Page 58 of A Pact of Blood

All at once, I’m twice as choked up as before.

Every time Aurelia tries to nudge our new emperor away from his initial plans, she’s putting herself at risk of his wrath. But she’s taking that risk for all of us, maybe even more so than herself—for Lavira, for me just tonight when she interrupted my playing.

How much more will she be able to accomplish if she can simply survive long enough to see her hopes through?

Resolve sweeps through me, more potent than the melancholy that gripped my chest just minutes ago.“She can talk about our safety all she wants, but it’s only hers that really matters.”

Bastien studies me. “What do you mean, Lore?”

I ball my hands into fists, speaking through the growing ache in my skull.“We’ve hidden our full gifts all this time in case we get a chance to use them against the empire… She could overturn everything we hate about the tyrants. If there’s a moment when I have to choose between using my power in a way that might expose it and losing her—I don’t care what happens to me. Our old plans, all the secrets, mylife—protecting her means more than any of it. I’d rather die knowing she’ll keep fighting for the future we wanted.”

Raul blinks at me as if startled by my vehemence. Then he raises his own fist in the air between us. “I’ll second that vow.”

Bastien’s mouth curves into a crooked smile. “I can’t argue with your logic. To Aurelia and the end of the empire’s tyranny.”

We knock our fists together like we used to, years ago before all our hopes seemed lost.

Chapter Nineteen

Aurelia

Marclinus’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 andrecords 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.”

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