Page 29 of A Pact of Blood

I try not to think about the passion I shared with Raul here just a few nights ago or how much I’d like to pull Lorenzo to me now.

As the prince of Rione guides me through the passages, his illusionary voice quiets as if he’s being more cautious of his power slipping away from him.“I learned in the first couple years of having my gift that I could cast illusions into people’s minds even when they’re asleep. Which is a very convenient time, since they’ll assume that anything they encountered in that state was only a natural dream. Or nightmare, as the case may be.”

“You disrupt a lot of the nobles’ slumber, do you?” I murmur with amusement.

“Only when they deserve it. Unfortunately, a lot of them doa lot of the time. It’s convenient that there are plenty of unnerving folk stories and supernatural tales in the library to offer inspiration.”

Ah, so that’s why he lurks in the library nearly as often as Bastien does. “Who are we paying a call on now?”

“I think Lord Connus, one of the viceroys’ sons, is a fair choice. His rooms aren’t far over from yours one flight down, and he was trying to goad Neven this afternoon.”

“Sounds reasonable to me.”

We ease down a cramped flight of stairs and stop several paces over from it. Lorenzo leans toward the wood-lined wall. I can barely make out his features in the darkened space, but I feel the concentration tensing his body.

After a few minutes, a wavering cry sounds in the room on the other side, loud enough to filter through the wall. It’s followed by another, and then a wordless shout as Lord Connus must thrash awake.

Lorenzo lets out a faint chuckle. I grin at him, and he beams back at me as if my approval has doubled the victory.

It might not be much, but it is something. Little by little, we can pick away at them.

Even a mountain crumbles in time.

Chapter Ten

Aurelia

The open-topped carriage that’s leading our procession to the Temple of Boundless Wisdom puts all other carriages to shame.

The gold-gilded frame stretches half the width of the broad city road, forcing the spectators gathered to watch our passage to squeeze into a dense line along the buildings and crane their necks from the side streets. It’s twice as long, with velvet cushioned benches and smaller seats for as many as a dozen passengers to ride in luxury.

A gold statue mounted on the bow depicts two miniature soldiers holding aloft the imperial crest with its credoCONQUER ALL.More etchings of vines and flowers, animals and weaponry, gleam all along the sides and back.

By necessity, the carriage moves slowly through the streets, rocking with the plodding steps of the four harnessed horses. A contingent of twenty actual soldiers marches aheadof us, with several more flanking the sides of the carriage and many more all along the parade of smaller, less spectacular vehicles behind us.

These soldiers wear the ceremonial uniforms I’ve only ever seen here in Vivencia: black slashed through with dark gray and indigo, like the imperial guard uniforms but a little plainer. How many of our audience have ever seen the menacing garb the Darium army dons when enforcing Dariu’s rule abroad or doing battle as they attempt to reclaim their former territory across the Seafell Channel?

The memory of the black helms, jackets, and pants emblazoned with stark white skeleton bones sends a shiver down my back.

I keep my posture relaxed and my smile gracious, pretending nothing about this horde of military figures could disturb me. That some of their colleagues didn’t murder the first man I loved and so many other Accasian citizens besides.

There isn’t much else for me to do except offer periodic friendly waves, following Marclinus’s lead. My husband and I are poised on the highest bench at the fore of the carriage. Three from each of our usual host of guards crouch lower on the carriage floor, in front of us and at our sides.

I can’t say whether I feel more defended or suffocated.

The guard near my left foot by the middle of the bow hasn’t given me more than a glance, focusing his attention on the crowd along the road ahead of us. My gaze flicks to him periodically, watching for any hint of a threat.

Lorenzo warned me about a guard who made a disparaging remark about me in the garden yesterday. Based on his description—curly light brown hair, a scar near his eye—I believe it was this man.

If he makes any hostile move, I intend to be prepared. The other guards are close at hand, but they won’t expect an aggressive act from one of their own.

The prince of Rione himself stands farther back by the walls of the carriage along with his three foster brothers, each demonstrating a talent to awe the spectators. Naturally, Lorenzo has been assigned to tap into his gift, which as far as the rest of the palace knows is only for music. He glides his bow over the strings of his vielle.

The music doesn’t sound quite as divine as I’m used to from him, but I can’t imagine how much effort it must take to project his illusionary skill over such an immense crowd. He’ll have to moderate himself.

Next to him, Bastien is showing off a skill I hadn’t known he possessed. He’s using a decorative bow to shoot enchanted arrows up into the sky, where they burst into bright streamers and glittering confetti that rain down over the crowd. I suppose his secret gift for manipulating the air made archery an easier study.

After his first few impressive shots, I aimed an awed smile over my shoulder at him. The only response I got was a hardening of his expression.

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