Page 10 of A Reign of Embers

At the same time, I can’t help remembering the moment when we had him tied up in that basement servant room, when he looked at her and told her he loved her without a trace of deceit.

He’s had his entire life upended in the course of a day, but he’s here anyway, serving her in the one way she’s let him. I can give him a little credit for that, however reluctantly.

A rap of knuckles on the bedroom door makes both of us startle. As Aurelia stirs, one of the guards’ voices carries through the wood. “Your Imperial Highness, your maids are here to get you ready for the day.”

Aurelia swipes at her eyes and pushes upright. She catches my gaze with a flicker of a smile that holds enough fondness to warm me.

“Just a moment!” she calls back.

I meet her at the edge of the bed to steal a swift kiss, ignoring Marc’s gaze burning into my back. As I step toward the wall’s hidden panel, he clears his throat. “After breakfast, we’ll meet in the room where you held me?”

We discussed last night how we’d spend the couple of spare hours before the public funeral ceremony begins. I nod and slip into the wall.

The four of us foster princes trek through the hidden passages together, the meager breakfast I forced down sitting heavy in my stomach. We emerge into the dim room at the bottom of the stairs to find the lantern already lit and Marc pushing the few furnishings to the edges of the room. The drifting dust tickles my nose.

The former emperor has heaped the broken pieces of the armchair we tied him to in the smaller room that has the sealed-off entrance from the servants’ quarters. None of us comments on that.

Unsurprisingly, Raul’s gaze shoots straight to the length of gleaming steel resting on the settee. He strides over, shouldering past Marc with a little more force than I expect was needed, and peers down at the sword. “So this is it. You managed to pilfer it.”

Marc keeps his voice even. “I wouldn’t consider it ‘pilfering’ when it’s been my family’s for generations. There hasn’t been a threat intense enough in my lifetime that we’ve brought it out. Using it for lesser purposes would offend ourgodlen. I’d be surprised if many in the court even know it exists.”

Another murmur of the panel brings our conversation to a halt.

Aurelia steps into the room, taking us all in with her pensive eyes. I can’t shake the impression that she’s checking to make sure we princes haven’t mortally wounded her fallen husband or vice versa in her absence.

Marc wastes no time lifting the sword and presenting it to her with it lying across his outstretched hands.

I’m no connoisseur of weaponry, but the sword looks like an impressive piece even to me. The blade gleams with wicked sharpness; elaborate gold designs surround the steel handguard. The ruby set in the pommel sparkles around an etching of Sabrelle’s sigil.

“From what I was told, a dozen Sabrellian devouts applied their gifts to bless this sword,” Marc says. “You’ll never find another easier to handle—as long as you’rereadyto handle it. Its blessings are tuned to the will and nerve of the swordsman. If you can wield it well, that’ll be one significant step to proving your worthiness to Sabrelle.”

Aurelia hums and reaches out to wrap her fingers around the leather-bound hilt. “I suppose I’d better get started then. I assume you’ve trained with it yourself.”

Marc nods. As she hefts the weapon in the air experimentally, he touches her arm, aligning his body with hers. “To begin with, you’ll want to?—”

“Get your hand off her,” Raul growls, shoving Marc aside. “She doesn’t need your training. I’ve already taught her what she needed to survive your ridiculous trials—I can take it from here.”

The prince of Lavira jerks his head toward Neven. “Come on, we might as well see what you picked up from those weeks in the soldiers’ quarters too.”

Marc’s jaw clenches, but he steps to the side of the room without a word. Bastien eyes him warily as we retreat ourselves.

Raul positions himself behind Aurelia and guides her posture with a lift of her elbow and a gentle tug of her shoulder. “It’s not so different from the smaller swords you’ve practiced with before. You’ll need to compensate for the additional weight?—”

Aurelia arcs the blade in a careful slice of the air. “It doesn’tfeelthat much heavier. I suppose that might be part of the blessing?”

We all glance toward Marc.

He folds his arms over his chest where he’s leaning against the wall. “Am I allowed to contribute now? Yes, it’s magically enhanced to adapt to the wielder’s body. The more confident you are with it, the easier you’ll find it.”

Aurelia studies the sword with a tensing of her lips. I can’t say the weapon looks right in her hand.

My peaceful woman was never meant to be a warrior, however much she’s been forced to act as one already. But we’ve all needed to bend our ideas about who we are so we can stand against the empire.

I don’t think there’s anything our empresswouldn’tdo if it means freeing the conquered kingdoms from Dariu’s tyranny, no matter what it costs her personally.

That knowledge casts a gloom over me as I watch Raul direct Aurelia through a few basic exercises. He orders Neven to grab one of the broken chair legs to use as a makeshift weapon of his own, and the rap of steel against wood reverberates through the cramped space.

Aurelia’s face sets with the determination I’m used to. She blocks Neven’s jabs with a grace I doubt is entirely due to Raul’s past tutoring. But when she takes the offensive, lashingout at our younger foster brother, her breath comes shorter, her arm wobbling with the strain.

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