Page 17 of A Pact of Blood

A few paces into the room, my steps slow.

The hexagonal space is as large as my opulent imperial bedroom, but the only furniture it holds is a round table so vast that I’d have to stand on a stool to reach even halfway across. It gleams with fine marlwood, but most of its top shimmers in an unnatural way.

The effect is enhanced by the sunlight streaming down from above. The room’s walls contain no windows, only amural of a sprawling landscape with a battle in one nook, a peaceful farm in another. The illumination comes from several glass panes set in the ceiling, forming an enormous skylight.

As I take all that in, most of the room’s other occupants move closer around the table. I jerk my gaze from the ceiling to take them in.

All four of the main imperial advisors—who served Emperor Tarquin and who I suppose his son has inherited—were waiting for us. The cleric among them in his purple robes for Creaden bobs his head to me in acknowledgment after a deeper bow to his new emperor. He even offers a small smile.

The two solely political counselors eye me with similar uncertainty despite their nearly opposite physiques. Counsel Etta stands short and sturdily stout, her slate-gray hair pulled into a neat and simple bun that only emphasizes the squareness of her pale face. Counsel Severo has drawn his tall, slim frame even straighter, his pointed jaw working beneath the mussed white curls that contrast with his deep brown skin.

“Your Imperial Eminences,” they all murmur in greeting.

A louder voice carries from the far side of the table, which the fourth advisor hasn’t bothered to stir from. “Your Imperial Majesty,” High Commander Axius calls out with a hint of emphasis on the singular. “There was no need for you to bring your wife to this conference.”

Only a handful of soldiers have earned the highest military title in the empire, and from what I understand, Axius has held it the longest. He’s dressed in the same sort of airy noble clothes as the other advisors, but there’s so much steel in his burly frame and his dark gaze that it’s easy to picture him in uniform. His face, rigid and ruddy-brown as fired clay, does nothing to soften my impression of him.

I’ve only seen him in passing before. I don’t think I’ve given him any reason to dislike me. But who knows what he’d require to earn his respect.

Marclinus matches the other man in height but not in heft, his muscular body somewhat leaner in comparison. He doesn’t appear at all intimidated, though, as he steps toward the table with his head high.

“My empress will be accompanying me on the necessary travels. It isn’t as if anything we’ll discuss here today will be secret from her.”

High Commander Axius rubs the slight shadow of a graying beard along his jaw. “She won’t be playing any real part in the proceedings.”

“She’ll be presenting herself as my partner before our people. I’m sure she’ll impress them all the more if she’s fully prepared.”

Marclinus turns to me. “You asked me what to expect from the coming days. This meeting is for us to discuss our initial plans for the confirmation rites.”

I dip into a minute curtsy. “I appreciate your including me.” Then I shift my gaze to the high commander. “My only concern is supporting our emperor in every way and as well as I’m able.”

Axius grunts, but he raises no further protest. He remains on the far side of the table while the rest of us spread out along the nearer curve.

Marclinus aims a brief grin at me as if he really is glad I’m here. “This is one of our greatest treasures, created through several decades of magical work.”

He taps the tabletop, and the wooden surface ripples. An image forms on the smooth plane as if swimming up from the depths, the edges of the shapes sharpening by the second.

My breath catches in my throat. “That’s the entire continent.”

Marclinus’s grin returns, broader this time. “Indeed it is.”

An enchanted map sprawls across the table like a vibrant painting. In the eastern half, Dariu lies framed by the island of Rione to the south and Cotea, Lavira, and Goric to the north, with my much-missed home of Accasy even farther above. On the western side of the Seafell Channel sprawls the territory lost a century ago, the countries I know little about that managed to heave off the empire’s tyranny.

I suspect Marclinus brought me here more to show off than because he cares about how I fit into his plans, but it’s an amazing sight all the same.

A quiver runs down the center of me, tingling through my limbs. For a second, as I gaze across the lines of borders and rivers and mountains, a white glow spreads across the eastern territory, from Dariu’s capital to every corner of the current empire. Like the light of peace Elox keeps steady inside me.

It’s only in my head. Has my patron godlen touched my mind, sent that vision to encourage me in my purpose?

Eventually I could make that peaceful possibility a reality.

The flick of Marclinus’s hand demonstrates more of the table’s enchantment. With a few quick gestures, he expands the section containing Dariu so its expanse fills most of the table, the other countries fading away around it.

He motions to the capital where we are right now. The city of Vivencia is the largest on the map. “All right. I have four ceremonies to complete. Should we get on with them as quickly as possible?”

Counsel Severo clears his throat. “Many of your citizens are quite stunned by your father’s abrupt passing. We feel it would be wisest to… ease them into the transition. You should begin right away to give them confidence in your ascension, but spread the rest of the rites out so you don’t appear too hasty to dismiss the impact of his rule.”

Axius makes a scoffing sound. “Theyfeel. I think we need to show our people—especially those beyond Dariu’s borders—that we’re still united behind a worthy emperor.”

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