Page 2 of A Dance of Shadows

My gut lists again. I already knew the late Emperor Tarquin was a terror of a man. Forcing his sons to live only half a life each, slicing one open as little more than a babe to maintain that scheme—in Marc’s story, his father is even more of a monster than I could have guessed.

And he raised not one but two monsters to continue his legacy.

I’ve been through so much with Marclinus that our entire short but fraught history together is overwhelming to contemplate. I grope back through my memories for certainty to center me. “When we spoke in the carriage about your initial response to the Lavirian uprising—when you said you’d have the local authorities crack down on the traitors—that was you. And it was your brother who changed plans and berated me over it.”

Marc’s grimace returns. He runs his hand through his unruly golden-blond curls. “I told you Linus made a mess of things. It turned out all right in the end, but if we’d started with a stronger strategy…”

He lets out a huff of breath. “I also told you he doesn’t trust you. It upset him to think you’d had any influence over our decisions at all. He was trying to ensure you didn’t interfere in the future.”

He might have been successful if I was a less patient woman.

I wet my lips. “And you approved of my joining in the confirmation rites, while he didn’t?”

Marc nods. “I want a wife who can hold her own with our people. Linus doesn’t like having any of his glory ‘stolen.’ Or for anyone else to see you as a ruler in your own right.”

But that means it was also Marc who refused to tell me any of the key details he was privy to ahead of time. Whether it was him or his brother navigating Estera’s maze, treading throughProspira’s vicious goldglobe vines, or ascending Creaden’s obelisk, he knew the key to making it through each ceremony unscathed.

He let me go into each of those potentially fatal scenarios unprepared so that he could make sure I held my own—even though he didn’t have to.

I pause, but it seems important to know: “Which of you did I actually marry? Who was in the temple with me before the cleric?”

Marc’s expression darkens. “Linus was there for the ceremony—but it counted for both of us.” He rubs the gold marriage band around his wrist, which I assume he must have obtained through other means. “He wanted to enjoy the festivities. I was the one whose hand you took at the end of the final trial. You ran through the fire tome.”

His mention of the trials stirs up all sorts of other uncomfortable memories. “I suppose the two of you planned those tests together, along with your father.”

“We had rather different ideas about what qualities it was most important to evaluate.” Marc’s eyes narrow as they flick toward the bathing room. “I wouldn’t have put you in a position where you were forced to overindulge and vomit. Or paraded you around the palace unclothed. If Linus is worried about any of the noblemen of the court having lustful thoughts about you, it’s his own damned fault.”

From what he said earlier, Linus is the twin most concerned with his own lusts. The pawing and groping, the public display of ownership in that waystation when he all but forced himself on me—those must have been him.

But what is Marc more concerned with? He said he prefers to focus on “strategy and practical action.”

“You normally handle matters involving the military,” I venture. “Both from a distance and in the field? You fought the prisoner from Lavira in Sabrelle’s rite.”

Marc’s satisfied smile answers my question before his words do. “I happen to think the ability to defend our empire is more important than romping with the court. Although obviously keeping the nobles happy is vital as well.”

Presumably the man in front of me is also the one who led the army into battle against the rebels in Rione several years ago. And the one who threw knives and shot arrows at me and his other potential brides during the trials.

Was he the twin who evaluated our forbearance by watching us scald our hands on hot serving dishes while we starved? Who expected us to dance on bleeding feet alongside the panther who killed my one friend in court, Lady Rochelle?

No doubt he designed the course the final three of us ran through, that tripped and scraped and nearly drowned us. That sent Lady Fausta, my main rival, tumbling to her death.

I don’t know how to confirm any of that without my resentment of those trials seeping into my tone, but it doesn’t really matter. Every one of the tests we endured was akin to torture. Marclinus observed us struggling through all of them without a hint of concern or regret.

Even if I can’t blame this man for the absolute worst of the horrors I’ve endured, he’s responsible for a sizeable portion. There’s no version of this story where he comes out the hero and his twin the sole villain.

Have the princes who’ve been his foster brothers for most of their lives ever suspected the duplicity? Raul, Bastien, and Lorenzo haven’t mentioned any strangeness from their childhood with the imperial heir.

I need to speak to the men I love as soon as possible. As soon as I can reach out to them without my husband or our guards catching wind.

In my silence, Marc clasps my hand. “I can handle the full role of emperor, the frivolities as well as the practicalities. I could have from the start. Sharing the authority with Linus is hurting our rule more than helping it now. That’s why I need your help.”

I start to suppress a shiver and then realize it’s better if I let him see it. “To murder him.”

“Yes.” Marc squeezes my hand and then gets up. He paces back and forth in front of me. “I might have focused more on my military training, but Linus isn’t a slouch. If I try to eliminate him through physical combat, it may not be quick. And our guards would sense any weapons wielded aggressively or other significant signs of struggle…”

He spins toward me and motions to the small knife tucked in its sheath on my belt behind my carry-pouch. “That blade I gave you wouldn’t get you very far, but the medics often use potions and the like to dull the senses or completely knock out a person when they’re in pain. Surely with your gift, you could concoct something similar to leave him incapable of defending himself?”

A fresh wave of nausea sweeps through me. Does Marc suspect that I’ve already done as much to him and his brother in the past? Is this the real purpose of his confession—to prompt one of my own so he can accuse me of treachery?

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