Page 17 of A Reign of Embers

At first, the light that wavers across my closed eyelids remains formless, ruddy blotches that match Sabrelle’s totem color. Gradually, the vague shapes shift and solidify.

Movement ripples through my vision, like a marching army. Palace and temple spires gleam. Faint cheers reverberate at the edge of my hearing.

A hand—a hand that would have to be mine from the angle—reaches out and clasps the handle of a dagger. It turns the point of the blade toward my body.

Then it slams the weapon home, straight into my chest with a spurt of blood.

My eyes pop open, my lips clamping against a gasp I barely stifle. My stomach roils as the impressions echo through my mind.

When I glance back up at her, Sabrelle’s cold expression looks like a sneer.

That’s her answer, then. All she’d want from me is for me to kill myself and give the empire over to whoever would fight hardest for it.

My resolve hardens inside me. I push myself to my feet, tensing my legs against a wobble.

Fine. She’ll just have to see that the person who’ll fight hardest for it is me.

Whatever Valerisse thinks is at stake, it can’t be as much as the hopes and pain of every conquered country on the continent.

I return to the doorway with my jaw firmly set. Axius stands in the hallway just outside.

“Your Imperial Highness,” he starts. “I realize that Emperor Marclinus dismissed me from my position, but?—"

I lift my hand to stop him. “I appreciate all the guidance you’ve already given me and the support you’ve shown today. As far as I’m concerned, you’re still the imperial military advisor. And in that role, I’d like you to tell the tribune’s messenger that Empress Aurelia will not be abandoning the throne.”

Chapter Seven

Raul

When Aurelia steps into the military workout room for her fourth training session, none of the imperial soldiers who glance over look surprised. Sauntering in behind her, I catch several smiles before they yank their attention back to their own exercises with the expected strict discipline.

They like having an empress who’d stand a chance at whooping their asses in a fight—and who’d want that chance.

Captain Evando nods to me after his brisk bow to Aurelia. “Prince Raul—we haven’t seen you in some time, Your Highness.”

I pick up one of the training swords and test its weight in my hand. “I thought it was time to brush up on my skills, seeing as all of us may be called on to defend the rightful rulers of our empire as we’re able.”

His answering hum sounds approving. Better they all think I’m here out of devotion to their blasted empire than to the woman I love.

Conveniently, both versions of devotion look very similar at the moment.

As Aurelia stretches and goes through a few basic exercises to warm up her limbs, the gem on the pommel of her sword gleams by her hip. A few nearby soldiers peer at it with surreptitious curiosity.

This is the first time she’s brought the Sabrelle-blessed blade anywhere outside her chambers. Before we left, she declared it was time she started getting some practice with her most powerful weapon.

It is an incredible sword. The way the steel sings as she pulls the blade from its sheath sends a shiver over my skin. I wouldn’t mind a chance to stab and slash with that beauty.

But the honor is all Aurelia’s. As it should be, if she’s going to convince our godlen of war to stop being such a fucking idiot.

A hush falls over the room at the sight of the blessed sword. None of the soldiers know its history, but there’s no mistaking the craftmanship or the sigil on the hilt.

Captain Evando pauses, studying it. “You’ve brought your own weapon this time.”

Aurelia slices the blade through the air. “I’ve been informed that this sword is sacred to the family I married into, a treasure that will belong to my daughter when she’s grown and one meant to defend the imperial line from all threats. It seemed appropriate that I make use of it for that purpose now. May Sabrelle look kindly on me.”

She flicks her fingers down her front in the gesture of the divinities, but I catch a hint of dryness in her tone. The godlen hasn’t shown any signs of relenting in her campaign of disapproval so far.

“A reasonable decision,” Evando says, and raises his own sword. “I look forward to seeing it in action. It’s a little larger than the blades you’ve practiced with before—we’ll go through the forms more slowly to start.”

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