Page 61 of A Pact of Blood

Midway through the fourth day of our journey, clouds swallow the sunlight. By the time we’re preparing to set off again after lunch, raindrops drum on the carriage roof.

Marclinus grimaces at the ceiling with an overdramatic shudder. “If I have to listen to that racket the entire afternoon, I’ll go mad.” He leans toward the window and snaps his fingers at the guards stationed nearby. “Someone get Prince Bastien over here.”

My heart sinks. I scramble to think of some way to dissuade my husband from this course, but I can’t come up with any reason I believe he’ll consider to spare Bastien the strain.

Bastien trudges over through the rain, his damp-darkened hair bringing out the deep greenof his eyes.

“You called on me, Your Imperial Majesty?” he says evenly.

He must already be able to guess what this summons is about.

Marclinus gestures for him to get in with us. “Sit and use that gift of yours to clear off this horrible weather. Perhaps you can entertain us with some conversation as well afterward. All these days on the road do get awfully dreary, don’t they?”

“Indeed.” Bastien bobs his head to me with an impassive expression and clambers inside. Since naturally Marclinus isn’t giving up room on his bench if he doesn’t have to, I scoot over to make space.

It seems expected enough that I’d watch the prince of Cotea as he works his magic. I’ve never seen it done, after all.

I school my own expression into one of mild curiosity, tamping down the more avid interest and concern that both clamor inside me. Curling my fingers against the urge to grasp Bastien’s hand in support.

While the prince focuses on the storm clouds beyond the window, Marclinus calls over one of the barons to join our ride as well. The carriage sets off with a hiss of the wheels over the wet road.

Marclinus frowns at Bastien, but the prince’s face is so tensed with concentration that I don’t think he even notices. The drumming on the roof slows. A streak of sunlight beams across the nearby fields.

My eyes widen in spite of myself. I yank them away from Bastien to peer out the window on my side.

The darkest clouds are drifting away across the sky, off behind us where they won’t trouble us farther down the road either. Even the fluffier ones above are thinning into little puffs of white.

He’s really managing it. He’s using his gift to blow anentire rainstorm away. I can’t hear the warble of the wind from all the way down here, but I make out little eddies amid the tufts of cloud.

I knew he was capable of it—he’s known for that gift, after all. But no one else realizes what it really takes out of him, how much directed effort it requires to channel his actual gift into this purpose.

When my gaze slides back to Bastien, my pulse stutters. Other than a few reddish blotches, his skin has sallowed like it did after I branded him. His jaw has clenched. When he drags in a breath, an audible wheeze carries from his chest.

My thoughts dart to my tea box and the brew I made to ease his single lung before, but it’s stashed away in one of the tightly packed trunks. Marclinus turns to the baron and makes a wry comment about the contents of our lunch as if his superficial request hasn’t worn his foster brother ragged.

I swallow thickly and hold my tongue. I don’t dare show much concern of my own and provoke my husband’s suspicions.

Listening to Marclinus and his friend, I manage to interject a couple of comments of my own as if I’m engaged by their conversation. My attention lingers on the prince at the edge of my vision.

After a spell of sitting silently other than his raspy breaths, Bastien’s posture gradually relaxes. The rattle eases from his chest.

It might look equally odd if I ignore him entirely. And I do actually welcome the chance to learn more about the steadfast man I’ve fallen for.

I wait another few minutes before I judge it won’t add too much strain for him to talk. “I understand you asked for your gift with rain mainly to summon it rather than repel it. Droughts are a significant problem in Cotea?”

Marclinus’s eyes flick toward us. I keep my smile subdued, as if I’m only looking to make polite conversation.

Bastien tips his head, looking toward the window as if he could see his home country from here through the renewed sunlight. “You wouldn’t think so with the Seafell Channel all along our border. But the flatlands in the northeast don’t see much rain naturally. I think it worsened with the leaving of the All-Giver. And since the conflict with the western countries, some of the streams and rivers have been diverted into canals to better serve the fortresses closer to the border.”

He speaks carefully, not indicating any judgment over those decisions, but I can judge them myself from what he’s said. The Darium empire has put a significant strain on his people’s resources for their selfish ambitions.

Marclinus clicks his tongue. “Anyone there has the whole rest of the country to move to. It’s their own choice to be stubborn.”

Bastien looks as if he’s bitten back a sharp remark. His next words come out even more measured. “There are farmlands up there it’d be difficult to abandon. But we make do as best we can.”

Does Cotea produce some crop that the empire demands as it does Accasy’s breamwood? I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Your people can take comfort that their ruling family cares enough to take on gifts and the necessary sacrifices on their behalf,” I say.

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