Page 21

Then when Lorenzo conjured an illusion of his mother’s office, her eyes widened. Oh, yes. That will be enough. I could send a message almost anywhere with the help of a gift like that.

Remembering that moment, Raul’s comment about how he and Bastien combined their gifts to batter the fire—and Marc—tickles through my head. What other benefits could we discover in merging gifts, if such a thing is possible on a broader scale?

Would that be enough to give us an advantage against Valerisse and her growing rebellion if need be?

To experiment with that idea, I have to know what gifts are around me that could help secure the empire. I’m not even sure which godlen Bianca dedicated herself to.

Months ago, I might have suspected Ardone, the godlen of love and beauty. The vicerine’s disinterest in bodily pleasure for its own sake makes that seem unlikely.

As we accept glasses of sparkling juice a servant is carrying around, I study her more thoughtfully. “Are you dedicated to Inganne? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.” That could fit the vicerine’s appreciation of other sorts of delights.

“Oh.” Bianca touches her bodice over the place where her godlen sigil will be branded. “No, I put my lot in with Prospira. Dreams of other sorts of bounty. Which I’ve happily achieved.” She pats the gold necklace at her throat and strokes her hands over the ornate skirt of her gown.

I should have realized. She did tell me when I first spoke to her about her husband’s abuse that she’d rather endure it than lose the wealth and prestige she’s gained through her marriage.

“No gift,” the vicerine goes on before I have to ask. “I couldn’t decide on what I’d want to ask for, and anything that seemed worth asking required more of a sacrifice than I liked.”

I shrug. “Fair enough. Perhaps you can give me a different sort of gift. I’d like to honor Prospira in the near future too. If any ideas for how to best appeal to her come to you, do pass them on.”

Her expression goes distant for a moment, and the slight stiffness returns to her smile. “I’m not sure how much inspiration I can offer, but anything that occurs to me is all yours.”

My brow knits. “Are you all right? If anything is troubling you—” Have other nobles been harassing her over her husband’s banishment?

Bianca dismisses my concern with a flick of her hand before I can fully express it and bumps her elbow against mine with her usual companionable air. “Not at all. I just wish I could offer you more in the face of such adversity.”

I give her hand a quick squeeze. “Your friendship is a gift in itself.”

We drift over to admire the artworks several local painters and sculptors have displayed at one corner of the square.

Bianca gets caught up in conversation with a couple of the other vicerines, and I meander onward, skirting the backs of the billowing tents and watching the celebration from the fringes rather than its center.

I’m about to make my way back to my platform when a familiar voice reaches me from the other side of one of the tents. “Come on now, you don’t need to do that.”

It’s Marc’s new gravelly baritone, mildly chiding. I ease partway around the fabric wall to see who he’s talking to .

He’s standing a few paces beyond the tent, his back to me, poised between two boys who look to be around seven years old. One is clearly a court child, his velvet jacket trimmed with gold embroidery and the leather of his shoes polished to a shine.

The other must be a commoner, and not the wealthiest of them either. Mended patches cover his baggy tunic, and the sole of one of his shoes gapes at the heel.

I can just imagine who the former emperor will look more kindly on. I tense in anticipation of needing to intervene.

The court boy swings a fist at the commoner, who smacks him in return while clutching his other hand close to his chest.

“Hey!” Marc’s voice sharpens. He pushes the boys farther apart so they can’t reach each other, gripping their shoulders to hold them in place.

“He took my glow-ball!” the court boy insists. “Thief!”

“It was mine. You tried to steal it from me .”

I expect Marc to snap at the commoner boy for daring to harass and slander a member of his court. But instead my husband turns to the lavishly dressed boy, the profile of his face showing a scowl.

“I saw you go over to him and snatch it away. Why shouldn’t he snatch it back? There are a hundred of those balls rolling around this courtyard for you all to play with. Go look for one of your own rather than taking one someone already found.”

The court boy stomps his foot. “But I want that one. It has just the right colors.”

Marc’s tone turns dry. “We don’t always get what we want. He’s got just as much right to it as you do—more, since he had it first. Don’t you have enough already without making yourself into a bully? Is that how you’d want your empress to see you behaving?”

The boy opens his mouth, closes it again, and ducks his head with a chagrinned expression. “No. Sorry, sir. You won’t tell her?”

“If you stop making trouble, I see no reason to mention it.”

As the court boy darts off, Marc shifts his attention to the commoner. The other boy stares up at him, still hugging his treasure close.

Marc’s voice softens. “Are you all right? He shoved you pretty hard before I could step in.”

The boy shrugs, but his shoulders relax with the motion. “No big deal. I’m fine.” He hesitates. “Thank you.”

Marc pats his head—a little awkwardly, but his voice is warm. “The security of the empire should be for everyone, not just the people from the palace.”

“Yeah.” The kid flashes a smile at him and lopes off in a different direction.

I hold myself still by the wall of the tent, observing Marc watch the kid he defended disappear into the crowd. A trace of a smile touches the corner of his lips in my view.

He looks actually… pleased. And I’ll be damned if he isn’t still stunningly handsome with that delighted satisfaction lighting his mottled face.

He couldn’t have known I’d witness his intervention. He did it solely because enforcing fairness mattered to him.

A flutter of warmth spreads through my chest. I swallow thickly against the sensation, but it isn’t totally new.

There’ve been other moments when I caught glimpses of goodness, kindness, and understanding in my husband, even before the fire. I haven’t let myself think of them often, but I shouldn’t act as if they never happened.

There was his recognition of how horrible Linus had treated Lavira’s children after we argued about it—and the steps he took to fix his brother’s horrible scheme.

The birthday feast and ball he put on in my honor, with all my favorite foods and symbols of my godlen.

The softened punishment he gave Neven after the wretched trial in Goric.

That evening on the road when he promised to do whatever it took to see me safe… and told me so tenderly that he loved me.

Perhaps I’d have seen more of that side of him if his twin hadn’t been ruining what little trust we were able to build in between our moments together.

But Linus isn’t here anymore… and Marc is deciding who he’s going to be from here on. He’s accepted his new, much diminished role with barely a complaint. I think he’s actually listened to the criticisms I’ve made.

That the man I married has become the man I’m seeing in front of me… It’s rather incredible, isn’t it?

I’m jerked out of my reverie by footsteps rapping against the cobblestones behind me. Marc is already marching off across the square again anyway. I swivel to where my guards are waiting.

One of the palace pages has just arrived, her hands clasped in front of her. She dips into a bow. “Your Imperial Highness, it’s time for the presentation of artworks. If you’d still like to participate.”

“Of course.” It was my idea, after all.

The palace staff have set up a wooden throne on my platform, the back and the boards around it festooned with orange blooms the same hue as my dress. As I settle onto the cushioned seat, a line of children forms in front of me, each holding an artistic offering they made for me to admire.

They approach me one by one. I ooh and ahh over every image formed out of paint or clay, remarking on my favorite details, and thanking the child for sharing it with me.

Each receives an orange ribbon marked with the imperial crest and Inganne’s sigil.

All that matters is that they created something and were willing to show it.

I’ve already applauded a couple dozen offerings when Lorenzo’s illusionary voice slips into my head.

“Be careful. Raul saw one of the parents fiddling with her kid’s craft, looking very intense about it, and now the mother’s staring daggers at you. We think she might have added an effect that’ll hurt you. It’s the girl with the long reddish-brown hair in pigtails, about five back in the line.”

My chest constricts. I spot the girl he described clutching a sculpture of colored paper and bits of wood, her brow knit as if she’s more worried than excited about meeting her empress.

Does she know what her mother did to her artwork? Is this Sabrelle’s influence working against me yet again?

The godlen inspired one of her dedicats to attack my child, so I suppose I can’t be surprised that she’d rope other children into her cause, knowing or not.

Dread pools in my stomach. A trace of red seems to tinge the edges of my vision.

Is that Sabrelle’s influence cast over us, or am I simply imagining it in my unsettled state?

As I summon as much enthusiasm as I can for the next kids I greet, my mind scrambles for the best response.

How will it look to my huge audience if I have guards haul off the child with no clear provocation, before she even reaches me? How will she feel about that treatment if she had no conscious part in her mother’s plans?

This festival is meant to be for Inganne and the childish innocence she so treasures. Can I uphold her principles even here?

One more child remains before the pig-tailed girl. I pull together a few bits of inspiration and pick out Lorenzo in the crowd. Holding my hand where he’ll be able to see it, I sign a quick command. Bastien lift up.

A moment later, a trickle of breeze across the back of my neck tells me the prince of Rione passed on my message, and my master of wind is at the ready. The girl steps up to the platform, and I brace myself behind my smile.

“Wait,” I say brightly before she can reach me. “What you’ve made looks particularly special. I think Inganne herself might want it.”

With those last words, I twitch my fingers upward.

Bastien’s gust of wind sweeps across the platform and tosses the paper sculpture up toward the sky. Which is a good thing, because with the sudden jostling, it bursts apart in a shower of shards.

The wind whips those sharp fragments away across the rooftops. The audience gasps and claps, with no idea that what I’ve turned into a divine marvel was meant to be an assassination attempt.

The girl stares at the sky wide-eyed. “You did so well,” I tell her, just as a swarthy, sour-faced woman shoves over to us.

“What are you doing with her offering?” she demands, using her outrage as an excuse to push right up to the platform. “No empress of Dariu should?—”

“I hear you.” My mind scrambling, I flick at my ring as I stand and reach to interrupt her. My fingers graze the bare skin at the crook of her neck before resting on her shoulder.

My guards step closer, with a tingle of magical protection thick enough that it quivers against my skin. I look only at the woman who meant to aim that blast at me.

“Hasn’t it been a lovely day? Inganne thought your daughter’s creativity was beautiful enough to make it even lovelier. Let’s all celebrate the joy our godlen of play and art brings into our children’s lives—and our own! ”

Amid the cheers that ripple through the crowd, the woman glares at me. “You don’t— I’m not going to?—”

The new hallucinogen I concocted acts as quickly as I hoped. Her legs sway under her, and then a dreamy smile crosses her face. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Relief rushes through me. “Yes. Why don’t you and your daughter come up and dance with me and mine?”

The woman takes her daughter’s hand and spins the little girl around. Her giddy laughter mingles with the song the court musicians have just struck up.

As the wetnurse returns Coraya to me, I lean closer to my guards. “When we’re done dancing, escort this woman off discreetly and find out why she’d want to harm me.”

For now, it doesn’t matter. For now, all my people see is the happiness I summoned in the place of her anger.