“Girls!” Lord Albain bellowed from outside the suite. “Enough dallying. Everything is loaded. The beasts aren’t going to be kept standing while you primp and fool about.”
The three women stood silent, frozen in place.
Elandra gasped aloud in relief and pressed her hands to her mouth. “Father,” she whispered.
The door to the suite swung open, and a slim, green-skinned jinja slid inside. No taller than Elandra’s waist, the creature wore a sleeveless vest and wide trousers embroidered richly with gold thread and tiny jewels. It had a triangular face, huge eyes, tiny vicious teeth, and pointed ears. It made the motions of walking, although most of the time its small feet did not really touch the floor. As Elandra stared at it, it paused just inside the door and sniffed the air. Then, quicker than the eye could follow, it darted about the room—here, there, and back again, before pausing at the open window. Where the sunshine hit it, the jinja’s green skin shimmered translucently, like colored glass.
“All is safe to enter, master,” the jinja called. “No poison. No assassin. No spells.”
Elandra whipped her head around to look at it in amazement. Couldn’t it smell the magic that had been used in the room? But her own nostrils no longer detected the faint scorched scent of Hecati’s spell. She realized Hecati had been fooling the jinja for years. Elandra’s fear grew. Hecati must be powerful indeed. But even she would not dare act openly in front of Lord Albain, who could have her put to death.
“You stupid creature!” Hecati said sharply to the jinja. “Who would offer his lordship danger here?”
Ignoring her, the jinja licked the tips of its little fingers and began to clean its ears with them.
Gihaud Albain strode inside with his customary impatience, spurs jingling with every step.
He was a tall, broad man. Not fat but square, with massive shoulders and thick arms. His hair had once been fiery red, but had now faded to a rich gold. It was shaved off the front half of his skull and worn in a long warrior’s ponytail. He was dressed in his ceremonial mail leggings and embossed armored breastplate. He carried his embroidered gauntlets in one hand, and his dress sword clanked at his side. With his scarred cheek and missing eye, he looked tough and gnarled even in his fancy regalia. Lord Albain was responsible for holding the south border of the empire against the barbarians, and he did his job very well. At present, there was peace, and he had been bored and restless all spring from the inactivity. But today he looked content, even proud, and he strode in with a vigor that seemed startling in the secluded surroundings of this womanly apartment.
The sight of Bixia in her nightgown made him frown. “Girl! You idle lazybones, get dressed! Are you daft, to be dawdling on a day like this? We can’t keep the Penestricans waiting. Nor the imperial escort waiting down in the courtyard. They’re already mounted.”
Bixia tossed her head, oblivious to his shouting. “Let them wait,” she said haughtily. “I am to be the next empress. I can take as much time as I want.”
Bristling, Albain shook his thick forefinger at her. “Now, listen to me, you spoiled—”
“My lord,” Hecati interceded hastily. “There is good reason why your daughter is not ready. Hear me, sir. She has been betrayed by one close to her. By one she trusted with all her heart. Yes, and worse than that, your lordship has been betrayed as well by this same fiend.” Hecati’s eyes flashed. “The entire marriage agreement between Lady Bixia and Emperor Kostimon now lies in jeopardy.”
Chapter Fourteen
ALBAIN LOWERED HIS hand. “What?” he said blankly. “Jeopardy? Betrayal? Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lord.” Hecati gestured mournfully at the robe lying on the floor. “The sacred bridal robe has been torn beyond repair. I’m sure your lordship knows the terrible omen this constitutes for Lady Bixia’s wedded happiness.”
“Superstition,” Bixia said; then, under her father’s steady glare, she hitched her nightgown up properly over both shoulders.
“I hope that was a joke, daughter,” he said with severity.
Bixia swallowed and dropped her eyes. “Yes, father.”
“Heresy, even in jest, is a bad habit. I doubt you’ll have the freedom at court to speak your mind as freely as you do here.”
Her head came up defiantly, but at the last moment she said nothing. Her gaze went to Elandra, and she shrugged.
Lord Albain scowled at the robe. “Isn’t this the piece that cost me nearly nine hundred ducats?”
“Yes, my lord,” Hecati said.
Elandra gasped, and even Bixia looked impressed.
Hecati’s eyes narrowed to slits. She watched Elandra closely, like a cat eyeing its prey.
Albain looked a bit stunned, but he rallied. “Bixia’s got other robes. One of them will have to do.”
“But, Father!” Bixia wailed. “The others aren’t blessed. I can’t marry the emperor like a rag girl. I have to have a robe from Mahira. You know how important it is.”
“No!” he said explosively. “Murdeth and Fury, girl. You’ll make a pauper of me.”
Tears welled up in Bixia’s green eyes. “I can’t go through with it. My bridal robe is ruined, and my marriage will be cursed forever.”
“Enough of that!” he said roughly, bill helplessness had entered his gaze. “Oh, hell’s breath. Don’t start that drizzling. We’ll see what can be done.”
“Oh, Father, thank you!” Bixia flung her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss his scarred cheek. “You’re so good to me. So kind and generous.”
He patted her shoulder and cleared his throat with gratification. “We’ll see. Now mind you, get dressed in a hurry.”
Beaming, Bixia vanished back into her bedchamber with a slam of the door. Her gong rang, summoning attendants. One of Elandra’s duties was to help her sister dress every morning. Right now, however, she scarcely dared breathe, and she did not move.
“What is to be done, my lord?” Hecati asked. “The wedding cannot proceed as planned—”
“It must!” he shouted, then grimaced and raised his hand in placation. “No delays,” he said in a more reasonable tone of voice. “Damn it all, I won’t insult the emperor all because of an accursed nightgown!”
“Your daughter must have the raiment that is her due.”
“Hell’s teeth, woman! I’ve spent a fortune already on her damned trousseau.”
“That is not the issue,” Hecati said coolly. “Brides of high lineage are traditionally sent to their marriage beds in Mahiran bridal robes. The blessing was to ensure a swift conception of an heir. If Lady Bixia fails in this duty, there will be—”
“Enough,” he said heavily and wiped perspiration from his brow. “No need to spell out what I understand perfectly. All must go on as planned. I’ll send word to Mahira about getting a replacement. Damnation! I could buy a new war mount for the cost. Or a trio of young elephants.”
The jinja darted over to Elandra and swirled around her in a green blur before joining Albain. The baron draped a fond hand over the creature’s narrow shoulder.
“Must this horrid thing remain in the room?” Hecati asked with visible uneasiness. She made a shooing motion, which it ignored. “All is proven safe. It does not need to linger here.”
“Who was whipped, master?” the jinja asked with a wicked grin that showed its pointed teeth.
Albain ignored its question, but spots of color appeared on Hecati’s cheeks.
Elandra watched them closely. Thus far they had ignored her. She eased one step away. Then another, hoping the jinja would be quiet about the whipping. She wanted no attention turned on her now. There would be time to explain the truth to her father later, when Hecati was gone.
But Hecati turned her head and looked straight at Elandra. “As for who did this ignominious—”
The jinja swirled around. “Lies in the room. Lies in the room.”
“Hush,” Albain admonished it.
Looking hurt, the jinja darted over to the wind
ow and crouched on the sill with a sulky face.
“Enough sly accusations,” Elandra said, stepping forward. She looked at her father. “Lady Hecati blames me for what happened to the robe.”
Albain’s single eye met her gaze, and he frowned. She had his jaw, his temper, and his auburn hair. Her height and slender figure she’d gotten from her mother. Her mind was her own, and she’d fought tooth and nail all her life to get it educated.
She knew he had other illegitimate children besides herself. There were several stablehands running about with the Albain hair or the Albain jaw.
But she was the only highborn bastard in his progeny,her lineage proud on both sides. Why her mother had consorted with Albain, breaking her own marriage vows while her husband was away at war, had never been told. Why her mother had not kept Elandra, but instead sent her to Albain when she was four years old, was also unexplained. As long as Bixia’s good-natured mother was alive, Elandra had been well treated and happy within the household. When Lady Ousia died trying to bear Albain’s son, her sister Hecati came to take charge of the children.
“There, she admits her guilt to you, my lord,” Hecati said now while Elandra faced her father’s glare. “She has cost you nine hundred ducats—no, double that if the robe is to be replaced suitably. And all because she envies her half- sister’s good fortune.”
Elandra glanced at the jinja, but it was still pouting on the windowsill, gazing outside. It was a creature of whim. Its only allegiance was to her father. She couldn’t depend on its help at all. Her heart sank.
Albain looked at her with disappointment. Her throat choked, but she refused to lower her proud chin even a fraction. All she’d ever wanted was his affection, but he was a busy man who spared scant time for family. She had been hoping that with Bixia and Hecati gone, she and her father might finally become companions.
It killed her for him to look at her this way now.
“I admit no wrongdoing,” she said, her voice low with the effort not to cry. “I deny their accusations.”
“Wicked girl!” Hecati said angrily. “Your defiance does you no good. You hale and envy your half-sister. Admit your jealousy. You are a horrid, lying troublemaker.”
“Lady Hecati,” Albain said sharply, “mind your tone.”
Hecati bowed al once. “Forgive me, my lord. But this wretch—”
“—is my daughter.”
Something unreadable crossed Hecati’s face. She swallowed. “Yes, my lord. But as a bastard—”
He scowled. “Elandra’s maternal side comes from one of the most venerable and ancient bloodlines in Gialta. My own lineage is equally faultless. The fact that she was born of a love union rather than a sacramented one does not give you leave to yell at her like a fishwife.”
A tiny smile quivered on Elandra’s lips. He filled her eyes, a hero. His fairness and justice was on her side today, and she gazed at him with love, pleased to have such a champion.
Hecati turned red. She curtsied. “Again, I beg my lord’s forgiveness.”
He grunted and turned back to his daughter. “Elandra, you will tell me the truth of this matter.”
For a moment it all rushed up inside Elandra, the urge to tell him everything about the way she was treated, the trick Bixia had pulled with the bridal robe, the scuffle with Hecati that had torn it. But instinct warned her to take care. She felt danger around her, like a hot wind blowing across the plains. The jinja apparently did not sense it; perhaps it was only her imagination. But she had learned the hard way not to underestimate Hecati’s menace. And if she lost her temper or grew shrill in what she said, her father would not listen to her. Experience had taught her that as well.
She could not accuse Bixia, his golden child. His sense of fairness would stretch only so far.
Swallowing hard, Elandra said, “Last night before she retired, Lady Bixia asked me to shorten one of her dressing robes because it was far too long for her.”
“A lie!” Hecati broke in. “You took the robe from the box and deliberately ruined it—”
“No!” Elandra insisted, her eyes flashing. “I knew nothing about its special significance. I never saw any box.”
She turned her gaze to her father, who was frowning. “The robe dragged on the floor, and Bixia was very upset.”
“Everything was made to exact measurements,” Hecati said. “I do not understand why you persist in this false tale when anyone knows it’s untrue.”
Elandra picked up the robe off the door and held it up. “Look,” she said. “I worked all night to replace the hem. See where I didn’t finish? See how long it is?”
She held it against her. “As it was, it would have fit me because I am much taller than Bixia. But it looked terrible on her. I really tried to help her, Father.” She upended the garment and showed him the stitches she’d sewn. “See the embroidery? I tried very hard to replicate it. And all would have been well had I had another hour to finish it.”
Her father took the white brocade in his broad, battle- scarred hands. “How came it to be ripped?”
Elandra’s gaze shifted to Hecati, who opened her mouth, then pinched it together very tightly. Hecati’s eyes were glittering with warning, but as frightened as she was, Elandra wasn’t going to lie. In a faint voice, she answered her father’s question: “I was trying to show Lady Hecati what I had done when she lost her temper and grabbed it from my hand.”
Hecati’s face drained of color. “You—you—”
Albain scowled, and Hecati choked on the rest of her sentence. “This work is very fine, daughter,” he said. “I cannot tell where your stitches begin and the others leave off.”
Elandra smiled at the praise. “Thank you, Father. I tried my best. I’m sorry I could not finish it. And now it’s torn. If I’d known it had been blessed, I wouldn’t have touched it. You must believe that.”
He met her eyes, but his own gaze still held doubt. “How could you be ignorant of such an important part of your sister’s trousseau? That is the weakness of your story, which makes me doubt the whole.”
“But I haven’t seen the trousseau, Father,” Elandra said.
His brows drew together, and now he did look disbelieving. “What is this? Have you no interest in Bixia’s good fortune? I did not raise you to be petty and jealous, Elandra.”
Anger sparked in her. You did not raise me at all, she thought with resentment. You gave me instead to this creature.
“My lord,” Hecati said nervously, keeping an eye on the jinja. “We have not encouraged Elandra to loiter about during the fittings and viewings. The child would have only been bored, and I didn’t want her to feel envious or left out by seeing the sumptuous gowns which are so far above her own station.”
Albain looked blank. “I’m sure Elandra has no cause to feel envy. Her own gowns are pretty enough. I’ve made sure of that. Except for this ugly rag she’s wearing this morning.”
Elandra stared at him and felt fresh emotions welling up inside her. How to explain that his gilts were locked away in the cupboard, to be worn only on rare important occasions when she and Bixia dined with him?
Hecati was sputtering, but her voice died away when Albain shot her a sharp glance.
“Or does my daughter have pretty gowns to wear? It seems that whenever I glimpse her running through the grounds or the palace, she is always dressed in dull garb like this. Dressed like a servant.”
“Too many pretty things make a young girl vain,” Hecati said. “Besides, Bixia must come first.”
“Of course Bixia comes first,” Albain said impatiently. “That does not mean Elandra is to be neglected. I have spoken to you about this before, Hecati. I thought the matter settled.”
“Of course, my lord,” Hecati said in a voice as smooth and brittle as glass.
“Elandra, have you anything to complain about?” Albain asked.
She drew in a sharp breath, ready to Tell him everything, but Hecati cleared her throat in soft warning.
&nbs
p; Involuntarily Elandra tensed. Since childhood she had been trained not to tell her father anything. She could not count how many whippings it had taken to make the habit of silence strong within her. Now she stood tongue-tied and afraid, despising herself for her own cowardice, yet unable to take the chance he offered her.
Albain swung away impatiently. “I do not like to hear of these disturbances,” he said grouchily, tapping his gauntlets on his palm, his gaze already darting about the room. “It is unbecoming for ladies.”
Elandra held back what she might have said. He hated arbitration, and household arguments usually made him furious. He had little patience with hearing both sides of a matter and often punished everyone involved rather than deal with the issue. She reminded herself that in a short while Hecati and Bixia would be gone. Her troubles would be over.
“No complaints, Father,” she said quietly. “I know my place.”
His brows lifted, but Hecati nodded. “Exactly,” she said with approval. “The girl knows her place, which is to serve her sister.”
Albain made no contradiction, and Hecati smiled with renewed boldness.
“Perhaps,” she said with false generosity, “I have overreacted. While Elandra made a dreadful mistake in what she did, I see now that she was only trying to help her sister last night. Of course the poor misguided child should have asked me first before undertaking such a project. Much of the disaster could then have been averted. As it is, I’m afraid Elandra’s mistake will prove to be a very expensive one for your lordship to remedy.”
His frown deepened, and Elandra thought about the nine hundred ducats with a fresh pang of worry.
“I am sorry for the trouble I have caused, Father,” she said softly. “How can I make amends for something so costly?”
As she spoke, she saw a tiny smile of satisfaction flit across Hecati’s mouth. Elandra knew Hecati was pleased to be able to turn the blame onto her. If Albain came to think her a fool, or worse, someone who was too much trouble to keep around, what then would become of her? Her position in his household was tenuous. She had no rights of her own, and suddenly she had never been more aware of that. Her breath stilled in her lungs.
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