Page 130 of A Pact of Blood

Quite literally, from what I know about the gift he sacrificed more than half of his teeth for. I’m not sure how his skills might come into play effectively, but it certainly can’t hurt to have the option of calling on him.

Bastien gives Neven his most authoritative look. “Stay cautious. Check with us before doing anything, all right? We’ve been working on this problem for a while.”

“Yeah, of course,” the kid mutters, but his gaze sweeps warily over our surroundings as we continue.

I don’t bother hiding us more than the darkness already does while we walk into town. As we reach the narrower streets with their tan and dun buildings packed closer together, I extend my illusionary power again to tweak ourfacial features and turn our clothes drabber to fit the regular civilians around us.

It’s actually less difficult than convincing the entire court that I’m playing the most breathtaking music they’ve ever heard, and I can keep that up for a couple of hours. I don’t think we should push my limits too far, but we do need to return and get some sleep if we’re going to be of any use to Aurelia tomorrow.

Bastien points out a temple of Estera, its tall spires poking above the nearby rooftops. We find lanterns still smoldering on either side of the entrance and a few petitioners to the godlen of wisdom praying inside.

As the cleric passes through the room with a book tucked under her arm, Raul dips his hand into a shadow that courses all the way along the wall. The shapes in an alcove shift into an image of a crowned woman spreading her arms as if offering herself to those watching.

The cleric halts in her tracks with a sharp inhalation. Raul releases the shadow, and the image flickers away.

The woman hustles over and starts murmuring to one of her devouts, no doubt spreading the word of the “sign” she witnessed.

The temple is too quiet for me to conjure voices in supposed conversation for a more overt message in Aurelia’s favor. We retreat and find a bustling pub a couple of streets over.

The tang of alcohol tickles in my nose, and a puff of hazebloom smoke blurs my vision on the way in, but the packed tables offer plenty of opportunity. As Raul obscures our forms with his shadows, I aim an illusionary voice to carry into one of the densest knots of customers with a gossipy lilt.

“Isn’t it good to see the emperor and empress back at home?Did you hear that Her Imperial Highness carried a man twice her size up a tower to complete Creaden’s rite?”

I ease closer to make out the eager and surprised responses before adding another remark in a different cadence from a different direction.“She cares enough about us to show her dedication—and the gods must think she’s worthy too!”

A few people glance around briefly, but then they continue chattering like the others, just assuming it’s all part of the regular bar conversation. It wouldn’t occur to them that someone would be adding to the din with magic. They hear what sounds like a fellow patron speaking and don’t analyze the fact any further.

That’s how illusion works best, really. You give people something they wouldn’t be surprised to see or hear anyway, and it takes no effort at all to?—

I freeze in place with a skip of my heart.

Bastien catches my expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,”I say, my heart starting back up at a pace that’s almost giddy.“It might be very right. I think I know how we can spare our empress from that last awful rite.”

Chapter Forty-One

Aurelia

As I lunge and sidestep, another wave of fatigue rolls over me. My sword-arm wavers, and Raul smacks the blade aside.

His frown looks more worried than annoyed. “You need to keep your weapon steady. Your opponent isn’t going to care about politeness—he’ll be hitting you as hard as he can. Trying to do as much damage as possible before the inevitable.”

While I’m doing my best to prevent the inevitable outcome of the rebel’s death.

This scenario might play out easier if we could convince the prisoner ahead of time that I’m not aiming to kill him, that we’re going to see him safely out of the emperor’s hands. But there are too many things that could go wrong.

We don’t know which of the rebels beingtransported to the capital I’ll be set against in the arena. We can’t be sure the secret won’t slip out, accidentally or out of skepticism.

And the battle for the rite needs to look real, or someone will suspect foul play.

Which means I need to be a good enough fighter to look as if I’ve killed a man without actually killing him.

I bite my lip and adjust my grip on the hilt of the short sword Raul lent me. “It’s taking time to get used to the weight.”

“You need to get used to it fast. The prisoners are supposed to be here any day now. There’s no way you’re winning an arena battle with that tiny blade you like.”

I glance down at my dress—will I be given any armor for the rite? I don’t even know that much—and the slim belt that holds the small knife Marclinus gifted to me.

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