Page 32 of A Pact of Blood

Should I find a way to mention Lorenzo’s suspicions about my guard? The curly-haired man might have made a disparaging remark before, but he did spring to my defense just as quickly as the others.

What reason do any of the soldiers or the crowd of civilians following along the road to the temple have to respect me? No one but the nobles and a handful of guards saw how hard I fought in the trials to win the title I now hold. I just had a man launch himself at me with full intent to kill, and allI’vedone about it is say a few words in mild gratitude to those who acted on my behalf.

Behind me, Bastien sends another arrow spiraling toward the clouds. I clench my hands against the urge to look back at him, to try to glimpse what’s going on behind his impassive face.

Such a difference one fleeting act can make when it’s the right one. In a split-second with one loosing of his bowstring, he turned every harsh word he’s spoken in the past several days, every glare he’s aimed at me, into a lie.

My gaze travels over the growing swarm of spectators as I offer another regal wave. Tension coils around my stomach.

Has Emperor Tarquin’s death had the same effect on Dariu’s people, only in the opposite direction? Every pretty phrase and smile I’ve offered could be dismissed as easily as Bastien’s vitriol if they associate my presence with the loss of their beloved ruler.

I can’t just sit here. I have to act myself—in some way that will overcome the tragedy my ascension has been tied to.

It’s not enough to tell them I’ll be a devoted leader or present a picture of one. I have to prove it to them.

Even Marclinus has to confirm his legitimacy, after all…

The spark of inspiration makes my pulse hitch. But this isn’t the time to play it safe. Some of Dariu’s people are already willing to kill me in an attempt to set their country back to rights.

I may have precious little time to convince them that I’m the woman who can right wrongs for them after all.

I glance over at my husband, who’s tipping his head to the crowd with a glint of his golden crown. The jutting stone towers of the sprawling temple building have come into view at the top of the rise ahead of us.

“Husband,” I say carefully, “all that’s required for this ceremony is that you navigate a relatively short maze. Is that correct?”

Marclinus’s eyes flick toward me. “That’s the gist of it. There are a few dramatics for effect, but easy enough to prepare for. There’s certainly no need to worry about my fate.”

As I meet his gaze, I force my smile to soften as if with fondness. “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be no challenge for you at all. I was only thinking—it’s clear there’s a little unrest focused on me because of the tragic timing of your father’s death and perhaps my coming from outside Dariu… I’d like to demonstrate to your people just how committed I am to serving them as their empress. Would it be an imposition if I went through the confirmation rite as well?”

Marclinus’s eyebrows leap up. Behind us, Counsel Severo leans over with a disgruntled sound. “A secondary confirmation would be highly irregular. I don’t believe it’s ever happened before.”

“And it’s meant for the imperial line, not the weddedconsorts,” Marclinus adds, but his tone sounds more curious than dismissive. “Couldn’t you simply hold them a festival or what have you?”

I look down at my hands in feigned modesty. “I suppose I could. But receiving a sign of the godlen’s approval should do much more to resolve any doubts in those who’d consider harming me. I’m not sure what else could have the same effect. The empresses who’ve been of your line and ruled the empire have gone through the rites as well, so I assume women aren’t excluded?”

Marclinus’s grandmother, the woman who ruled the empire before Tarquin took the throne, must have carried out these ceremonies, along with the handful of empresses who inherited the position before her. First born is all that ever matters, not one’s sex.

My husband looks over his shoulder toward Cleric Pierus. “I don’t suppose Estera would take offense to passing judgment over both of us, as far as you’re aware?”

The religious man opens his mouth and closes it again as he appears to grope for an answer. “We could put that question to Cleric Nellia at her temple. But we wouldn’t want to diminish the spectacle of your own rite.”

Marclinus snorts. “I hardly think that my wife following in my footsteps will make my own triumph any less. If anything, it would show even more of my wisdom in picking such a dedicated partner.”

Counsel Etta’s mouth has twisted. “Your Imperial Majesty… She hasn’t had all the same preparation as you…”

Marclinus shakes his head at her, his eyes gleaming with increasing enthusiasm. “All the better. It’ll be a real confirmation of her faith in the gods—and theirs in her.”

He turns back to me with a grin so sharp that my nerves jitter. “You aren’t fully informed of the details. It’ll be more ofa challenge to your wisdom than it is to me. There’d be no shame in rethinking the idea if you have your own doubts.”

A note of challenge resonates through his voice, punctuated by a crackle of distant thunder. I keep my smile on my face, but I’m abruptly sure with a sinking of my gut that Marclinus hasn’t warmed to the idea only for how it’ll benefit my standing with his people.

If there’s more to the rite than I know, he could tell me—but he hasn’t. Does he see my participation as a test of his own, to ensure I’m not actually the bad omen some of his people are claiming?

Or perhaps he simply wants to confirm my mettle one more time. If I’m overstepping with this request and fail, I can’t imagine he’ll feel the slightest shred of guilt about replacing me.

I can’t back down now. Then I’ll lose not only my chance to earn his people’s favor but perhaps any respect I’ve so painstakingly won from my husband as well.

I touch my hand to the bodice of my dress over the godlen sigil branded into my skin. “I’m sure Elox and what wisdom I possess will guide me.”

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