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Chapter Eighteen

Aurelia

A fter I’ve finished sharing the contents of the royal letters with all four of the princes in the privacy of my chambers, a gloom settles over the entire room. Lorenzo’s head droops.

He hoped so much that his overture would benefit me—that he could persuade real allegiance from his parents.

“It’d be a little much to expect them to declare themselves ready to send their people to war on my behalf when they barely know me,” I say. “Cotea would have a hard enough time joining forces with us without getting cut down by Valerisse’s army on the way.”

Lorenzo grimaces. “They could have offered some willingness to help. Or even real sympathy. But I suppose that isn’t Mother’s style.”

The brief letter from Queen Anahi is indeed light on sentiment. She barely even gives away that she knows about the brewing civil war I’m facing—which might be true in Rione’s somewhat detached position from the rest of the continent, except I know Lorenzo informed her.

She framed the missive as a congratulations on Coraya’s birth, with the most generic of well-wishes, followed by a remark that she looks forward to the next visit from her own younger child.

Reading between the lines, she’s saying I’m on my own and I’d better figure out some way to make sure Lorenzo survives the coming war.

I examine the second paper in my grasp. “It’s not as if it’s any less supportive than the message from Cotea.”

Bastien steps closer to peer at the letter alongside me, a frown darkening his expression. “I don’t know why Father bothered to send a letter so meaningless in the first place.”

King Stanislas’s letter congratulates me on the arrival of my daughter even more briefly than Queen Anahi did, before speaking about how the winter’s chill is over and how all of the empire can look forward to spring’s bounty.

I’m not sure whether he realizes it never becomes all that chilly in Dariu or if he’s trying to remind me of the hardships his people have faced.

Or maybe there’s something more to it. I worry at my lip. “I feel as though he’s trying to convey more than he’s actually saying. To go on about the trees and the flowers… He didn’t strike me as a particularly poetic type.”

When I spoke with the Cotean king in person, he was most concerned about how well I used my gift—whether I stretched its limits and found new uses to adapt it to. The fact that he mentions lapinslay specifically…

What do I know about that flower? The name tickles at my memory.

Marc shifts on his feet by my door. “If you want them to fight for you, all you have to do is order them. They answer to you, no one else. ”

Bastien’s jaw tightens, but I don’t even need to think about my answer.

“Valerisse has proven by example that soldiers who aren’t dedicated to you can be as bad as enemies.

And I’m aiming to better Dariu’s relations with the rest of the continent, not make even more demands of the conquered countries. ”

Raul pauses where he’s started pacing near my bed.

“They might not come even if you ordered them. If they think Valerisse has a real chance of unseating you… Right now, some might figure they’re better off waiting to see what leadership she puts in place than risking their lives supporting what they already know. ”

“Most of the continent is in a difficult position with Lavira right in the middle of everything and Valerisse building her army there,” Bastien points out.

“I’m sure she has people loyal to her watching the borders.

She might be able to cut off any contingent that attempts to join you in Dariu, and none of the local armies could stand against even a portion of the Darium forces alone. ”

Raul huffs. “We certainly won’t be getting any letters from the Queen of Lavira.”

Despite his gruff tone, anguish shadows his face. The prince of Lavira has never been one to back down from a fight. I can only imagine how much he hates feeling his hands are tied.

I rub my forehead. “I can’t hope for much assistance even from my former kingdom. Accasy is too cut off up north… I doubt the snow will have melted enough for people to make it through the passes for at least another week or two. There’s no way to even talk to my family.”

But thinking of my home country stirs up memories from the twenty-one years I spent there.

The days I strolled through the gardens and the less tamed lands beyond with the Eloxian devout who was most well-versed in herbs and potion-making, taking in his raspy voice as he described the uses of each plant…

Lapinslay won’t be much use in your healing arts, but it makes an interesting pigment when mixed with basil.

My heart hiccups. My head jerks toward Marc. “Go down to the kitchen and get a few sprigs of fresh basil. They must have some.”

His brow knits, but he ducks out of the room without protest. I grab my mortar and pestle from my brewing supplies.

Neven prowls over to watch. “What are you going to do with basil?”

“I think King Stanislas is testing my ingenuity again.”

Bastien barks a laugh. “That wouldn’t surprise me. But how?”

I spread the letter on my desk, face down. “We’ll see. It could be a coincidence… I’ve never seen lapinslay used exactly like this…”

But innovation is what the Coteans are best known for, isn’t it?

Marc returns a few minutes later with a whole bundle of basil. He hands it to me and steps back to watch, his gaze avid.

I grind several of the sprigs into a thick paste, the pungent scent wafting into my nose. Then I smear the stuff on the back of the letter, rubbing it into the paper thoroughly.

As I wipe the mashed leaves aside, a faint scrawl emerges across the page, the ink almost luminescent.

Raul sucks in a startled breath. “Well, fuck.”

Bastien’s eyes gleam with renewed hope. “What does he say?”

I squint at the gleaming words, angling the paper to the light so they’re more visible.

“That if I can work out how to read this, it shows I’ve got much more to me than the tribune’s brutal approach.

The Coteans would rather see me on the throne than anyone she’d pick.

But that preference doesn’t matter if joining the conflict damages his people more than sitting it out and seeing her win would.

Perhaps I can find some way of reassuring him. ”

A scoffing sound breaks from Marc’s throat. “How are you supposed to guarantee his soldiers won’t get hurt in a war?”

“I don’t think he means that. Only that he needs to be sure whatever I’ll do if I stay empress will balance out the sacrifices they’ll have to make.”

Bastien takes the paper from me and scans it. “Yes, that’s how I’d interpret the message too.”

“How do you do that ?” Neven asks.

Another silence descends on the room.

I haven’t the slightest idea. What can I promise Bastien’s family that they’ll believe? How can I prove my intentions?

Any of the conquered kingdoms might be able to turn the tide in this war… but I don’t know how to invoke enough loyalty to make them want to.

It doesn’t look as though any of my princes or the former emperor has an easy answer either. Lorenzo’s eyebrows draw together. Raul opens his mouth and then closes it again with a scowl.

The silence is broken not by any of us but by shouts of alarm reverberating from outside my bedroom window.

My stomach lurches in anticipation of some new catastrophe. I rush to the window, but all I can see outside are several of the palace soldiers hustling across the front courtyard to the gates that lead to the city.

I motion the princes into the bathing room out of view and go to the door with Marc beside me. I poke my head into the hall just in time to see another soldier hurrying over to speak with my guards.

“What’s going on outside?” I ask.

The soldier makes a pained expression. “We’re looking after it—I didn’t mean to bother you, Your Imperial Highness.”

I shake my head. “It’s not a bother. I need to know anything that concerns my people.”

He draws his posture straighter. “We’re still investigating. There are reports from the city of prominent divine omens around the Sabrellian temple near the arena… Unsettling ones.”

A shiver travels over my skin. Omens intended to undermine my rule, no doubt.

I hesitate for only a second. “I’d like to see them for myself.”

The soldier balks. “I’m not sure— Until we have a handle on the situation?—”

“There’s no actual danger being reported, is there? Omens have never harmed anyone.” I turn to the rest of my host of guards. “You’re all prepared to defend me as you always do if any new threats emerge, aren’t you?”

They all nod briskly alongside a salute from Kassun. “Of course, Your Imperial Highness!”

“Then it’s settled. Let’s head out.”

By the time my escort and I reach the palace’s front steps, the staff have been alerted and sent a carriage around.

As I clamber inside while my guards take their places on the outer benches, Axius jogs out of the palace with Cleric Pierus hustling behind him.

“If we could join you, Your Imperial Highness? We’d both like to get a look at these phenomena. ”

I wave them inside. “It’ll be useful to get your opinions on these omens too.”

It’s a short ride to Vivencia’s main Sabrellian temple. The driver stops the carriage at the edge of the growing crowd of civilians there.

I ease out with my guards forming a close ring around me. My gaze fixes on the temple.

At first, there’s nothing to see but the formidable stone face of the building. Other soldiers have gathered all around its base, and a few devouts in formal red tunics and trousers are watching alongside the rest of us.

A ripple of ruddy light crosses the gray stone. An image like a crown forms, only to be slashed through by a sharper bolt of light.

Next to me, Pierus sucks in a breath. “My gods.”

Murmurs pass through the crowd. Several civilians glance my way. The arrival of my carriage hasn’t gone unnoticed.