Page 30 of A Pact of Blood

If Lorenzo related his renewed faith in me to the prince of Cotea, it clearly wasn’t enough to sway the other man.

On the other side of the carriage, Raul slashes a ribboned sword through the air in flamboyant arcs, demonstrating the combat prowess I saw in the city’s arena a few weeks ago. He’s careful never to sweep the blade too close to Neven, who’s crumbling the edges of slabs of limestone with his bare hands and handing over the rough sculptures to an attendant striding alongside the carriage so they can be handed to one or another spectator.

Among the nobles of the court, it’s only the empire’s hostage princes who are being asked to perform. All four of Marclinus’s chief advisors have joined us in the head carriage, but they’ve been allowed to sit in dignified fashion, encircled by the demonstrations.

As we round a corner onto the road that’ll take us the rest of the way out of the city, thunder rumbles overhead. The clouds that have smothered the sky since we emerged from the palace have darkened even more.

I hold my smile in place and offer another wave as if the dim daylight and the dampness in the air don’t bother me. If the rain that’s threatening pelts down on us, is Marclinus going to carry out the confirmation rite drenched to the bone?

The voices of the spectators get louder. Plenty are cheering or hollering encouragement to their new emperor, but the words “bad omen” reach my ears.

I can’t stop my head from ticking toward the sound. My searching eyes can’t determine who said the phrase.

As I scan the crowd, I spot several civilians flicking their fingers down their front in the gesture of the divinities as they look at me. Their solemn expressions suggest they’re appealing to the godsagainstme rather than for me.

A woman near them swivels her hand in front of her in a warding motion we use all the way up in Accasy too. Her gaze burns into me as the carriage rattles past her.

My smile gets stiffer. I notice a man warding himself while he stares at me, and another woman doing the same.

They’re not daring to call out in open protest against their new empress from beyond Dariu’s borders, but they feel they need protection from my presence. Do they think the weather is another bad sign on top of Tarquin’s death?

I summon all the benevolence and serenity I can into my expression and my wave of greeting. I’m not the enemy here. I want to see all of them living happy lives—gods can be sure I care more about all of them than the man beside me does.

How do I convince them of that fact?

The curly-haired guard adjusts his position near my feet.My pulse skitters for a second before I’m sure he isn’t making any unexpected moves.

Surely he wouldn’t do me any overt harm in front of all these witnesses anyway?

Another rumble of thunder reverberates from the sky. Lorenzo’s lyre music mingles with it. An arrow arcs gracefully toward the clouds and pops with a shower of swirling sparks like a cloud of dancing stars.

And one of the soldiers who’s been marching next to the carriage swings around and heaves himself toward me.

I’ve been so focused on the guard in front of me that my attacker is nothing more than a blur of motion at the edge of my vision. In the space of a blink, he’s leapt up and hooked one arm over the side of the carriage.

He swings his other hand straight toward my bare throat with a blade gleaming in his grasp. A ragged shout of purpose bursts from his mouth at the same moment. “Remove the wild woman before she dooms us all!”

I yelp and flinch away, colliding with Marclinus. The guards around us heave to their feet, swords hissing from sheaths, the nearest whipping toward my would-be assassin.

Except the blow isn’t needed, because the soldier is already sagging over the side of the carriage. The dagger falls from his limp fingers to thump on the carriage floor. His dangling legs bump against the gold etchings he’s sprawled over.

The fletching of a brightly colored arrow protrudes from where the shaft plunged straight between my attacker’s ribs.

The carriage grinds to a stop. The guard who was about to stab the attacker in my defense steadies his sword.

We all stare at Bastien, who’s just lowering his bow.

He shot the soldier—he reacted faster than even the guards trained for that purpose.

He reacted that quickly to save me, even though he’s given every appearance of wishing I was already dead.

My jaw has gone slack. A swell of gratitude and something like relief fills my chest.

I haven’t really lost him after all, whatever good it does either of us.

I should thank him, but Marclinus speaks first. Perhaps that’s for the better, because he’s clearly put together at least some of the same pieces I have.

He waves to the guards. “Get this traitor’s corpse out of our sight and find out who vetted the villain. Then get this procession moving again.”

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