But the Augurs, I realize, promised me nothing.
I force myself to meet my father's eyes. I have never seen him so defeated.
Beside him, Mother's white-blonde hair shines as if lit from within, her fur-lined gown draped gracefully even as she kneels for death. Her pale face is fierce. "Strength, my girl," she whispers to me. Beside her, Livvy breathes in short, panicked gusts. She whispers rapidly to a violently trembling Hannah.
I try to grasp the scim at my waist to steady myself, but I can hardly feel it beneath my palm.
"Your Majesty," I say. "Please. The Commandant is planning a coup. You heard Lieutenant Faris. You must listen to me."
Marcus lifts his eyes to me, their flat yellow chilling my blood. Slowly, he draws a dagger from his belt. It is thin and razor-sharp with a Blackcliff diamond as its hilt. His prize for winning the First Trial, so long ago.
"I can make it quick, Shrike," he says quietly. "Or I can make it very, very slow. Speak out of turn again and see which one I choose. Lieutenant Sergius," he calls out. The Black Guard I cowed through blackmail and coercion just weeks ago slinks forward.
"Secure the Shrike and her allies," Marcus says. "We wouldn't want their emotions to get the better of them."
Sergius hesitates for just a second before signaling the other Black Guards.
Hannah sobs quietly, turning imploring eyes to Marcus. "Please," she whispers. "Your Majesty. We are engaged--I am your betrothed." But Marcus doesn't spare her any more attention than he would a beggar.
Marcus turns to the Paters in the throne room, and power exudes from him. He is no embattled Emperor now but one who has survived a Scholar rebellion, assassination attempts, and the betrayal of the strongest families in the land.
He twirls his dagger in his hand, and the silver catches the light of the sun now rising overhead. Dawn illuminates the room with gentle beauty that sickens me when I think of what is about to happen. Marcus paces back and forth behind my family, a brutal predator deciding whom to kill first.
My mother whispers something to my father and sisters. I love you.
"Men and women of the Empire." Marcus slows behind Mother. Her eyes burn into mine, and she straightens her spine and throws back her shoulders. Marcus stills the movement of the dagger. "Observe what happens when you fail your Emperor."
The throne room falls silent. I hear the silver blade dip into my mother's throat, the gurgling tear it makes as he draws it across her neck and into her artery. She sways. Her gaze slides to the floor, her body soon following.
"No!" Hannah shrieks, giving voice to the despair that has gripped my body. My mouth is salty with blood--I've bitten through my lip. While the courtiers watch, Hannah keens like a wounded animal, rocking over my mother's body, not caring about anything but her wretched, all-consuming grief. Livia's face is empty, her eyes confused as she peers down at the blood pooling, soaking the knees of her pale blue dress.
I cannot feel the pain in my lip. My feet, my legs seem so far away. That is not my mother's blood. That is not her body. Those are not her hands, lifeless and white. No.
Hannah's scream yanks me from my daze. Marcus has grabbed her by her ruined hair. "No, please." Her frantic eyes seek me out. "Hel, help me!"
I strain against Sergius, a strange wounded snarl coming from my throat. I can barely hear her as she chokes out the words. My baby sister. She had the softest hair when we were girls. "Helly, I'm sorry--"
Marcus draws the knife across her throat swiftly. His face is blank as he does so, as if the task requires all of his concentration. He releases her, and she thuds down beside my mother. The pale strands of their hair mingle.
Behind me, the door to the throne room opens. Marcus sneers at the interruption.
"Y-your Majesty." I cannot see the soldier who enters, but the crack in his voice suggests that he wasn't expecting to walk into a bloodbath. "A message from Kauf . . ."
"I'm in the middle of something. Keris," Marcus barks at the Commandant without looking at her, "deal with it."
The Commandant bows and turns to leave, slowing as she passes me. She leans forward, putting a cold hand on my shoulder. I am too numb to flinch away from her. Her gray eyes are remorseless.
"It is glorious to witness your unmaking, Blood Shrike," she whispers. "To watch as you break."
My whole body shakes as she throws Cain's words back at my face. First you will be unmade. First, you will be broken. Bleeding skies, I thought he meant when I killed Elias. But he knew. All that time while I agonized over my friend, he and his brethren knew what it was that would truly break me.
But how could the Commandant possibly know what Cain said to me? She releases me and saunters out of the room, and I have no more time to wonder, for Marcus is before me.
"Take a moment to say goodbye to your father, Shrike. Sergius, release her."
I take three steps to my father and fall to my knees. I cannot look away from my mother and sister.
"Blood Shrike," my father whispers. "Look at me."
I want to beg him to call me by my name. I'm not the Shrike. I'm Helene, your Helene. Your little girl.
"Look at me, daughter." I lift my eyes, expecting to see defeat in his gaze. Instead, he is my calm, collected father, though his whisper is ragged with grief. "And listen. You cannot save me. You could not save your mother, or your sister, or Elias. But you can still save the Empire, for it is in far graver danger than Marcus realizes. Tiborum will soon be surrounded by hordes of Wildmen, and I hear tell of a fleet out of Karkaus, heading north to Navium. The Commandant is blind to it--she is too fixated on the destruction of the Scholars and on securing her own power."
"Father." I glance at Marcus, who is watching from a few yards away. "Damn the Empire--"
"Listen to me." The sudden desperation in his voice terrifies me. My father fears nothing. "Gens Aquilla must remain powerful. Our alliances must remain powerful. You must remain powerful. When war comes to this land from without, which it inevitably will, we cannot falter. How many Martials in this Empire?"
"M-millions."
"More than six million," my father says. "Six million men, women, and children whose futures rest in your hands. Six million who will depend on your strength so that they may remain untouched by the torment of war. You are all that holds back the darkness. Take my necklace."
With shaking hands, I pull off the chain I used to bat at as a child. One of my first memories is Father leaning over me, the Aquilla ring dangling from his collar, the embossed falcon in full flight catching the lamplight.
"You are Mater of Gens Aquilla now," Father whispers. "You are Blood Shrike of the Empire. And you are my daughter. Do not fail me."
The moment my father eases back, Marcus strikes. It takes my father longer to die--he has more blood, perhaps. When his eyes darken, I think I cannot hurt any more. Marcus has wrung me dry of all my pain. Then my eyes fall upon my littlest sister. You fool, Helene. When you love, there is always more pain.
"Men and women of the Empire." Marcus's voice echoes from the rafters of the throne room. What in the bleeding hells is he doing?
"I am but a Plebeian, given the burden of rulership by our esteemed holy men, the Augurs." He sounds almost humble, and I gape at him as he looks around at the assembly of the Empire's finest. "But even a Plebeian knows that sometimes an Emperor must show mercy.
"The bond between Shrike and Emperor is one ordained by the Augurs." He goes to Livia and lifts her to her feet. She looks between Marcus and me, mouth parted, skin blanched to gray.
"It is a bond that must weather the darkest of tempests," the Emperor says. "My Shrike's first failure is one such tempest. But I am not unmerciful. Nor do I wish to begin my reign with broken promises. I signed a marriage agreement with Gens Aquilla." He glances at me, stone-faced. "And so I shall honor it--by marrying Mater Aquilla's youngest sister, Livia Aquilla, immediately. By joining my line to one of the oldest Gens in the land, I seek to establish my dynasty and bring glo
ry to the Empire once more. We shall put this"--he looks distastefully at the bodies on the ground--"behind us. If, of course, Mater Aquilla accepts."
"Livia." I can only mouth my sister's name. I clear my throat. "Livia would be spared?" At Marcus's nod, I stand. I force myself to look at my sister, because if she would rather die, then I cannot deny her that, even if it unravels my last bit of sanity. But the reality of what is happening finally hits her. I see my own torment mirrored in her eyes--but I see something else too. My parents' strength. She nods.
"I--I accept," I whisper.
"Good," Marcus says. "We will marry at sunset. The rest of you--get out," he barks at the courtiers, who watch in horrified fascination. "Sergius." The Black Guard steps forward. "Take my . . . bride to the east wing of the palace. Make sure she is comfortable. And safe."
Sergius escorts Livia away. The courtiers file out silently. As I stare at the ground in front of me, at the spreading pool of blood, Marcus approaches.
He stands behind me and runs one finger along the back of my neck. I shudder in disgust, but a second later, Marcus jerks his body away.
"Shut up," he hisses, and when I glance up, I find he's not addressing me. Instead, he's looking over his shoulder--at empty air. "Stop."
I watch with a dull sort of fascination as he growls and shakes his shoulders, like he's shaking off someone's grasp. A moment later, he turns back to me--but keeps his hands to himself.
"You stupid girl." His voice is a soft hiss. "I told you: Never presume that you know more than me. I was well aware of Keris's little plot. I warned you not to defy me publicly, and still you barged in, screaming of a coup, making me look weak. If you'd kept your damned mouth shut, this wouldn't have happened."
Bleeding skies. "You--you knew--"