Elandra frowned, but it was Bixia who stepped forward.
“No!” she cried. “You cannot take my privileges from me. I am to marry the emperor, not her! It was foretold, and you cannot change that.”
While Elandra’s bewilderment grew, the Magria turned a terrible smile of pity on Bixia. “You have no destiny. Those who have told you so all your life have done you a great disservice.”
“I do have a destiny!” Bixia stamped her foot like a spoiled child. “I do! It says I am to marry the emperor, and you can’t stop me!”
“Father was told,” Elandra said in agreement. “The prophecy was clear.”
The Magria’s eyes pinned her. “Speak the prophecy.”
Bixia sighed, but Elandra said in a clear, precise voice: “The daughter of Albain shall marry the emperor.”
“Yes,” the Magria said. “That is correct.”
“I am his daughter!” Bixia said hotly.
“So is Elandra.”
“No!” Bixia cried. “She is a bastard, a worthless embarrassment. She doesn’t belong here. Father was wrong to even send her with me.”
“The prophecy does not lie,” the Magria said.
“You make a lie of it! You are evil and a—”
The Magria lifted her hand, and Bixia’s sentence choked off. Bixia clutched her throat, writhing and turning blue. Alarmed, Elandra realized she was in the presence of powers she did not understand. Were these women also witches?
“We are not witches,” the Magria said severely.
Uneasiness crawled through Elandra. So they read minds as well. Surely they were indeed possessed of dark powers.
“No,” the Magria said sharply. “Do not judge what you do not understand. You have met one real witch. Was she like us?”
“I—I do not yet know,” Elandra said.
The Magria’s mouth twisted. “We serve the goddess- mother of all creation, the earth itself. With education you will come to share our love and worship. You will walk ourway.”
Bixia was still being choked by the Magria’s will. Elandra swallowed and made herself face the Magria.
“I will not walk your way,” she said defiantly. “Call your powers what you will. They are not for me.”
“We live with the five natural powers—that of the earth, in which all life grows; that of water, which nourishes life; that of the moon and her mysteries; that of blood, which is life; that of a woman’s womb, which gives her power over men as she both takes their force and gives back sons in exchange. We do not consort with demons. We do not walk in shadows.”
Elandra was only half listening. She took a half step toward her tortured sister, then stopped herself from intervening.
“Wise,” the Magria murmured and lowered her hand.
The invisible force choking Bixia released her. Gasping and crying, Bixia sagged to her knees and coughed.
Elandra went to her, but Bixia fought her off. “Leave me alone! I hate you!” she croaked, and fell into another coughing fit.
Angrily Elandra turned on the Magria, but the woman stopped her with a quelling look.
“Do not waste your effort defending her. She does not want your pity. Disappointment is a bitter cup. Let her drink it unhindered.”
“I don’t understand,” Elandra said.
The Magria’s eyes were clear and very wise. “Yes, you do.”
“But I can’t be the bride-elect,” Elandra said in bewilderment. “I have no birth—”
“Your lineage is above hers. Your mother Iaris was the daughter of Lord Cernal, holder of most of Gialta west of the river, as your father holds most of the eastern bank. Lord Cernal descends from the same line as the Empress Fauvina. You, Elandra, not your half-sister, carry imperial blood. You, Elandra, not your half-sister, had a prophecy told over you at your birth.”
Elandra’s heart began to beat very fast. Feeling breathless, she whispered, “I am to marry a man whose name shall be known throughout the ages.” She blinked, unable to believe it. “But... not Emperor Kostimon!”
Bixia, still kneeling on the ground, began to cry.
“It can’t be,” Elandra said blankly. “I don’t believe it.”
“The Fates cannot be denied,” the Magria told her. “You were raised as a servant in your father’s house, yes?”
Elandra frowned but gave her a tiny nod.
“Yet you carry yourself with pride and the demeanor of a lady. You were persecuted by the Maelite witch, were you not?”
Elandra’s frown deepened. She said nothing.
“Was she not cruel to you? Deeply, heartlessly cruel?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you survived her cruelty. You did not let her break your spirit. Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“On the day of your departure, the soldiers cheered you instead of Bixia.”
Elandra’s mouth fell open. “How did you know—” She cut herself off, knowing the question was foolish in the circumstances.
“When we drove the witch from our premises—that fiend who would dare to defile this place of the goddess- mother—it was not Bixia whom the witch attacked, but you, Elandra. You, the future empress of our world.”
“But—”
“Why should she strike you down? If you were as insignificant as you believe, why should she waste her efforts on you? Why not destroy Bixia?”
It occurred to Elandra that Hecati would have enjoyed opportunities to do much mischief from her position behind the throne, but she said nothing.
“The witch struck you with deadly intent, yet you did not die.”
“Blindness is a kind of death,” Elandra murmured bitterly, awash with memories.
“Nonsense. Don’t pity yourself now. That is past.”
Elandra faced her, chin held high, eyes direct. “You could have restored my sight immediately, yet you didn’t.”
“I did not restore your sight,” the Magria said, equally direct. “You did.”
“How—”
“We have tried to bend your spirit and find that adversity merely strengthens you. I have looked on you with sight, and I know you cannot be coerced. Neither will you work in ignorance, nor will you obey without question what you do not understand. You have the qualities for leadership and position which your half-sister lacks entirely. Bixia also walked the sand pit,” the Magria said, her voice soft but relentless over the sound of Bixia’s weeping. “She failed the test of the serpents.”
Elandra shot her sister a swift look of consternation, but all she saw was Bixia’s bowed head.
“But you, Elandra, did not fail,” the Magria continued. “You were given a paradox with conflicting solutions. The only possible means of success was to create a third solution, which you did. You fought and defeated the snake. You are truly the daughter of a warlord. Even blinded and at a terrible disadvantage, you did not allow your disability or your emotions to overcome your wits. You have not been pampered and spoiled. You have no conceit or vanity. Your mind is keen and ready to be educated. You are ambitious and courageous. Your strength will not fail you in the challenges ahead.”
She took Elandra’s cold hands in hers, and smiled. “You are our next empress, child. Destiny has called you, and it is my honor to train you to meet it.”
Conflicting feelings raced through Elandra. This seemed so impossible, and yet she could not deny what the Magria was saying. What about the man in my dream? she started to say, then held it back with instinctive caution. In her heart, she wanted to believe he was the man she was destined to marry, not some debauched old man.
Instead, she skirted the question uppermost in her mind with another. “Why did you send dream walkers to haunt me?”
Something unreadable crossed the Magria’s face. She hesitated visibly. “That is another matter, which we will discuss at the proper time.”
“And my father?” Elandra said, frowning. “What has he to say to this change?”
“For your father, the alliance and i
ts advantages remain the same. He will be informed.”
Elandra’s mouth was dry. She swallowed, but it did not help. “And . .. and the emperor?”
The Magria stroked Elandra’s hair. “My child, the emperor will be besotted when he sees his lost Fauvina restored to him.”
Elandra drew back sharply from her caress. “I am not this woman you speak of. I am myself!”
“Of course. But it will help win his heart.”
Fresh doubts crowded Elandra’s mind. For the first time some of the implications began to sink in. The emperor was as old as time, or nearly so. The emperor was said to consort with demons and those of the shadow world. The emperor had murdered all his children save one, the current prince. The emperor was a ruthless tyrant, whose word was absolute law. Invoke his displeasure, even once, and a person’s life was forfeit. And she was to belong to him? She was to pleasure him? Obey his every whim? Fetch and fawn for him? Wait for him to die? And then what would happen to her?
Elandra began to tremble. It was not what she wanted. All the glory in the world could not make up for the risk. For Bixia, so vain and spoiled and pretty, it had been ideal. Bixia was shallow enough to smile and flutter and flirt. She would despise him secretly and dream of lovers. She would be ruthless and capricious and grasping. Bixia could survive such a life, even thrive on it.
But Elandra was not made like her sister. Elandra wanted a man she could respect and honor. She had never asked for much in her life, and now overwhelming bounty was being showered on her. While a part of her was dazzled by the thought of sitting next to the most powerful man on earth—a man some claimed was almost a god himself—the rest of her was afraid. She had not been made to lie and pretend. He would hate her on sight, and she would die.
The Magria gazed at her as though she could read Elandra’s mind. “No,” she said softly. “Do not decide before you fully understand. You were prepared to enter a marriage of convenience based on our selection and your father’s agreement. How is this any different?”
Elandra opened her mouth, but she had no reply.
“We offer you a marriage of tremendous consequence. Do you really wish to refuse this chance to be queen?”
“He has seen Bixia’s portrait,” Elandra said, digging into hurts that lay deep. “He chose her willingly for her beauty. I do not have any allure for men, like Bixia does. I never have.”
“You will be trained in the arts of pleasing a man.”
Heat flamed in Elandra’s face. To hide her own embarrassment she grew angry. “Will I learn to cast a spell over him?”
“Silence!” the Magria said sharply, eyes blazing. “You fool!”
Abashed, Elandra dropped her gaze and stood quietly, her heart pounding beneath her breast.
“Were not so much at stake, I would fling you out— both of you! Foolish, impertinent girl, mouthing off beyond your limited comprehension. You have no choice here. None!”
Glaring at Elandra, the Magria finally seemed to pull herself back under steely control. “Fear and emotional upheaval have made your tongue unruly,” she said at last. “For that I will forgive this display. But only once. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” Elandra whispered, still looking at the floor.
“There is opportunity for you beyond your wildest dreams. You wanted to see the world, and you will. You wanted knowledge, and you will have it. You wanted love, and it will come. Put your fear aside.”
She turned away, gesturing for Elandra to come with her, but Elandra hesitated, gazing down at her weeping sister.
“What happens to Bixia?” she asked.
“That remains to be seen. Come.”
“No,” Elandra said, then tried to temper her discourtesy. “I—I mean, yes, of course I will come, but first please let me have a moment with her, alone. There is so much to consider.”
The Magria’s expression revealed nothing, but after a moment’s hesitation she acquiesced. “Very well. It will avail nothing, but you may have the time you request. A sister will be waiting outside to conduct you to my chambers when you are ready.”
She glided away without a sound and vanished into the gloom.
In the flickering candlelight, Elandra knelt beside Bixia and tried to put her arms around her.
But Bixia jerked away. “No!” she said, flinging back her hair. Her green eyes were puffy with tears. Wildly she glared at Elandra. “You want me to tell you I’m happy for you? You want me to forgive you for what you’ve stolen from me?”
Elandra sighed. “I just want—”
“I won’t forgive you! And someday I’ll make you regret the way you have betrayed me.”
“But I—”
“Don’t play innocent with me. You’ve planned this from the first. You and your special prophecies. How you must have laughed when you ripped apart my bridal robe. How you must have gloated when the soldiers cheered you. How you must be enjoying yourself now, at my expense.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Elandra said in dismay. She had known Bixia would take everything the wrong way. “Please listen to me.”
Bixia scrambled to her feet. “Get away from me! It wasn’t enough that you always had Father’s affection. It wasn’t enough that you humiliated my mother and made her cry in secret every time she saw you. No! You couldn’t be satisfied until you robbed me of all that was promised. Scheming and—”
“I didn’t scheme for it. I just—”
“You’re a liar and a thief!” Bixia screamed at her. “They’ll never let me near you again, and that’s good because if I could I’d cut out your black heart!”
“Please don’t be like this. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll still marry—”
“Who? Some paltry nobleman with a backwater palace in a forgotten, underfunded province?” Bixia laughed scornfully and tossed her golden head. “I’d sooner die than take your leavings. You think you’re rid of me and Aunt Hecati, but you’re not.”
“It’s Hecati who caused the trouble in the first place,” Elandra said hotly.
“And she’ll cause more. Plenty more!” Bixia’s eyes narrowed, and her face held only spite. “Enjoy your pretty gowns and fancy jewels as quickly as you can. You won’t have them long. The emperor will take one look at your long face and die of horror.”
“Perhaps he’ll be relieved to be married to someone with a mind for a change, instead of another pretty slut,” Elandra retorted.
Bixia went white.
At once Elandra was ashamed of herself. This was no time to be petty, not when she’d robbed Bixia of her life’s ambition.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, holding out her hand.
Bixia slapped it away. Tight-lipped and trembling, she glared at Elandra like someone possessed. “I hate you,” she whispered. “I shall always hate you. Count yourself warned, for if there is any harm I can bring you or those you love, I shall do it! I swear this in the name of Mael.”
Shocked, Elandra backed away from her. She started to say something, started to plead with Bixia to deny what she’d just uttered, but Bixia had become a stranger—enraged and violent, nearly insane with hatred.
“Get out!” Bixia said with loathing. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Clapping her hands over her ears to shut out Bixia’s screams, Elandra turned and ran.
Outside in the passageway, she ran full tilt into someone in a black robe, someone plump and motherly who held her close when Elandra would have fought free.
“No!” Elandra said, choking on her tears. “No, I— please.”
“Hush,” the woman soothed her. “Hush, now. All will be well.”
And suddenly Elandra found herself clinging to this gentle stranger, weeping as though her heart would break.
“Greatness is born of pain, little one,” the woman murmured, stroking her hair. “Let the tears fall. Let the tears cleanse you, little wife of the emperor who is and the mother of the emperor who will be. All will be well with you. All will be well.”
AFTER ALL THE anticipation, Caelan did not fight on the first day of the season. Locked in with the veterans, it seemed he was forgotten. No one came for him the first day or the next. The gladiators paced about or played with dice, locked in the gloomy quarters beneath the arena. The thunder of the crowd rolled incessantly from noon until dusk, day after day.
On the third rotation, guards came with a small wooden pail. Without being told, the gladiators lined up against the wall. Caelan took his place at the far end, watching to see what to do so he wouldn’t have to ask. Each man drew out a small bronze tag with a number engraved on it.
The guards swept the litter of their game off the crude wooden table and shook out a pair of dice three times. “Numbers three, twelve, and eight. You go in tomorrow.”
One guard made notations on a tablet while the other collected the bronze tags and put them back in the pail.
Caelan’s number had been four. He loosed a sigh of relief, and the tight knot in his stomach eased a little.
Nux had drawn number three. He scowled at Caelan with his small beady eyes and grunted. But Nux left him alone.
At the end of the following day, only Nux returned. Soaked with sweat and blood that apparently wasn’t his, he shrugged off his leather harness and stripped down to his dirty hide to climb into a big stone tub of water in the corner. There, by lamplight, he splashed and scrubbed and soaked out his tired muscles.
Caelan watched him and wondered what he felt, being the victor yet again.
The guards came in for the drawing of lots. Excluding Nux, they passed down the line, then threw the dice seven times. Seven men were selected. Caelan’s number was not among them.
This time dirty looks were cast his way. When the guards left, Nux climbed out of the tub and dripped his way across the room. Belting on a tunic, he glared at Caelan.
“What’s your nick?” he asked.
Caelan put down the dice he’d been rolling idly and sat very still on his stool, trying not to betray his tension. “My what?”
“Your nick with the guards. What is it?”
Caelan shook his head. “Just luck.”
Reign of Shadows Page 28