Page 3 of A Pact of Blood

It doesn’t matter whether they believe Tarquin’s death came about through natural causes. They can still consider it a strike against me.

Should I have waited? My original plan was to settle in for a week or two after the marriage before I made my final move.

But it’d alreadybeenweeks by the time I was actually married. Tarquin had put me through so much already, I couldn’t be sure I’d get another chance.

It might not have made any difference anyway. A death two weeks after a marriage could still be seen as a bad omen by anyone looking for reasons to be wary of the relative stranger in their midst.

Who knows what other incidents they might blame on my presence once they have that idea in their head?

I need to prove I’ll be a force for good as quickly as I can.

The fire blazes on. A smoky flavor coats the inside of my mouth. Marclinus is standing even closer to the pyre than Iam, the orange light dancing off his sharp features that echo his father’s.

I will tame this monster, whatever it takes, however long it takes. This marriage is the most important mission I could have been given. Even Elox—my patron godlen, the divinity who champions peace and healing—has urged me on this path.

I tap my fingers down my front in the gesture that recognizes all nine of our lesser gods with a more emphatic acknowledgment of the one I dedicated myself to. By the fire, Marclinus does the same.

When the blaze has dwindled to embers and nothing but a charred mass remains of the body and the pyre, my husband takes my elbow. We walk along the steps to the imperial carriage that led the funeral procession through the city to the square.

I’ve only taken a few steps when a dark mass whips through the air from somewhere in the crowd of commoners and splats against the skirt of my dress.

I jerk to the side, my hand instinctively dropping to the spot where I was struck. The blob that hit me has fallen to the stone steps.

The place where it smacked into the black silk is wet. When I lift my fingers, they come away smeared with the reddish-brown of old blood.

“Who threw that?” one of the guards is hollering, pushing toward the edge of the throng. Another flicks the tip of his sword against the projectile, and I see it’s some kind of animal organ—a liver, I think.

“Find the culprit and deal with them appropriately!” Marclinus barks, and tugs me onward. “Good thing black doesn’t show stains. Let’s be on our way before the commoners turn their mourning into a festival of entrails, shall we?”

Chapter Two

Aurelia

The open-top carriage makes a circuit of the square and several of the surrounding streets without any further bloody incident. Marclinus keeps up the same smile through the entire route: steady but subdued in recognition of his loss.

As the citizens we pass call out condolences and well-wishes to their new emperor, a merrier light glints in his eyes. They wouldn’t notice it, but I’m far too familiar with my husband’s moods.

He’s reveling in their adulation, enjoying every moment of this tour of mourning.

I’m sure he feels some grief over his father’s death. I’ve seen hints of it over the past two days, slipping through his unflappable front.

But I wouldn’t be surprised if on the whole he counts this turn of events as more of a win than a loss.

When we reach the wide street that leads the last short distance to the palace, a line of soldiers holds the lingering crowd well back from our procession. With a glance around us, I decide it’s safe to talk. I didn’t intend to bring up the comments I overheard from the one soldier, but it would seem careless to ignore the aggressive act that followed.

I tug at my skirt, where the bloody patch is now only faintly damp. “Some of the people aren’t totally happy to see me. I suppose your father’s funeral wasn’t the most ideal circumstance for an introduction.”

Marclinus makes a dismissive sound, swiping his hand past the small scar on his upper lip. “They’re upset, and that riles them up.”

Does he really think it’s reasonable for a civilian to have thrown animal guts at their empress?

“I’m also a stranger to them, from a country they know little about,” I venture. Accasy is the farthest flung of the empire’s territories, off in what many refer to as the “wild north.” I doubt nobles from back home have ventured as far as this city since my great-grandfather’s brother came as a hostage decades before most of these people were even born.

“If that worries them, you’ll soon cure them of it. You’ve adapted quickly.” Marclinus shoots me a slightly wider smile, though the cool evaluation in his gaze divests it of much comfort. “They didn’t really know my mother either, you know. She was Darium but from one of the border provinces, not all that often at court. But she earned so much devotion that less than a year after my father took the throne, the common people created a new festival to celebrate her and present her with gifts.”

His gaze turns briefly vague in recollection. “I still have the wreath crown they made for her, woven with leaves from every type of tree throughout the country. I never got to seeher wear it, and it’s dried and faded now, but it must have been something to watch her presented with it.”

I hesitate. Marclinus lost his mother due to complications of his birth. He never knew her at all. As callous as he can be, it feels like sensitive territory to tread into.

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