Page 39 of A Dance of Shadows

The nobles around my table murmur noises of agreement, but their gazes look twitchier than usual to me. I catch one baron who’s often chattering with the emperor arching his eyebrow at his wife as if in response to Marclinus’s outburst.

Interesting. Is the emperor’s erratic behavior finally undermining his court’s dedication?

That seems like a useful attitude to encourage. The happier the nobles are to see Marclinus gone, the easier it’ll be for Aurelia to step into his shoes.

Maybe I can’t be sitting beside her, but I can help her cause in a way that might be much more useful in the long run. Let the noble pricks and the imperial asshole tear each other apart.

“Do you doubt the threat that wild magic can present, Baron Nonum?” I call out in a mocking tone. “You look as if you’re laughing at the idea of facing a riven sorcerer. I’d be curious to know how you’d fend one off.”

As the baron’s stance stiffens, Marclinus’s head jerks around. A sneer creeps into his voice. “Surely no one in my court is so idiotic to joke about riven magic?”

Nonum stammers his answer. “No—of course not—it’s only, well, we’re quite far from the eastern territories still.”

Marclinus snorts. “You’re an idiot then. A riven sorcerer could fly themselves across hundreds of miles in a blink if they took a mind to—and blast you to smithereens a moment later. That’s why we’ve routed them out of our empire so thoroughly. Be glad for that. Anyone else think their sick magic is a laughing matter?”

All the other nobles keep their mouths clamped shut.

“Good.”

As the emperor returns his attention to his meal, I notice a few more furtive glances exchanged between my dining companions. That’s whatI’dcall good.

I dig into my dinner with more enthusiasm than I might have mustered before my spark of inspiration, picturing the various ways I could expand on my gains tonight.

After dinner, Marclinus tosses a few exuberant remarks to the nobles around him and then hauls Aurelia off toward the bedrooms. My teeth set on edge, but I can’t be too vengeful when his disappearance suits my purposes.

She knows how to deal with him in private. It’s on me to sway public opinion.

I follow most of the court into the common room with its paltry selection of entertainments: a few decks of cards, a board game favored in Darium that I’ve never bothered to learn. No one pays me much mind as I seat myself near the wall off to the side of one cluster of card players.

I check that Marclinus’s personal guard is nowhere to be seen and dip my hand into the shadows beside my chair.

The latent energy in that patch of darkness tickles cool across my palm. I adjust my fingers, willing the shadows to shift into the shape I’m imagining.

A silhouette ripples across the wall—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a crown atop curls of hair.

The two nobles most directly facing the wall spot the image and go rigid. Their companions catch their expression and turn to look.

The moment I have the table’s attention, I flick my fingers. The shadowy figure of the emperor shudders and spasms as if having a fit. Then it disintegrates like a statue crumbling to dust.

Silence grips the nobles at the table for a few heavy seconds. They lean in to speak in nervous murmurs. I hold back my smile.

How many more “omens” can I conjure up before Marclinus loses all the adoration he so craves?

Chapter Fifteen

Aurelia

Ahitch of the carriage wheels makes me tense up, but only for a moment when I realize no queasiness has followed the movement. Thank the gods that my nausea has subsided now that I’m past the first few months of my pregnancy.

There’s plenty more to thank the gods for beyond the carriage window. The breeze ripples across the low, grassy hills, carrying a fresh green scent with just a hint of coolness. In the distance, a windmill turns at a leisurely pace alongside a river, surrounded by fields of crops and grazing cattle.

It’s as pastoral a picture as I could have imagined. Nearly asdifferentas I could imagine from the steep inclines and dense woods of my home country.

I glance at Bastien on the seat across from me, invited by Marc to give me a final instructional session before we arrive at Cotea’s capital tomorrow. “The land looks verdant enough here.You’ve mentioned the droughts before—but they’re mainly in the north?”

The prince of Cotea flicks his gaze warily toward my husband, who’s sitting next to me. Marc is giving every appearance of being absorbed in a record-book he’s been studying, but our conversation is hardly private.

When his imperial foster brother doesn’t stir at the mention of problems the empire hasn’t solved—and may in fact have caused—Bastien tips his head to answer my question. “The rainfall in the north is lighter, and with the increase in inhabitants and many of the rivers and streams diverted into canals—it’s thrown off the original equilibrium.”

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