Page 22

Chapter Fifteen

Aurelia

T he memory of the music and mingling laughter buoys me through my walk back to my bedroom through the late-evening shadows. The moment I step through my doorway with Marc at my heels, my mood deflates.

I walk over to my bed and flop down on my back. The weight I’m carrying inside only eases a little.

Marc shifts on his feet at his post by the door. “Are you all right?”

Like he asked the little boy in the square this afternoon—except the ripple of concern is intense enough to roughen his voice more than its usual new gravelly timbre.

I close my eyes. “Naturally. Sabrelle wants me dead even in the middle of celebrating the most joyful and innocent aspects of humanity, she’s got unknown numbers of people from all levels of society willing to do her bidding, and I don’t really know if I can win the war Valerisse seems to be planning. But otherwise, everything’s wonderful.”

Venting my frustration barely takes the edge off it, and then I’m hit with a smack of shame. Who am I to be complaining when I’m in the most privileged position in the empire?

I’m not going to win any wars or impress any gods by lying around whining about my troubles. I need to get up and keep going.

In just a minute.

I breathe in and out, recovering my scattered nerves. Sprite leaps onto the bed and pads over to join me. As I rub her back, her purr reverberates through my heart.

All right. Here we go.

I force myself upright and onto my feet. My head still feels muddled. Perhaps a soothing cup of tea would help with that. I have plenty of options for clearing the mind and setting one’s spirits in order.

My cat trots with me over to my trunk and twines around my ankles while I take out my brewing equipment. I sit on the rug with her nestled beside me and glance over at Marc. “I don’t suppose you’d like a cup of tea while I’m making some anyway? If you want to help me think.”

He blinks at me, and then one corner of his mouth ticks upward. “I’m honored that you’d include me after I so hastily dismissed your skills before.”

That early day after I arrived at the palace, I brought him tea in his office. He chided me for acting like a servant and sent me away.

It was only a year ago, but it feels centuries distant.

As always, the process of picking out the blend and preparing the cups soothes me. I have enough water in my pitcher that I heat it in my little cauldron rather than calling for a kettle from the kitchen .

As the steaming liquid flows over the dried leaves and herbs, the crisply floral scent winds down into my lungs. I inhale deeper automatically.

“That woman during the presentation of the crafts,” Marc says as I wait for the tea to steep. “A couple of the guards took her back to the palace after. The way you handled her daughter’s offering—how it burst apart—she meant it to hurt you.”

“It appears that way.”

“How did you—” He halts. “The princes. Bastien can manipulate the wind, not just rain clouds, can’t he? He helped you dispose of it in an unthreatening way. Did my foster brothers warn you beforehand?”

I tread into this delicate territory carefully. “They’ve helped me many times over the past year. I doubt I’d still be alive without them.”

And many of the dangers they protected me from, Marc himself was a party to.

The former emperor is silent for a moment. “I didn’t notice anything amiss. Obviously your regular guards didn’t either. I’m grateful my foster brothers watch over you so well.”

That might actually be true, even if he’d rather they didn’t have to.

Before I can decide how to respond, he tilts his head toward me. “You touched her, by the neck and shoulder, right before her mood mellowed out. Did you do something—” His gaze sharpens. “Your ring. You’ve always worn it.”

Even with everything that’s already passed between us, my pulse stutters. I might have been willing to throw the ways I’ve manipulated him in his face, but I’m not sure I feel safe giving him the means to prove it.

“The ring has served me well too,” I say noncommittally. “I’m not the sort to wait for anyone else to defend me if I can do it myself.” I pick up the teacups and carry them over to him. “It should be ready now.”

Marc’s gaze stays speculative, but he doesn’t push for a full explanation. Perhaps he can guess at my reasons for not wanting to give it.

My thoughts flit back to his peacemaking with the squabbling boys. He has been learning to take on perspectives different from the one he was raised with.

He takes the tea and sips at the same time I do. The hot liquid flows over my tongue and loosens some of the knots that’ve formed in my stomach.

With his next sip, Marc’s stance relaxes enough that I can’t help noticing again how striking he is even with the odd scar discoloring his face. My pulse skips for a different reason, and I pull back a step, grasping for an appropriate change of subject.

“I have gifts on my side, but I know Valerisse does too. She barged straight through a door after she tried to murder me. And then there are all the talents of the many soldiers she’s pulled into her rebellion that we don’t know for sure.”

Marc nods, not showing any sign of offense at my retreat.

“I gather she gave up a kidney or similar to Sabrelle. The soldiers… We do have records, but we can’t be sure exactly who’s defected to her side or simply fled the conflict.

She may have drawn in people who weren’t part of the military as well.

Any way we engage with her forces, we’ll need to be prepared for a variety of magic. ”

I grimace. “I was considering sending a few trusted soldiers to pretend to defect and spy on her so we have a better idea what we’ll be up against. But it’ll be so dangerous…”

“That’s what they’ve trained for, Aurelia. They’ll want to head into that danger if it means protecting their empress.”

What he’s saying is true, but it doesn’t soothe my guilt all that much.

I suppress a sigh. “There’s still the matter of conveying messages back and forth at a distance.

Baronissa Hivette can only send messages out, not retrieve them.

Spies won’t do us any good if they can’t tell us what they’ve observed. ”

Marc perks up. “I think we have something that’ll help with that.

There are blessed communications boxes used sometimes for quick missives from forts and the like in the outer territories.

Most are quite small, meant to be used while on the march.

The spies wouldn’t be able to communicate with anyone other than the palace, and they’d still have to be careful not to be discovered, but we could strategize around those considerations. ”

My own spirits lighten at the remark. “Axius never mentioned those.”

Marc’s smile turns crooked. “If you haven’t specifically asked about secret communications, he wouldn’t have.

They’re precious enough that they aren’t used without just cause.

Each one took decades to enchant well enough that it’d work properly.

But for this purpose—if it gives us the information to make an effective defense against Valerisse’s forces, that’s more than worth it. ”

The other hesitation that stalled my planning before creeps through my mind. “For us. The soldiers I send—if she catches them…”

“That’s their job,” Marc points out, reasonably enough. “They went into service specifically to defend the empire, with their lives if need be.”

That doesn’t mean I like the idea of asking them to potentially give up those lives. If there was any other way…

But I can hardly infiltrate Valerisse’s forces myself. And risking a few soldiers now might save thousands in the weeks to come.

I swallow more tea, willing aside my uneasiness and sorting through my thoughts.

“We’ll still need to make that defense once we know what’s needed.

Before, you’ve been fighting citizens rising up, most of them without any military training.

Now we’re asking the soldiers to face off against their own colleagues…

It’s going to be a bloody battle no matter how you cut it. ”

A shudder runs through my abdomen at the thought of that blood drenching the city streets. Will this conflict really have to come to that?

Marc lets out a soft huff. “The soldiers loyal to you have just as much skill as those she’s gathering.”

“So it’ll be a simple matter of numbers?” I shake my head. “We need an advantage, something to ensure we protect as many lives as possible, maybe even intimidate her before she launches outright war. Has… Has the Darium army ever experimented with combining gifts?”

“Using two or more talents in collaboration to produce new effects? I know they’ve attempted that in Cotea, but the results always seem somewhat unpredictable… Not ideal on a battlefield.” Marc’s expression tightens. “And we’ve never wanted to risk edging at all close to scourge sorcery.”

The scourge sorcerers who brought the gods’ wrath down on the continent centuries ago—setting the stage for the Darium empire to rise—didn’t work quite like that.

“They forced other people to give up their gifts, to sacrifice their whole lives to pass on magic so the scourge sorcerers could strive to be on the same level as the godlen. Two people working together as equals is nothing like that.”

Marc’s smile comes back, gentle around the edges.

“No, I suppose it’s not. Another area we can look into.

There are certainly plenty of intimidating gifts among the palace soldiers and those stationed around Vivencia.

I shouldn’t have mentioned it—I can’t imagine you ever encouraging anything remotely like that maniacal magic. ”

“If anything, I’m surprised the imperial family never toed the line,” I mutter .

Marc’s laugh surprises me. “I suppose after everything you’ve seen of us, I deserve that remark.”

No hackles raised or prickly defensiveness. I study him more closely over the top of my teacup.

He really is becoming something more—something better—than he used to be, isn’t he?

“Thank you,” I say. “For listening. For hashing these strategies out with me.”

“Without trying to shout you down, you mean?” Despite his wry tone, his gaze turns intense. “It was good, talking with you like this. I’m glad we can have this much.”

The tenderness of the words sends a pang through my heart. “I always wanted this.”

Marc’s voice roughens more. “I know. And I made it a battle. I?—”

He glances away from me, his gaze catching on his reflection in the nearby mirror. “I can accept that it was my fault, and that I ruined what we could have had.” His next laugh holds no humor. “And how can I expect to ever recover what I threw away now that I’m ruined?”

I furrow my forehead. “What are you talking about?”

He waves toward the vanity. “Why would anyone , let alone an empress, want a man who looks like this? It’s all right.

I can moderate my expectations. I played unfairly and I lost, and this is what I’m left with.

It’s not as if I could have counted on earning your full forgiveness even if I wasn’t a warped version of myself. I’ll take whatever I can get.”

Does he really think I look at him with revulsion because of that strange stain on his skin? The pang expands until a lump fills my throat.

He’s been trying so hard to be everything I need—and nothing that I don’t. To leave behind all the parts of himself I did revile .

How can I not admire that—and how well he’s succeeding?

“Marc…” I ease toward him, setting my teacup down on the vanity.

My hand rises of its own accord to rest against his discolored cheek. Marc stares at me as if transfixed, his stance rigid, his gaze unwavering.

I stroke my thumb over the smooth skin of his odd scar. “The way you looked before—that was the face of the man who tormented me. This is the face of the man who saved me. I’ll always prefer this one.”

A smolder lights in Marc’s eyes, but he holds himself perfectly still, his hands at his sides. Absorbing my touch but afraid of sending me running.

I swallow hard, caught in a crash of conflicting emotions. One thread of desire pierces through them all.

Before I can second-guess the impulse, I bob up on my toes and brush my lips to his.

It’s one of the chastest kisses we’ve ever shared. Our mouths merely graze each other, Marc tipping forward slightly to meet me but restraining himself from a more emphatic claiming.

All the same, heat blooms under my skin all the way down to my toes.

Part of me wants to lean right into him, to grasp his jacket and meld our mouths more firmly together. To find out what a full kiss might feel like.

Just picturing it sends a skitter of panic through my veins alongside the quiver of desire.

I pull back, my hand dropping, cutting off the contact between us. My gaze locks with his again. I don’t back away.

The hunger in Marc’s expression sets off a fresh tingling straight to my core. Ever so carefully, he touches my cheek the way I did his. At the stroke of his fingers, my heart thumps harder.

His voice has gone hoarse. “And this will always be the face of the woman who conquered me: body, mind, and soul.”

“Not heart?” I can’t help asking.

His wry smile returns. “I don’t know how much of a heart I can claim to have. But however much is there, it’s yours too. However long it takes. Whatever you need from me. We were meant to do this together.”

I draw back then, slowly so it doesn’t seem like an outright rejection. My heart keeps thudding on.

How can those words feel so undeniably right?