Page 52 of A Pact of Blood

Marclinus raises his eyebrows. “Looking to become a musician as well as a medic, wife?”

I shrug, keeping my reactions as casual as possible. “It would do to pass the time. An empress can never have too many talents up her sleeve, can she? Besides, the princes of the other realms need to remember how much respect they owe the both of us.”

The smirk that crosses my husband’s face tells me I picked the right tactic to get his agreement. “Indeed they do. By all means, requisition his services. Although I don’t know how much guidance you’ll get out of that tongueless mouth of his.”

I restrain a wince at his callous dismissal of Lorenzo’ssacrifice and stride over to the musician’s platform with my best imperious airs.

Lorenzo is just sending out the final notes of his most recent song. At the sight of me approaching, he hesitates. His gaze flicks to Marclinus before returning to me.

“Thank you for providing a lovely accompaniment to our evening,” I say, as formally as if we’ve never really spoken before, let alone lain entwined in passion. “I have a mind to see if I can uncover a little musical talent of my own. The lyre seems one of the simpler instruments. Lend me your expertise, and let’s see what I can make of it.”

He nods in acceptance, with a brief creasing of his brow that I suspect is worry for me, but I hope anyone watching will take as confusion. As he steps down from the platform, I curve my fingers in the subtle gesture to say,It’s fine.

Lorenzo offers me a mild smile, a deeper affection heating his dark gaze as he offers me the lyre. I attempt to position it in my arms the way I’ve seen him hold it. He adjusts my grasp, careful to touch only the instrument, not me.

Being this close but having to pretend I feel nothing for him leaves my heart aching. But it’s worth it to release him from his constant performing.

Lorenzo reaches past me to strum the strings, demonstrating the ideal pressure and speed. I imitate him a few times until the sound that resonates from the instrument is reasonably appealing. Then he leads me through the notes of a simple melody, adding a few at a time and watching to make sure I can remember the whole composition so far.

The strings dig into my unpracticed fingers. It must take many days of practice to start to build up the callouses that protect Lorenzo’s hands.

The thought brings back the memory of those handsmoving over my body with a sudden flush. I will down my reaction and train all my attention on my lesson.

When he’s taught me enough that I can play a short but sweet little song, if somewhat haltingly, I cast my gaze around the room as surreptitiously as I can. Is Marclinus distracted enough that he’s unlikely to push the prince into resuming his playing?

I can’t spot my husband’s golden-blond curls anywhere. Has he gone off with one of his lovers? That’ll make the rest of the night easier for me.

In any case, he certainly can’t give any orders if he’s not here.

I offer Lorenzo a polite smile. “Thank you. I’m not sure this is a skill I’ll pick up all that easily. I’d imagine you’ve been practicing for a long time.”

He accepts the instrument back from me with another dip of his head in agreement and a broad motion in the direction of Rione, as if to say he started in his early childhood there. I wonder how intensely he focused on that one familiar pastime after he was dragged here as a hostage. His music must have given him comfort—at least until Emperor Tarquin started exploiting it.

Lorenzo makes a stealthier motion of his hand that thanks me emphatically in return. He knows what my real goal must have been.

As much as I long to, I can’t tarry here next to him any longer without it looking odd. My husband might not be in the room, but plenty of people happy to gossip are.

I meander through the parlor for several minutes longer, but Marclinus never reappears. Well, if he doesn’t feel the need to host this gathering, I hardly see why I shouldn’t have some time to myself too, even if I’ll have to spend it less thrillingly than I’d imagine he is.

I slip out of the room and head down the hall toward thenearest staircase. A couple of pages go hustling by from that direction, but I don’t pay much attention until the emperor himself emerges at the bottom of the staircase I’m approaching.

“Ah,” Marclinus says with a tighter grin than before. “Were you going to turn in for the night? I thought of something we should take care of before we leave for Ubetta tomorrow morning.”

I have no idea what he could be talking about, but his measured tone sends an uneasy shiver down my spine. I’m still not sure whether I prefer him buoyantly chaotic or chillingly calculating. Both moods often lead to unpleasantness.

I lift my chin in a show of spirit. “I can certainly help you with whatever that is.”

He eyes me for a few heavy thuds of my heart and then motions for me to follow him in the direction I was coming from. “I’ll explain once we’re all together.”

Who is ‘we’?

Keeping my expression composed, I trail after him down the hall. He leads me to the audience room where we first met: the long, high-ceilinged space with its two thrones on the dais at the far end.

We haven’t held an official palace audience since Tarquin’s death. Will I take the seat that was once Marclinus’s while he claims his father’s, or will some lesser chair be brought in for me as his consort while the other stays vacant waiting for the next heir?

There’s no one else in the room at the moment except for one of the pages I saw earlier, who’s setting up a small brazier in front of the dais on a stand that brings it to waist height. As he lights a flame inside it, the other page hurries in carrying a wrought-iron rod about the length of my arm.

Marclinus accepts the rod from her and spins it between his fingers. “Very good.”

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