guards have even shoved him away. He stumbles back into the crowd, eyes rolling up as if to stare at the knife embedded in his forehead.

As the gaunt man slumps to the ground in the midst of the startled hush, Marclinus pushes forward. He eases me to the side, glancing at my wrist and then at the staring crowd while he spins another slim knife between his fingers.

He once threw knifes like that at me and nearly a dozen noblewomen to test our mettle. Today he used the same skill to protect me. I never even had the chance to reach for the blade at my own hip.

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