Page 38 of A Dance of Shadows

Kosmel give me the wits to dodge her attempt at seduction without looking like I’m dodging it.

While Marclinus relates a joke that’s probably not actually funny but gets all the soldiers roaring with laughter, Lorenzo wanders into view. He pauses in the shade of one of the scattered trees along the road and glances toward our emperor—and our empress.

The downward tick of his mouth tells me he’s feeling the weight of our separation at least as much as I am. Well, I can talk to him without anyone thinking it’s odd.

I saunter over and tip my head to my foster brother. Lorenzo jerks his gaze to me with a vaguely guilty expression.

“I don’t think anyone noticed,” I say quietly. “Half the world is looking over that way right now.”

He exhales in a rush. We’re far enough away from Marclinus and his magic-sensing guards that Lorenzo conjures his illusion of a voice for my ears only.

“I keep going through my conversations with my family, trying to see what I could have said differently to convince them that she isn’t like him. But I think the real problem is convincing them thatI’mnot a pathetic simpleton who’s only worthy of pity rather than respect.”

I grimace in sympathy and bump my shoulder against his. “They don’t have the full picture. And they don’t really knowyouafter all this time. We realized every part of this plan was going to be a slow process.”

“I wish I felt like I’d made any progress at all.”

“Hey, we got her out of there in one piece and knowing how much we’re still with her. That’s the most important thing.”

Lorenzo rubs his hand over his short black hair.“She deserves so much more than that.”

“And so do you. We’ll get there. Your family will come around.”

I say that, but my gut twists at the same time. I haven’t wanted to dwell on what Aurelia’s first meeting withmyfamily will be like.

I can talk to them much more directly than Lorenzo can, but that doesn’t mean they’ll listen to me. In their eyes, I’m the hotheaded boy who’d rather punch someone than debate with them. Why should they trust my judgment in the most delicate matter of politics possible?

They’ll be analyzing her for weaknesses and points of leverage the second she steps into their view. That’s just how they are.

Aurelia can handle the scrutiny. I know she can. But I’m not going to enjoy watching it.

My gaze drifts down the line of the convoy and pauses on Neven’s pale-haired form. He tosses back a gulp from a bottle of liquor and leans toward the court musician he’s been mooning over for the past few months. A hint of a flush colors his tan cheeks. The other man touches Neven’s arm as he speaks, drawing him even closer.

“Looks like the kid’s making some progress in his conquest,” I remark. Bastien hasn’t been pleased about Neven’s choice in potential lover, but I can’t see any harm in it. The harpist has always seemed amiable enough, and I can imagine the visual appeal if I swung that way.

As long as the kid keeps his head and doesn’t spill any secrets that aren’t really his to share, especially when his lips are loosened with alcohol. Thank the gods we didn’t mention the wildest one we’ve stumbled on.

Lorenzo nods.“At least someone’s having fun on the trip. He should get a chance to enjoy his own dalliances. He’s barely even a kid anymore.”

It’s true. I still think of him as one, the image of his seven-year-old self arriving in the palace audience room lingering at the back of my head, but he’s almost eighteen now.

The harpist beckons Neven into his carriage. The prince of Goric follows with a shy grin and another swig from his bottle.

He’s hitting the drink harder than usual. Liquid courage, I guess.

Marclinus is just sauntering back to his own carriage, with a motion to Aurelia to get herself inside. Reining in the death glare I’d like to aim at him, I give Lorenzo a companionable knock of my elbow and head to my own vehicle.

The sun is already dipping toward the horizon. Thankfully I only have to endure a couple more hours of feigned flirtation with the vicerine before we stop at one of the Cotean wayhouses for the night.

The building is structured much like those within Dariu—with a large dining room, kitchen, stables, and common room on the lower floor and two levels of bedrooms above—but the lack of use shows. I suspect the local staff gave it a good cleaning when they heard we were coming, but the painted images of Jurnus’s sigil and patron animals have faded. A whiff of dust lingers in the air.

Marclinus’s high spirits from the fawning of his border soldiers appears to have faded too. He prowls through the doorway after a few dark glances toward the west, where the sun is just dipping out of view.

As everyone finds a seat in the dining room, our emperor remains standing by the central, throne-like chair at the head table. The chatter diminishes as the court notices his silent bid for attention.

He plants his hands on either side of his plate and glowers at all of us as if we’re part of some secret conspiracy. “We’re coming close to the Seafell Channel now. All those bastards who insult our empire are pissing around on the other side. Stay alert! They’re so afraid of us, they’ve started to welcome riven magic, of all the cursed things. And theyshouldbe afraid when I’m near!”

With that emphatic statement, he smacks his hand against the tabletop. Then he drops into his seat and motions for the wine as if he didn’t just spew out a paranoid rant. Aurelia shoots him a wary glance before accepting her own goblet.

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