She was too angry at this shortsighted, arrogant man to care about the danger she was in.
"If you were not so conceited and vain," she said sharply, "you would understand that I agree with you! Of course you are the center of our world, the center of the empire. It does does depend on you. It needs you to stand firm and calm, to look unconcerned by this omen. It needs you to mend the throne so that the people need not know what has happened. It needs you to sit on it and to dispense your justice as you have always done. Sweet Gault, man, send to the Choven to come and repair it, or ask them to make you another, but do not crumple before your own servants and say you are finished. If you believe it, they will also. Then the empire depend on you. It needs you to stand firm and calm, to look unconcerned by this omen. It needs you to mend the throne so that the people need not know what has happened. It needs you to sit on it and to dispense your justice as you have always done. Sweet Gault, man, send to the Choven to come and repair it, or ask them to make you another, but do not crumple before your own servants and say you are finished. If you believe it, they will also. Then the empire will will begin to die. And it will be your fault." begin to die. And it will be your fault."
By the end of her speech, Hovet had reached her. Grimly, he held his sword ready, awaiting the order to strike her down.
Breathing hard, spent from her emotions, Elandra raised her chin and glared at the emperor like a true Albain. Inside, her heart was hammering, but she was glad to die in a fight, glad to die with her blood hot and her last words the truth. Kostimon would not see her quail, she a.s.sured herself, trying to maintain her courage. He would not see her back down.
The emperor raised his hand, only to let his fingers curl weakly. Lowering his hand, he shook his head at Hovet, who looked almost disappointed. The emperor snapped his fingers in dismissal, and Hovet trudged out again, sheathing his sword as he did so.
Elandra thought she might faint with relief. Barely she held herself together and went on standing there, proud and straight, her chin still high.
"By the G.o.ds," the emperor said quietly. He still looked angry, but he was calmer now. Reason had returned to his eyes. "It is true, my a.s.sessment. I said you would go to the wall for what you believe in, and you have."
Her anger came back, a flash of white heat in her face. "Was this another test?"
"No." He gestured at his broken throne. "Even I would not go to these lengths to test you."
She turned her back on him, filled with disappointment so sharp it was like a pain through her ribs. "I believed you," she whispered. "I thought you meant all the things you said. But it was only a cloud, fluffy and bright, meant to amuse us, nothing more."
He did not pretend to misunderstand her. "Yes, I talked to you about ruling for me. I have trained you, raised your expectations. I admit that." He sighed. "But when you seized the reins just now, I-" He broke off and frowned. "I did not like it."
She remained with her back to him, unable to face him now. It was impossible to keep her broken illusions from her face, and she did not want him to see how deeply he had hurt her. "Of course you did not like it," she agreed softly.
Silence fell between them. She understood. He had clawed his way to power, then fought fiercely to maintain it. For a thousand years he had fended off every foe, and there had been many. He could not relinquish his throne now, not even to a regent. Not even to her. She had known it in her heart all along, had known it was too incredible to be true.
What she had not known, had not suspected, was how much she wanted it.
It was as though only in the loss did she see the truth of her own ambitions. She was shocked, and as angry at herself as at him.
"Will you have me moved back to the women"s wing, Majesty?" she asked finally to break the silence. She even forced herself to turn around as she said it. "Will you send me into exile?"
He frowned in instant scorn. "Don"t be stupid," he said sharply. "There will be a coronation, even if it"s only to name you consort. The imperial family always moves forward. We never step back." He eyed her long and hard, his mouth set in a thin line. "Go and get your rest. You have a long and arduous day ahead of you."
Her mouth was equally set. Formally, she gave him a deep curtsy, then collected her lamp and dagger. Clinging to the tatters of her dignity, she stepped back behind the curtains and took her private pa.s.sageway back to her chambers. Just before she went in, she left her weapon on the table and extinguished her lamp.
Inside her rooms, she found her ladies in waiting awake now and fl.u.s.tered in their nightrobes.
"My lady!" one of them cried. "What has come about? We could not find you. We have heard such terrible rumors. We were afraid and nearly sent the guardsmen to search for you."
Elandra eyed them coldly. "I was with his Imperial Majesty," she said in a voice like ice.
"Oh."
Her attendants faltered. Some of them exchanged glances. She saw all of it in an instant, read their minds as clearly as though they spoke their thoughts aloud. A fresh sense of failure twisted in Elandra"s heart. If they wanted to think she had been in her husband"s bed, so be it. That would at least start other rumors that might distract them from the truth.
After dismissing her ladies, she did not return to bed. Instead, she paced back and forth in front of her window, shivering and clutching her robes around her. Visions of the shattered throne haunted her. It and the dark cloud on the horizon were clear omens. The G.o.ds had spoken plainly. The end was near. At least for Kostimon, if not for them all. Swallowing hard, she kept telling herself she should be grateful she wasn"t dead or cast out. But she wasn"t grateful. She found herself growing angrier with every step.
What was her place now? Kostimon had admitted that he could not support his own intentions. At the first crisis, his kindness had fallen away to reveal the true man beneath. A cruel, manipulative man, with a mind from the dark ages, who asked her to help him yet would not let her try. He had humiliated her, and believed to do so was his right.
There could be no apology from the emperor. Probably he believed that letting her live was amends enough.
Be grateful, she told herself.
But she could not be grateful. She would rather choke.
Be humble, she told herself.
Her pride was thundering out of control. Humility could not even be approached.
Go through with it and wait for another chance.
But that thought appalled her. She was no schemer. She was not like Tirhin, with his plots and intrigues.
She thought of her oaths to be spoken tomorrow. Hot tears sprang to her eyes. How could she go through with any of it? A vow had to be honest and heartfelt, if it was to mean anything. Her integrity would not let her mumble empty words, simply for personal gain.
She could defy him. She could refuse to proceed further. She could ruin her father, destroy the long-range plans of the Penestricians, walk away from an empire teetering on the edge of civil war and chaos. She could retreat to a Penestrican stronghold and live out her days in silence.
And wasn"t that what the Vindicants were praying for? Wouldn"t that hand everything to Tirhin on a platter?
She frowned, feeling more confused than ever. She did not know the prince, did not know if he was a good man or a bad one. He was handsome, certainly, but that did not mark a man"s worth. How could she judge his merits, or decide the course of his future? Who had given her the right to decide anything? She was alone, with no one to advise her. At least no one she trusted.
She went on pacing, feeling pinned under the direct scrutiny of the G.o.ds, and could not determine what she should do.
Chapter Eight.
All during the morning her entourage surrounded her like magpies, coming and going in excitement, chattering constantly. There was an atmosphere of great expectancy among her ladies, who knew nothing of the truth. Rumors flew in all directions, but the throne room had been locked-even her private pa.s.sage was now barred-with guards at the door. The people who had witnessed the scene in the throne room had all vanished, including Chancellor Wilst, without explanation.
Elandra knew what had happened to them. Or at least she guessed.
It angered her that her husband would silence people, even good, useful people like the chancellor, with such untoward finality. While she would have commanded their promise to not speak of what they had witnessed, Kostimon simply used execution to silence them. Like a barbarian, he treated death and mutilation casually. People were completely expendable, in his view. It was the side of his personality that terrified her.
She said little while her ladies chattered. She had a headache, and she felt nervous and tired. Then her tutor came in, with yet another version of her coronation oath.
"At last!" he said in excitement, waving the sheaf of papers. "There has been an agreement within the priesthood. Lord Sien has graciously conceded one point which the emperor wanted most particularly. All can proceed now."
Elandra looked at Milgard coldly. It was tempting to tell him that his efforts were for naught. She was only to be a consort after all. Everything would have to be changed back to the original ceremonies and protocol. She wondered when the emperor would deign to inform his chancellors. Probably at the last moment, just to watch them sweat and bustle.
Then her own bitterness dismayed her anew. She tried to shake herself into a better frame of mind.
"Now, Majesty," Milgard said eagerly. He pulled over a footstool and stood on it beside her. She stood on her cushion like a statue, arms extended while the seamstresses made finite adjustments to the fitting gown she wore over her clothing. "Let us begin. It will occupy your mind while you stand here being stuck with pins. Repeat after me-"
"No," Elandra said suddenly.
Her head was splitting. The room was too hot and too full of people. She could bear no more of this.
Gesturing the seamstresses aside, she stepped down off her cushion and shrugged off the fitting gown.
"I wish my cloak and veil," she said.
Looks of consternation flashed about her. "Majesty," Milgard stammered, "there is little time to learn what you must say. Tomorrow the eyes of the empire will be upon you. It is important that you speak well. Rehearsal is-"
Elandra snapped her fingers, and one of the ladies hastened to throw her fur-lined cloak about her shoulders. Elandra pulled up the hood and fastened her veil into place.
"Majesty, please," Milgard said, looking distraught. He ran his long, ink-stained fingers through his graying hair.
"Not now," she said tonelessly. "I wish to go for a walk."
The ladies put down needlework and other activities in immediate compliance. They went to get their cloaks, but Elandra raised her hand.
"Stop. I will walk alone. I wish no accompaniment."
They protested, but she left her chambers and walked rapidly outside into the frosty air of midday. The winter sunshine looked pale and blighted today. Even inside the protected walls of her garden, her flowers had been nipped by frost. They drooped, the edges of their leaves rimmed in black. Two guardsmen trailed after her, keeping a respectful distance.
Elandra glanced over her shoulder at them once, and quickened her step. Her garden walls loomed high, and she felt enclosed inside a topless box. This was a prison, no matter how comfortable. She felt confined and frustrated. Why must she be watched over constantly? What harm could befall her here within the palace? Why, for once, could she not be alone?
Her head ached more fiercely. Stopping a moment to rub her temples with her gloved fingers, she drew in several breaths of frosty air. Nothing helped. The tension knotting her neck did not slacken. And it was too cold for her to linger out here.
Yet she did not want to return to her chambers to be fussed over endlessly, suffocated with attention. Abruptly she made a decision and veered from her garden. Indoors, she headed toward another section of the palace, walking with swift determination. Her guards moved closer. Un.o.btrusive, yet there in her wake. She reminded herself they followed to protect her, yet she did not feel safe.
She walked quickly along the galleries and pa.s.sageways, keeping her hood up and her veil in place for concealment. Each time she met a courtier or a servant or a chancellor, she was conscious of the swift flick of their eyes, followed by a little gasp of recognition. It irked her. Why should she maintain this pretense of being hidden away when anyone who saw her knew who she was? Or maybe it was the fact that she"d left her chambers to stroll through the palace at large that shocked everyone she met. She must be violating another rule and another set of protocols. For once she did not care. She felt restless and edgy, rebellious and daring.
Finally she reached a section where she did not know her way. She stopped and gestured. One of her guards stepped forward and bowed.
"The new healer," she said impatiently. "Where is his workroom?"
The guard frowned, looking shocked. "But, Majesty, if you are ill he will be brought to you. You must not go to him. It is not-"
"Do not tell me what is and is not permitted," she said sharply enough to make the man blanch. "Direct me to his workroom."
The guard bowed again. "If your Majesty will follow me ..."
He led her into a modest area of pokey pa.s.sageways, dark, ill-lit rooms, and storerooms stocked with provisions. Women on their knees scrubbed steps and floors with brushes. The men were all carrying items or hurrying somewhere. Elandra saw no idleness, no slacking.
Unconsciously she gave a nod at the activity. It looked well supervised, but she would very much like to check the inventories someday to see how much waste and graft were going on.
Then, for the first time all day, she nearly smiled at herself. The steward would die of horror if he found her in his storerooms, counting barrels herself. No, no, he would expect her to sit in her audience room while he laid carefully penned lists before her and a.s.sured her all was as it should be.
She pa.s.sed an open door where cold air was pouring in along with servants busily unloading laden carts. More feast day provisions. So much work toward an event that might be canceled.
Stop it, she told herself sharply. The emperor had said there would still be a coronation. She might as well shake herself out of this dark mood. she told herself sharply. The emperor had said there would still be a coronation. She might as well shake herself out of this dark mood.
They climbed a long series of steps, leaving the bustle of the storerooms behind. Here, there was no heat and no activity. Despite the warmth of her cloak, Elandra shivered. Ahead she could smell the unpleasant scents of a sickroom mingled with the aroma of herbs and bracing tea.
The guard leading her stopped. "Wait here, Majesty."
He walked alone to the infirmary door and knocked, while the other guard stood close to Elandra.
The door opened, and the new healer peered out. He and the guard spoke softly a moment, and the healer shook his head. He pointed and closed the door.
The guard returned to Elandra. "Healer Agel is honored by your visit, Majesty. He begs you to enter his study. He will attend you shortly."
Already half regretting her impulse, she nodded. The guards led her a short distance down the shadowy hall and opened a door.
She was shown into a small, austere room. Almost entirely bare of furnishings, it contained only a writing table, a stool, and a simple chair. There was a case to hold parchment scrolls, and everything looked neat and utterly clean. Even the table was swept clear, and the medicine cabinet stood open to show orderly rows of small jars.
No fire burned on the cold grate. A single lamp struggled to supplement the inadequate light streaming through the window.
Elandra gazed about her with keen disappointment. "Is this all?" she asked.
"We Traulanders require little in the way of material possessions," said a deep, faintly accented voice behind her.
Elandra turned as the healer stepped into the room. He wore the plain white wool robe of his calling, and his hands were tucked inside his sleeves. His face was gaunt and pale. His eyes were calm, dispa.s.sionate, uninvolved.
Seeing him, she relaxed at once. "You are Healer Agel," she said, "newly appointed to the court of my husband."
His eyes widened at this hint. He bowed deeply to her. "Majesty," he said, less calmly than before. "Forgive me. Had you but summoned me, I would have come to your a.s.sistance at once."
Her eyes narrowed in annoyance. So, when the guard had first spoken to him, the healer had thought her one of the concubines. Presumably they came often to his infirmary. "Had I desired you to attend me in public," she said through her teeth, "I would have done so. I prefer privacy for this consultation. Without my ladies in waiting, without my tutors, without my guards." She gestured at her guards in dismissal. "Leave us. This room is too small."
"Majesty-"
She glared at them over her veil. Reluctantly they left the tiny study and shut the door.
Closing her eyes a moment, she released a sigh.
"May I see your hand?" the healer asked.
Shivering and wishing he would light a fire, she extended her left hand.
He supported it carefully on the tips of his fingers, taking care to touch her as little as possible. When he ma.s.saged the web between her thumb and forefinger, she winced at the tenderness.
"You suffer the affliction of a headache," he said.
"Yes."
Releasing her hand, he studied her a moment. His eyes were so serious. She wondered if he ever laughed.
"May I reach beneath your veil and touch the back of your neck?"
"Yes."
Again his touch was impersonal, professional. He moved around her with exaggerated care until she longed to scream at him to simply take down her veil and handle her as he would any other patient. She resisted this, knowing it was foolish and self-indulgent.