Page 1 of A Pact of Blood

Chapter One

Aurelia

Istand next to one monster, watching another laid out on a pyre.

In the sunlight that streaks down over the immense city square, Emperor Tarquin’s pale skin looks as if it could be made of wax. The devouts who prepared his body may even have rubbed a little into his flesh. I’ve heard that’s done here in Dariu, for public funerals where they want the deceased to look at his or her best.

His sharp features form a stern expression. It’s too easy to imagine him opening his eyes and aiming his piercing gray stare at me.

At his murderer.

None of the medics who’ve examined him or the guards who were protecting him have expressed any suspicion of foul play. Word has spread through court and presumably the common folk as well that his death was caused by a failure ofhis heart brought on by old age. Exactly as I intended the potion I concocted to make it appear.

It’s been nearly two full days: the first dedicated to inquiry and private rites, the second to this public spectacle of mourning. No one has aimed the slightest accusation at me.

My plan succeeded. As soon as Tarquin’s body burns, any remaining chance of uncovering evidence will go up in smoke.

I’ll go on unimprisoned for my crime, jailed only in the gilded torture chamber of my own making.

My chief tormentor, the man who’s now my husband, steps up to the podium on the broad steps overlooking the crowd. The black silk of Marclinus’s suit turns his already pale skin even sallower, but that doesn’t diminish the stark magnificence of his chiseled face. The imperial crown gleams a slightly richer gold than the wavy strands of his normally wayward hair, carefully coiffed for this solemn occasion.

A slimmer gold band hugs his right wrist, matching the marriage band fitted around my own. I doubt it feels as much like a manacle to him as it does to me.

He cuts an impressive picture of a new emperor. It’s a shame so much beneath that stunning façade is rotten.

He gazes out over the sea of citizens also clothed in black—the color that encompasses all other colors, representing the full host of gods the departed has gone to join. Thousands of civilians have swarmed from the capital city’s streets into its largest square to peer at the dead emperor and his grieving heir.

Marclinus has always enjoyed an audience.

The murmurs and sobs dwindle with the recognition that he’s about to give his first speech as emperor. He lifts his chin, his well-built frame drawn straight in a commanding posture—every inch his father’s son.

His voice rings out through the square, projected by the amplification charm embedded in the top of the podium. “Good citizens of Dariu, you honor me and my father by joining us today to mourn our country’s tremendous loss. The great Emperor Tarquin ruled over our empire for nearly thirty years, bringing prosperity and security all across our great realm.”

Prosperity and security for those born of Dariu, at least—brought in part by stealing the same from the conquered countries of the empire. How many of my own people back home in Accasy have endured boundless suffering or even given their lives for Emperor Tarquin’s grand ideals?

What do all these Darium citizens make of the Accasian princess in their midst, the woman who is now by marriage their empress?

This is the first time I’ve stood before them as Marclinus’s wife. My only previous public appearance was as a spectator of a bloody exhibition in the city’s arena, when I was only one of several ladies vying for the imperial heir’s hand.

As Marclinus continues heaping praise on his father’s shoulders, I let my gaze drift over the crowd. Their attention is mostly fixed on their new emperor, but here and there, eyes flick toward me.

It’s hard to read the reactions of the common folk when they’re already downcast with mourning. Did that woman’s mouth tighten into more of a scowl at the sight of me? Did that man’s forehead furrow in possible consternation?

This isn’t how I’d have wanted to introduce myself to the people I mean to rule over—however much Marclinus allows me to share in his rule.

Perhaps I can start to earn their good willandset a precedent for sharing this very afternoon.

Marclinus finishes his speech to a wave of applause. As hesteps back to our spot in the middle of the gathered nobles and advisors, I touch his arm.

I pitch my voice low. “Do you think I should say a few words to show how committed I am to the empire and to you?”

From what I’ve seen of my husband over the past few weeks, there’s little he likes more than having everyone around him demonstrate their devotion. He never misses a chance to have his ego stroked.

“What a canny idea.” He prods me toward the podium with a nudge that manages to also be a subtle grope of my ass and raises his voice again. “My wife and your new empress would speak to you as well!”

I catch a brief mutter behind me as if a few of our noble companions disapprove of this move, but I’m already at the podium. The thousands of gazes settle directly on me.

Taking a measured breath, I gather my words. I don’t want to appear too grasping or self-important.

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