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Chapter Eight

Aurelia

A fter Jinalle has finished adjusting the last bit of lacing on my gown, I stare down at the sheathed sword I hastily set on the vanity. The belt now circling my waist feels insubstantial in its lightness.

“Go on,” I tell my maid. “I’ll come out to meet the delegation in a few minutes.”

She ducks her head and scurries out the door. Moments after it clicks shut behind her, the panel in the wall by my bed slides open.

Raul emerges on his own. I don’t know if my other lovers have even heard the news that more delegates from Valerisse have arrived.

He strides straight to me and tugs me tight against his massive frame. “You can handle her, whatever she thinks she’s going to throw at you. Both the tribune and the godlen.”

My laugh comes out choked. “I wish I wasn’t having to face two formidable foes at the same time. Do you think—should I go out like this, like I normally would? Or should I bring the sword?”

I turn away from him, resting my fingers on the polished scabbard. Marching out to meet Valerisse’s representatives with a weapon of war at my hip would be matching their aggressive tone. Presenting myself as a warrior rather than a peacemaker.

My body balks at the idea of even hinting at violence, but maybe that’s what’s needed at this point. Both those loyal to me and those faltering in their loyalties need to see I’m willing to fight with more than just words.

Sabrelle certainly won’t be impressed by my typical hand-length knife.

Raul cocks his head, stroking his knuckles over my cheek as he does. “Are you ready to use it if it comes to that?”

Rather than answering automatically, I picture a scenario, prodding my will. My spine pulls straighter. “Yes. If that’s what it takes.”

“I wish I could take on the challenge for you.” He turns my face toward him and claims a kiss so searing it stokes the flames of determination inside me.

I lean into Raul, soaking up his strength and the faith he has in me, and reach for the sword. He lets me fasten it to my belt myself.

Am I imagining things, or does it already feel easier in my hands than it did when I wielded it during my training session less than an hour ago?

Raul gives my arm one last squeeze. “I’ll round up the others, and we’ll be watching outside. You always have us at your back. Don’t let anything shake you.”

Once he’s vanished back into the hidden passages, I gird myself and reach for my bedroom door.

Marc remained outside with my other personal guards while I hastily changed clothes. When he takes in the sword I’ve re-donned, his mouth shifts with a slight curve of approval.

Nobles have gathered along the main staircase to wait for my arrival—one of the main reasons I took the time to swap my combat training gown for a properly formal one. I have no idea who Valerisse has sent today, but it won’t do my cause any good if they look more imperial than I do.

As I walk past the members of the court, they stream along behind my guards. The additional soldiers Captain Evando assigned to me form a wider ring of protection, skirting the walls. When we pass through the doors into the palace’s front courtyard, they pull in closer.

Apprehension taints the fresh mid-day air. More of the court has already swarmed out to peer at the delegation alongside the regular guards posted around the entrance and throughout the grounds. It isn’t much of a spectacle, though.

A couple of soldiers who I’d say look a little uneasy flank a slim, middle-aged man in the red tunic and trousers of a Sabrellian devout. A pointed beard extends his equally pointed chin.

Next to him hunches a younger, burlier man with tangled hair drooping over his sullen face. The younger man’s hands are shackled behind his back with the devout holding the short chain. Another chain runs between the prisoner’s ankles.

The murmurs of the nobles dwindle as I descend the steps between them. Several paces from the delegation, I halt and fix the new arrivals with a firm stare. “What’s this about?”

The devout clears his throat and offers me a thin smile that makes my gut squirm.

“My godlen and all those who want to see Dariu under a true ruler would like to know whether you’ll fulfill the rite you cheated her in before.

I bring another traitor to the empire before you.

Will you battle and slay him as he deserves and as Sabrelle would wish? ”

How much was he guided by his patron godlen and how much by Tribune Valerisse?

For him to have appeared here now, I’m not sure there was time for the message of my refusal to reach the tribune and her response to make it back to the capital—but she may have assumed my reaction and already prepared for it.

I open my mouth—but before I can say anything, a ruddy glow flares around jailer and prisoner. For the space of a couple of heartbeats, crimson light hazes their hair and skin.

As I blink, the supernatural glow fades, but the voices around me rise in volume again. There’s no denying that public statement.

Sabrelle wants me to know she’s watching my response as much as my court and the closest members of my army are.

I set my hand on the hilt of her blessed sword. My fingers curl around the leather binding of the grip as if it was made for my hand, but my stomach keeps roiling.

I could battle the supposed traitor, make an actual spectacle of this confrontation. Would murdering him be enough to appease the godlen or the tribune?

Would I be demonstrating my devotion… or my willingness to be bullied into following someone else’s orders? How is it showing true strength to be coerced into an act that’s against all my principles?

It feels as if Valerisse is managing to back me into a corner even though she’s hundreds of miles away.

I stay where I am, weighing my options. “Do you have proof of this man’s crimes? Dariu is a country of lawful justice, not unmitigated vengeance. ”

At least, its people would prefer to believe it is. And I’d like to make that statement true.

The devout scoffs. “Do you think Sabrelle would present a false challenge just because you treated the first one dishonestly? This man was brought straight from his prison cell. Will you accept the fight or not?”

“I’d like to know what exactly he was imprisoned for and why it’s worthy of a death sentence.”

“So little faith you have in our gods.” He raises his voice, obviously wanting all our audience to hear.

“I present you with a criminal who harmed our empire, and you want to debate the details? It sounds like a diversion to me. You’re still unwilling to carry out the duties a real Darium empress should accept without hesitation. ”

He’s trying to browbeat me into caving in. The realization stokes my instinctive defiance.

A real Darium empress wouldn’t be badgered into committing a fatal act she didn’t believe in, would she?

I lift my own voice as the devout has. “I believe Sabrelle values strength of mind and will as well as of body. I will seek guidance from all our gods.”

I tap my fingers through the gesture of the divinities and tip my face toward the sun gleaming wanly in the overcast sky.

I only want what’s best for the people of the empire—I want to see all of the continent thriving and happy. Elox, can you guide me? You’ve encouraged me to endure and accept so much… Do you really want me to accept this too?

My silent appeal wisps away from me. A renewed hush falls over the crowd, broken only by a few indistinct mutters from the devout to his military escort.

If even my own godlen feels I should give way here, carry out an execution of a man for unexplained crimes…

The dim beams of sunlight fragment. I get the impression of a man and woman standing atop a sprawling palace, their hands clasped, serene white light emanating from them over lands that stretch far and wide around.

Scarlet flares between them, with a swing of a massive blade. The figures tumble to either side; the palace cracks apart. More scarlet flows like blood, swallowing up the peaceful glow that lit the countryside, swelling alongside a sense of hopelessness from deep in my core.

A lump fills my throat. Elox did want me to accept and endure alongside my husband—because he thought it would bring the empire peace in the end. But he didn’t count on Sabrelle’s meddling. I think I’ve just watched his dreams shattered, nothing left but ruin.

Even as that understanding forms in my head, the despair gives way to a rush of calm resolve. When I blink, the vision shifts. One figure clambers back onto the fractured palace and flings her hand toward the blood-drenched lands. A new glow burns away the horror.

A hitch of my pulse brings me back to the palace courtyard. Everyone is studying me, a few uncertain murmurs traveling through the crowd of nobles at my daze.

I swallow hard. Elox hasn’t given me any definite answers. I still have to carve my own way. But my godlen has offered me a gift all the same.

He’s telling me he trusts me. That he believes even if I can’t hold together the empire as it was, I can transform it into something better.

And to do that, I need to act.

I draw the blessed sword. The hiss of the blade from the sheath startles the crowd back into silence. Even the devout presses his lips flat, his gaze turning wary.

I take a couple of steps toward him and his prisoner, holding the sword low so it’s not an immediate threat. “You came here following your godlen’s will—and I assume Tribune Valerisse’s as well. What were your intentions if I refused your request?”

The devout juts out his chin. “Your lack of commitment would speak for itself. We can’t have someone unfit for the throne ruling our empire. And if you think your hesitation doesn’t reflect badly on your capabilities already?—”

I interrupt in a clear, steady voice. “So you’re insulting me and inciting rebellion against your rightful empress by marriage and motherhood.”

His eyes flash. “If rebellion is what’s need to set?—”

“Then I’ll deal with the real traitor here, as Sabrelle should wish it.”

I don’t give him a chance to respond. I leap forward with a thrust of the sword and stab the devout right through the center of the chest as both Raul and Captain Evando have taught me.

In a proper fight, it wouldn’t have been so easy. But it clearly never occurred to the devout that I might harm him . By the time he starts to react, the blade has already driven home.

Blood to match the pommel ruby spurts out over the shining steel. My stomach lurches, but I keep my expression placid as I jerk the sword free.

The devout staggers. He clutches at his chest, a cough sending blood dribbling across his lips. The crimson liquid is barely visible anywhere else, darkening the red fabric of his tunic.

The prisoner’s chain slips from his fingers. As the devout slumps over, the chained man shuffles to the side. The soldiers who arrived with him close in, one catching his arm.

The devout tries to speak, but nothing comes out of his mouth but a broken groan. One of his soldiers reaches for his own sword, and several blades whisk from sheaths all around me .

I speak before my guards have to, holding my sword at the ready. “Sabrelle challenged me to kill a traitor. I’ve done as she asked. Will you have me execute more than one today?”

A tendril of cool wind licks around my calf beneath my gown—a reminder that my princes are standing with me too. I meet the soldiers’ gazes without flinching.

The one who moved for his weapon drops his hand. His grimace suggests he isn’t happy about backing down, but I’ll take what victories I can get.

“We’ll be reporting the outcome of our appeal to Tribune Valerisse,” he rasps.

“Good. You can let her know that there’s nothing meek or feeble about the ruler the empire already has.

If she doesn’t retract her call to war, we’ll all be clear that her intentions have nothing to do with what’s best for the empire after all.

” I motion to the prisoner. “And return this man to wherever he came from, to face the sentence he was originally given.”

One of the other soldiers draws her lips back in a snarl, but when my guards press forward, she backs up a step. Dragging the prisoner with them, they hustle toward the gates where the horses they rode in on are waiting.

I exhale slowly, resisting the urge to sag with momentary relief. Behind me, Marc calls out in his rough new voice, “Now that’s an empress!”

A ripple of cheers passes through the court. When I turn back toward the palace, a few of my guards and other soldiers stationed nearby salute me.

I smile at them all, pretending my gut isn’t still churning at the sight of the blood drenching the sword in my hand.

I can be this kind of empress if I have to, but it’s not who I ever wanted to be.

How much more blood will I have to spill before Sabrelle is satisfied?