Page 9 of A Dance of Shadows

I keep my testing of the shadows tentative at first, just tracing the patches of darkness along the walls and beneath the nearest furniture. My ears stay pricked for any hint of movement or alarm from the one guard posted at the official door to Marclinus’s chambers.

His Imperial Fucking Majesty was joking and cavorting with his noble friends in the parlor when I left. He didn’t look inclined to leave any time soon. I’m assuming he keeps his guards who can sense magic near him rather than posted at his empty room, but nothing good will come out of getting foolhardy.

No shouts ring out or doors bang open to tackle a possible threat. I stretch my awareness farther through the shadows that touch every object in the room, and there’s no sign anyone’s noticed the workings of my gift.

Good. Then I can get on with my full purpose.

Deepening my concentration, I direct my power past the front sitting room into the enormous bedroom beyond. Somewhere in this apartment, there’s supposedly a hidden chamber where the two men who call themselves Marclinus switch off their role as emperor without any servant or guard being the wiser.

I trace the baseboards from the bedroom into a bathing room and a smaller side area where the shadows lick the edges of rows of jackets and trousers. Apparently no piece of furniture was big enough to contain the imperial prick’s wardrobe, so he has a whole room just for his attire to live in.

Most of the walls contain only shreds of shadow between the layers of their construction. But when I pass over a spot next to the bedroom’s fireplace, I sense a deeper well of space behind what would otherwise feel like a built-in bookcase.

I push my gift farther, and my awareness tumbles into another room—smaller than the bedroom it’s attached to but still plenty spacious. More bookshelves line the walls. Shadows touch the base of a sofa and the posts of a bed, the heap of covers atop the mattress giving off the impression of a silky texture.

At the far end, there’s the shape of a desk—with a man sitting at it, leaning over a paper he’s looking at.

I can’t read the paper or see the man’s precise features with my gift, but the picture drawn by the wisps of sensory impressions tell a lot of the story. He’s tallish and fairly muscular. His clothes are finely woven. Shadows slide between the curls of his hair.

A metal band with the texture and density of gold encircles his right wrist.

Hecouldbe a twin of the man I saw just minutes ago in the parlor. He’s definitely hiding away in the imperial apartments behind a secret entrance I doubt anyone knows about.

Gods smite me. All this time, there really has been two of the assholes terrorizing the rest of us?

I hadn’t been sure I wanted to believe it, but it’s hard to deny what my gift is telling me.

With a shudder, I retract my awareness into my body. My sense of the still air against my skin and the tickle of dust in my nose resolidifies.

As I hurry to the vacant bedroom where I entered the hidden passages, my head whirls. I’ll pass on the information I’ve just discovered to Aurelia, and to Bastien and Lorenzo as well.

When should we let Neven in on this specific new development? Even after we’re sure Marclinus is actually Marc and Linus, we won’t know the deceitful assholes’ true intentions for revealing that information to Aurelia.

Can we be sure Neven won’t let any hint of the secret slip? The moment it’s clear to the twin emperors that we know, that Aurelia must have told us, they’ll stick all our heads on pikes.

No, there are still a few things we need to keep to ourselves—for his safety as much as ours. I don’t want to put knowledge this precarious in his hands until we’re sure of howwe’rehandling the situation.

Even my own impulses are hardly under perfect control. When I saunter back into the parlor, the bronze sheen ofAurelia’s hair immediately calls to me from the corner of my eye. I have to jerk my gaze away.

As much as I’d like to veer straight toward her, I force myself to not even take another glance. I amble over to a couple of vicerines I’ve dallied with before and toss out a few compliments.

After several minutes of aimless flirting, I move on and find Neven hustling over to me. The eager glint in his eyes sends a jab of guilt through my gut over the secret I’m keeping.

But the kid is happy enough with the subterfuge he’s already carrying out. When I clap him on the shoulder and ask how his studies are going, he grins through his complaint that he wishes they focused more on combat than history and then drops his voice low. “Flurinette, Syrus, Rufina.”

The last time we all spoke, Bastien and I asked him to keep his ears perked for any disdainful or outright hostile remarks about Aurelia within the court. Apparently those three nobles weren’t quite discreet enough.

“Keep up the good work,” I tell him with a grin of my own.

I meander onward—and end up, as if by chance, near the side table set with bottles of wine, just as Aurelia reaches it.

I pick up a glass of my own while one of the imperial tasters samples hers before handing it over. Aurelia offers me a subdued smile. “Prince Raul. I hope you’re well today.”

I dip my head in a brief bow. “Quite, Your Imperial Highness. I heard we princes from abroad are expected to play tutor over the coming months. My esteemed foster brother seemed rather impatient about ensuring we’re up to the task. Shall I start your education in the ways of Lavira now, or are you otherwise occupied?”

Aurelia’s smile slants as if she doesn’t really want to take me up on my offer. I’ll never fail to be amazed at how adept an actress she is.

“I suppose now would be an acceptable time to begin,” she says, with feigned hesitance for the benefit of anyone watching. “Although I don’t imagine we’ll reach Lavira for a few months.”

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