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Chapter Thirty-Four

Bastien

M y father eyes the books we’ve just set on the royal archivist’s desk as if he thinks they might leap up and assault us. “A few returned tomes are hardly cause to start celebrating our liberation.”

With just one sentence, he can set my teeth on edge.

Through immense will, I force my jaw to relax. “That’s only a fraction of what she’s offered.”

“It’s the only concrete manifestation of her commitment.” He turns on his heel and stalks back toward his office where we were talking earlier.

I follow at a brisk pace, checking the hall to make sure no servants are around to notice my presence.

I made it into Cotea safely enough, albeit with a couple of diversions to avoid soldiers on patrol near the border, but the capital is crawling with nearly as many figures in imperial uniforms as when the coronation tour stopped here .

Tribune Valerisse is clearly wary of the country closest to her current base of operations. I don’t want to stay here any longer than I need to, and not just because every day apart from Aurelia jabs at me like a thorn in my chest.

I don’t want to leave without knowing the Cotean king is at least seriously considering Aurelia’s proposal, though.

I keep quiet until the office door has shut behind us and then fold my arms over my chest. “Aren’t you always badgering me about taking risks and seeing what’s possible beyond what’s right in front of us?

I’m giving you the greatest opportunity any ruler of Cotea has gotten since Dariu swept in centuries ago.

Don’t tell me you’re all about sticking to the straight and narrow now. ”

A muscle in Father’s jaw ticks. Apparently I’m getting on his nerves too. Even the last time I visited, I wasn’t bold enough to challenge him quite so openly.

That was before I watched Aurelia speak up to him on my behalf. Before I helped bring down Marclinus and saw my own child brought into the world.

Everything I’ve wanted to fight for since I was a child is within my reach. I’m not letting the chance slip me by.

Father’s eyes narrow as he considers me. “I don’t believe in reckless action either.”

“What’s reckless about this? It’s a clear trade. She’s proven her generosity before. She’s given you a way of striking back if she reneges on the promise.”

“Or lies that could make us look like imbeciles if we bring them up.”

I restrain a huff of frustration. “Have you been paying any attention at all? She’s exactly the sort of authority you should want to support.

She’s doing something new , going against the main god of the empire, daring to set out on a new path.

And conveniently, it’s a new path that would grant freedom to our country. ”

“It’s easy to dream,” Father retorts. “It’s not so easy to follow through when it means going against what everyone around you expects.”

“She already is going against them.” I wave my hand vaguely in the air. “Do you see any innovation coming from the tribune and her brutish forces?”

Father’s mouth twists. “We don’t know where that path will lead yet.”

All at once, I’m exhausted. So tired of clashing with my father every step of the way, of being a disappointment no matter what I say or do.

We’ve been having variations on this argument for two days straight, and we keep going in circles, ending up back where we started.

I have one more card to play, don’t I? One that’ll prove I know more about the inner workings of the empire than the man in front of me could ever hope to.

I don’t think the sentimentality will sway him, but maybe the shock will.

“If you can’t give me any better reason than that,” he’s starting.

I fix him with my steeliest gaze. “I can give you one more reason that should matter to you. If you let the empress and her reign be crushed, you’re consigning your granddaughter to execution too.”

Father gapes at me for a few seconds before his eyes widen. “You can’t mean…”

I smile grimly. “I can. The ‘imperial’ line continues thanks to me. So you can be sure that I, at least, am going to do what I can to secure the futures of all the people I care about.”

Before the king can formulate a response, footsteps rap against the floor in the hall outside. A frantic knocking sounds on the door .

I duck down behind Father’s desk as he goes to answer the summons. “Yes?”

A servant’s hasty voice travels into the room. “I thought you’d want to know, Your Imperial Highness—an imperial patrol has insisted on entering the palace. They want to look through all the rooms.”

Including those supposed to be private to the Cotean royals, no doubt. My hands clench where they’re braced against the floor.

There’s no way this squad is acting on Aurelia’s orders. They’ll be minions of Valerisse’s.

Do they have any idea that I’m here, or is it simply my bad luck that they’ve decided to conduct a more thorough survey of the palace right now?

Either way, I can’t let them find out I’m in residence. If word gets back to Valerisse that Aurelia’s been sending out her supposedly hostage princes to speak to their families, gods only know what she’ll do to ensure we can’t cooperate.

Father has thanked the page and closed the door. He turns toward the desk. “I don’t think you can hide down there through this search.”

“Obviously.” I straighten up, navigating my mental map of the palace. After all this time, my memory isn’t perfect, but it should serve me well enough.

Thankfully a building this big comes with plenty of exits.

“I’ll go down the northeast staircase and head through the stables,” I say. “I can find something to occupy myself with out of the way until nightfall. That’ll give you some time to think this through properly.”

Something shifts in my father’s expression. “Bastien…”

I was already striding toward the door. When I pause to glance at him, he appears to waver.

“Be careful,” he comes out with.

I nod and jerk the hood of my cloak up over my head .

Hardly anyone other than staff uses the northeast staircase. I’m able to slip out into the second-floor hall in time to dodge a couple of gossiping maids and then make it to the ground floor without any further encounters.

I’m no more than ten paces from the doorway that leads to the stables when I catch a glimpse of black fabric painted with skeletal bones on the other side of that arched entrance.

My heart lurches. I dart sideways into one of the storerooms.

The soldiers’ boots—two pairs of them, as far as I can discern—thump across the stone floor. From the mutters passing between them, they’re checking every room they pass.

Shit. Valerisse must have told them to be particularly thorough, covering every entrance to the palace. I can hardly hope that they’ll ignore a hooded figure hustling past them.

Should I take my chances that they won’t recognize me and pretend to be a servant? I’m dressed plainly enough to stay as anonymous as possible.

Either of the soldiers could have seen me recently during the coronation tour, though. And if they realize the Cotean prince is visiting in disguise, that’ll raise even more questions.

The soldiers tramp closer. I gird myself—and reach out my gift to one of the rooms I passed, with a silent apology to the staff who’ll be called to clean up.

A gust of wind drifts through the hall and picks up speed as it rushes into the large pantry. With a punch of force, I fling it toward the shelves I remember seeing.

Jars and bottles clatter to the floor with the sound of smashing pottery. One of the soldiers gives a shout, and they both charge over to investigate the commotion.

The moment they’ve stepped into the pantry, I slip out of my hiding place and bolt for the stables as quickly as I can while setting my feet softly.

My pulse doesn’t stop hammering until I’m out the other side of the stables and through the hidden door in the palace walls that only the royal family knows how to open. My remaining lung has tightened in my chest with a rasp of breath.

Pausing to gather myself, I smear a little soil on my face to further conceal my appearance. Then I set off through the streets as if I have no business with the palace at all.

Despite the panicked adrenaline still fading from my veins, I welcome the sun beaming down over the city. Winter crispness hangs in the air, but I can taste the spring growth on the horizon.

I did want to visit one particular place in the city before I left. One small bit of bright side: The intrusion has given me the perfect opportunity.

I wind through the streets in a round-about route until I’m absolutely sure no one has followed me from the vicinity of the palace. Then I veer down one of Delphine’s main roads, one I sent Aurelia’s carriage down months ago when we visited Cotea’s capital.

Will I be able to walk these streets side-by-side with her someday, without fear or reprisal?

The answer to that question could depend on the information I dig up now.

Up ahead, the columns of pinkish marble twined with veins of silver come into view. My spirits lift at the sight as they have so often in the past.

I might not have had any direct experience with combining gifts before Raul and I accidentally collaborated to attack Marc, but I’ve always found the idea fascinating.

It had never occurred to me it could be used for anything as extreme as what we accomplished—but then, I had no idea that being close with your collaborator allowed for more intense effects.

What other factors might I be unaware of? If there are additional strategies that could work in Aurelia’s favor, I need to uncover them at the School of Entwined Magics.

It’s chilly enough today that no students are practicing their skills out in the tiled courtyard. I approach along one side, close to the wall, with the building of matching marble and silver looming over me.

Thankfully, the headmistress’s office lies only a short distance down the main hallway. I rap on the door without hesitation.

Cleric Irma has been one of my family’s closest associates for decades. She won’t do anything to jeopardize my plans.

Not that I intend to tell her exactly what those plans are.

When her assistant opens the door, I keep my head ducked low so my hood obscures my face. “I need to speak with the headmistress. Privately. Important news from the palace.”

As the assistant hesitates, Irma’s warm voice carries from farther into the room. “Let him in, Nestor, and give us the room.”

The assistant steps back to admit me and then scurries out with a respectful bob of his head.

Cleric Irma looks up at me from where she’s sitting behind a broad desk of pale wood. She runs her fingers over her blond-and-gray hair, which is pulled back in its usual loose braid. “What can I do for the royal family today, good man?”

I tug back my hood with a swift swipe at the dirt on my cheeks. “I was hoping you could answer a few of my questions, cleric.”

Irma’s eyes brighten at the sight of me, but she’s canny enough to drop her voice lower. “Prince Bastien. I had no idea you were visiting.”

“And I’d like to keep it that way.” As she can no doubt already guess. “I’m on a mission for the empress. Part of that mission involves the techniques you teach here.”

The cleric sits up straighter. “I’m happy to serve you and Her Imperial Highness however I’m able. What in particular did you need to know? Here, sit down, you look rather harried.”

I can’t say she’s wrong about my emotional state.

I take the chair at the opposite side of the desk and clasp my hands on my lap.

“There isn’t really a ‘particular.’ You know Empress Aurelia is facing a rather immense challenge.

We’re hoping that if this war comes to be, combining the gifts of those on her side might help shift the chances of victory in her favor—to protect her and her daughter and preserve the imperial line. ”

One of Irma’s eyebrows lifts slightly. “And preserving that line matters a lot to you?”

I gaze back at her evenly. “Preserving it from being overthrown by bullies who I doubt will have Cotea’s better interests in mind does, yes.”

Irma hums, her attention sliding away from me. Her expression goes distant with thought.

“I’m not sure entwined magics could be the advantage the empress is hoping for. They can provide fantastic solutions to small-scale problems, and sometimes small-scale problems can tip the scales for larger issues… but I suspect not quite as large as an entire civil war.”

I frown. “Why couldn’t the same techniques be used on a larger scale? If the dedicats involved were well synchronized and aligned in purpose, and their individual gifts were powerful…?”

I trail off at the shake of the cleric’s head.

“It’s not that simple,” she says. “Or rather, there’s a simple reason why it wouldn’t work, not for long. ”

My heart sinks, but I’m not going to give up just like that. “And that reason is?”

Perhaps we can find a way around it as we have so much else.

Irma offers me a gentle smile. “You’re familiar with the principles of how our gifts are granted in the first place, aren’t you?”

“Of course. The bodily sacrifice shows emotional dedication and physical fortitude, and the gods grant their blessing proportionately to what’s offered.”

“Yes.” She splays her hands on the desktop. “Are you aware that by combining gifts, they generally produce a greater effect than if the two effects happened separately?”

One side of my mouth quirks upward. “That’s what we’re counting on.”

“Well, that’s where the problem lies. For a minute here or there, it doesn’t become a problem.

But if you try to sustain a combined effort for longer, expand it further—you can easily lose your handle on it.

And if you don’t rein it in quickly enough, you can do damage to yourself before you even realize you’ve crossed that line. ”

“Damage?” I repeat, my stomach flipping over.

Irma’s smile turns sad. “Your gift may start demanding more sacrifices of your body—permanent ones. And for those, you won’t even get to choose what you give up.”