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He’s definitely the most intriguing member of the party. And infinitely more so after Petra cuts off the aimless blathering to suggest we walk along the palace’s upper parapet for some fresh air.
It’s two floors up from the audience room. At the base of the first staircase, a couple of the Darium guards prod Prince Bastien.
“Let’s see you really march for once, huh?” one says, and the other laughs.
The prince’s lips flatten even more, but he strides up the stairs at the same pace as the apparent jokesters. By halfway up the second flight, his legs have started to wobble and his breath comes out of him in a wheeze.
The first of the guards shakes his head. “Shouldn’t have given up that lung if you couldn’t keep up without it.”
He uses a teasing tone, but I pick up on an edge of a jeer. How harshly would he speak if he didn’t have an audience?
Then what he said sinks in. I stare at Prince Bastien for a second before jerking my gaze away, not wanting my interest to be obvious.
He sacrificed an entire lung to his godlen? What kind of gift would you get for that?
Or, like Lothar, did he reach for too much out of the wrong reasons and get nothing at all?
I can’t tell from the guards’ heckling. The prince hasn’t shown any signs of magic since he arrived, but then, Admiral Varus could have cautioned him against it. At least while I’m around.
As we amble along the front parapet overlooking the sprawl of the city, the rooftops gleam under the bright afternoon sun. I contrive to place myself next to Prince Bastien. I have to constrain my pace, because his own strides are still a little unsteady from the climb.
Petra, Varus, and the others pull ahead of us, Stavros shooting a quick glance back at me with a subtle tip of his head in approval. When they stop to resume their conversation near the corner of the walkway, I come to a halt several paces away.
I set my hands on the ridges of stone as if I simply want to sightsee, blocking the prince from strolling straight onward too.
He pauses beside me rather than walking around. I wouldn’t be surprised if he appreciates the break.
“It’s a long way from Cotea’s capital to Darium,” I remark. “Do you see your family often?”
Bastien’s voice comes out terse. “No.”
I turn to lean against the wall sideways and decide to take a gamble. “Do you really think your emperor’s soldiers are going to set down their arms and walk away?”
I manage to startle him with my bluntness. He blinks at me, a flash of emotion crossing his face and vanishing before I can decipher it. Then he turns to glower at the rest of Florian.
His answer sounds rehearsed. “That’s not for me to say. I’m sure if negotiations proceed that way, my family will respect the empire’s treaties.”
“I wouldn’t imply otherwise. It’s only that Dariu has been awfully stubborn, emperor after emperor, for rather a lot of decades.”
I think my wry tone earns me a twitch of his lips, though it’s so brief I might have imagined it. For a moment, his eyes darken. “Everything changes, and nothing lasts forever. It just takes the right moment.”
He could be talking about a moment of peace-making and negotiation, but his expression suggests otherwise. And right then, I catch the tiniest quiver of magic, as if his gift tried to flex itself and he yanked it back.
Oh, he has magic all right. And surely it’s a lot with a sacrifice like that.
What kind of immense gift would the Darium emperor allow right under his own roof?
Before I can figure out how to wheedle that information out of Bastien, Varus clears his throat and makes a beckoning gesture. “Come on, young prince. You’re meant to be part of this discussion as well.”
Schooling his face into perfect blankness, the prince stalks over to join his colleagues.
Late that night, I only manage to make it until just after the doors have closed behind the delegates before my mouth gapes in a jaw-creaking yawn. I swipe my hand across my mouth and glance over at Petra. “Did you get anywhere at all with that puffed up lout?”
The queen lets out a low chuckle. “He talked in a lot of circles, certainly. I told him I’d like to see a formal proposal in writing, and he promised to speak to Emperor Tarquin to decide on their required terms, but I suspect we won’t be seeing that.”
Stavros drains the last of his wine from the cup he’s carried with him to the front hall. “He got what he wanted, which was to examine the new ruler of Silana.”
Tinom lets out a huff. “And now the emperor will know she’s no one to be trifled with and that she’s got the full strength of her people supporting her.”
