The Pearls

by Deborah Chester

  With his vow spoken, he kissed the knuckles of his sword hand and held his fist weakly in the air for Gault to witness. Then, grimacing in pain, he kicked his horse forward.

  At the palace in New Imperia, Caelan rushed through the galleries and passages, strode down a loggia without seeing the astonished or worried courtiers who backed out of his way. Someone called out, but he paid no heed.

  The sentinels snapping salutes at the gates barely had time to step aside as he swept into the women’s pavilion and made his way into Elandra’s private apartments. Inside, he was met by the backs of a crowd of onlookers, all craning their necks and whispering.

  “The emperor!” a page shouted belatedly. “Make way!”

  His escort of Guards was already pushing people aside. Caelan strode past them, past a line of stern sentries at the inner doors, through her personal sitting room, an antechamber, and finally into Elandra’s private bedchamber.

  His beloved wife lay curled on her side, either asleep or unconscious. Her long auburn hair glinted fire on her pillows, its highlights reflecting the lamplight and candle flames. Bareheaded women in Penestrican robes tended her, bathing her arms and bare feet with water, gently applying compresses of damp linen to the small wound on her brow.

  The sight of her like this unmanned him. Caelan jerked to a halt and stared, his throat working, his powerful hands clenching helplessly at his sides.

  “Excellency.”

  The stern, almost cold voice that spoke to him belonged to a woman with keen blue eyes and a shining curtain of straight blond hair that hung down her back in pale contrast to her somber black robes. Anas, young Magria and leader of the Penestrican order, seer of visions, stepped forward from the gloomy edges of the chamber. Her beautiful face held no expression.

  She smelled of herbs, and their pungent combination of scents flung Caelan back in time to his father’s infirmary, a place with bare stone walls and a long battered worktable. He remembered himself as a young boy, standing at the table with a mortar and pestle, resentful of having to grind herbs for potions when all he wanted was to go fishing with Old Farns.

  “The empress will live,” the Magria said before he could ask. “Be not afraid for her. She is stunned, but not fatally injured.”

  So coldly, so emotionlessly did the Magria speak that Caelan didn’t believe her at first. But he realized there was no reason for her to lie.

  A massive wave of relief rolled over him. Shutting his stinging eyes a moment, he tried to breathe. “Gault be praised,” he murmured.

  But when he attempted to go to Elandra’s side, the Magria intervened.

  “Do not disturb her now.”

  His alarm came back. “You said she’s not hurt.”

  “No, I said her injury is not fatal. She needs rest and quiet.”

  With a gesture, the Magria led him away into a smaller chamber. The ladies-in-waiting scattered away from them with frightened faces, leaving them alone except for Caelan’s grim protector and the Imperial Guards at the door.

  “I’ve had the report,” Caelan said impatiently before the Magria could speak. “I know the attacker was her half sister, Bixia. She fled, tried to hide in the palace, but she’s already been caught and taken by the guards for questioning.”

  “Your torturer will learn nothing from her,” the Magria said.

  “Then you question her.”

  “No need, Excellency.” The Magria’s blue eyes blazed with anger. “A Maelite puppet, lacking powers of her own. They used her as a weapon. She knows nothing of value.”

  “A Maelite,” he breathed. A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw. He burned to order the entire palace turned inside out, with every person questioned and put to the lash. The place was riddled with spies and traitors, despite all efforts to keep them out. Elandra could have died, he thought and felt chilled.

  “Bixia dared call herself a Penestrican,” the Magria said with suppressed fury. “Dared pretend she could cast a vision. When your torturer is finished with her, give her to me, Excellency. Not for questioning, but to pay dearly for her lies.”

  It occurred to him that the Magria was angrier about the slander done to her order than the actual attack on Elandra, but he shoved that thought away. “Done,” he said. “Although I doubt even you can punish her as much as she deserves. But how was Elandra tricked? She’s too clever to be caught unawares. She would never trust Bixia.”

  The Magria nodded, her delicate nostrils flaring as she drove her anger back under control. “I believe there must have been a spell working to cloud her mind, to make her more susceptible to trickery.”

  “Who could work such a spell inside the palace without detection?”

  “Maelites.”

  “Gods, how did a witch get in here? How did our protections fail?”

  “Let that question be put to Lady Avitria.”

  “Avitria? Is she—”

  “Yes.”

  Shocked, he remained silent for a few moments, staring at the door leading to Elandra’s chamber. His dear Elandra, whom he’d sworn to keep safe, lay hurt, struck down inside her pavilion with Imperial Guards and her protector around her. The sense of safety they’d all relied on had been an illusion. First Lea, now Elandra, he thought.

  “My son?” he whispered.

  “You are wise to take extra precautions there,” the Magria said. “But do not fear for the child. We shall watch over him.”

  Caelan inclined his head in acknowledgment of the offer, even as his more skeptical side wondered if the Magria could keep her promise. “As for my wife…her sister, her chief lady-in-waiting…how many more are involved in this plot to harm her?”

  “Let that question be put to Lady Avitria.”

  “Elandra’s jinja should have sensed the use of magic. What good are the creatures if they don’t do their job?”

  “Even a jinja can be fooled. These enemies were clever, Excellency. Her jinja tried to protect the empress, but it was tricked, deflected.” The Magria frowned. “It managed to slay Avitria’s blue jinja, which was not a jinja at all.”

  “What was it?”

  “A desticrir. A small woods demon.”

  Again he stared at her in shock. “How—”

  “Come, Excellency,” the Magria said impatiently. “Surely you know that not all creatures of shadow have perished yet.”

  The cold, cutting contempt in her voice made him think of his father. “Yes, I know,” he said, controlling his temper. “But I do not expect to be told that a demon has been living in the palace for months undetected. And don’t tell me to ask Lady Avitria about this, too!”

  “Avitria acquired it from another woman. Although it wore a disguising spell, Avitria must have recognized what it was immediately and put it to use. How it came to be here is another matter, which perhaps your agents will want to trace. You are surrounded by numerous plots, Excellency. This attack on the empress is but one of them.” The Magria stared at him. “And the one on your sister is another.”

  “Then you know about Lea.”

  “Oh yes,” the Magria assured him. “And you have been wise not to go in search of her, despite strong temptation.”

  He brushed the compliment aside. “Who has her, Magria? Who threatens her with harm?”

  The Magria opened her fist, and a tiny serpent with an emerald glittering in its mouth slithered across her wrist and up her sleeve to her shoulder. It vanished in her hair. “The answer you seek is not easy to provide.”

  “A pox on your riddles and mysteries! Where is she? Who has abducted her? How much danger surrounds her? Where am I to ride to gain her rescue?”

  “Ride?” For a moment the Magria looked alarmed. “You must not leave your throne unguarded, Excellency. I thought you understood that.”

  “As soon as I know where to find her,” he said grimly, “I shall take action.”

  “But not you personally. Your enemies seek to draw you away from the center of your power, away from the emerald thro
ne. Resist. I urge you most strongly. War is coming to your empire.”

  Caelan frowned. She was not telling him anything he didn’t already know. “Right now, this is not about my empire. It’s about my wife and sister. Their safety.”

  “You have forgotten the second part of your destiny, Light Bringer.”

  He sighed, in no mood for prophecy. “I’ve seen the end of Kostimon, Beloth, and Mael. Isn’t that enough destruction?”

  “You have begun your destined task. You must finish it.”

  “Later. Now, I want—”

  “Does it matter what any of us want?” she asked sharply. “Is not what we are more important?”

  “For the last time, I ask you to tell me where to find Lea. Who has taken her?”

  “Several enemies converge on her, Excellency.”

  “Then it’s as I thought. The Vindicants will take her from—”

  “Perhaps. The readings are…difficult.” The Magria’s gaze searched his before she lowered her eyes. “You will not like what I have to say.”

  Believing she was going to foretell Lea’s death, he felt dread sink through him like a stone. Suddenly he wished he hadn’t asked, but of course he had to know. Steeling himself, he said, “I must have the truth. Tell me.”

  “You will be betrayed, Excellency.”

  “By Hervan? Is the captain responsible for Lea’s situation?”

  “No, you will be betrayed. By one you hold dear.”

  “What are you saying?” For a moment intense anger swept him. “Not Elandra! In Gault’s name—”

  “No,” the Magria said, her gaze steady on his. “The empress is faithful in all respects.”

  “Who, then? Why do you—” He frowned, shaking his head. “Lea is the one in trouble,” he said carefully, as though explaining the matter to a simpleton. “She would never do anything against me.”

  “Are you so certain?”

  “Completely! She’s incapable of doing wrong.”

  “People are capable of many things, Excellency. People do change.”

  “But not my sister, my—no!” Furious, he swung around for the door.

  “Excellency,” the Magria said quietly, her voice penetrating his anger. “Please, wait.”

  He glared over his shoulder. “Why should I? If slander is all you can give me—”

  “The visions do not lie.”

  “This one is wrong.”

  Anger burned in the Magria’s blue eyes. She reached into her sleeves with both hands and threw a pair of serpents on the floor between them. At once the snakes began crawling, and it was all Caelan could do to stand his ground and not back away.

  His protector came forward, but Caelan stopped the man with a gesture.

  The Magria pointed at the writhing snakes. “See what I have seen, Excellency, and judge for yourself. If you dare!”

  Chapter 23

  The sun was sinking low, its fiery rays blazing through the trees and turning the surface of the stream molten gold. Lea sat on the ground, hugging her knees tightly and feeling cramped from the small confines of her cage. With the sun going down, the air had grown cool. Shivering, she strained to catch some sound, yet all she heard was the wind quaking the trees. A shower of golden leaves fell suddenly, startling her. She watched them tumble into the stream and be carried away.

  By now, the battle should be over, she thought, unable to stop worrying. She refused to hope, for no matter who won there would be death and na-quai, the destruction of spirit.

  For the third time since the commander had caged her here, she put out her hand to touch the stakes. This time, no magic repulsed her fingers.

  Unable to believe it, she touched a stake again. There was no hindrance. The spell had ended.

  Shadrael is dead, she thought.

  A little pang went through her, one she chose not to examine. She yanked the stake from the ground. It came easily from the soft dirt, and she flung it away before pulling out another and another, until she could squeeze out of the circle and run.

  Without hesitation, she headed for the stream, her breath loud and ragged in her ears. She stumbled several times until, muttering, she gathered her long skirts up in one hand and slapped angrily at her tears with the other. She was not going to cry, she told herself sternly. She was not going to be a fool.

  At all costs she intended to avoid the camp for—no matter what might have happened to the commander—some of his men might yet return. She splashed across the stream for the second time that day, intent on getting away. If the Crimsons came searching for her, she could leave her hiding place and rejoin them.

  The approaching sound of galloping hoofbeats made her freeze in her tracks, her heart thumping uncertainly. Who? she wondered. Lifting her arms, she cast forth her senses. “Oh, kind spirits of the air, guide me in this,” she whispered. “Who comes to me?”

  The wind blew harder, whipping around her and sending her hair tangling across her face. As she dragged her tresses back, she caught a scent of something charred and musty…the unmistakable stink of the Hidden Ways.

  Not Shadrael, she thought. If it should be Fomo or one of the others…fear flashed through her. “No!” she breathed, and ran for her life.

  Crossing the bank of gravel, she reached the bottom of the nearby hill and plunged into the gully cut into its base. Brush snagged her hair and clothing, but she kept going until she tripped on a root, stumbled, and fell. Jolted hard, she managed to keep from crying out and scrambled forward on her hands and knees to collapse at last in a small depression behind a thick bush. She curled up small and still, her heart hammering hard.

  The hoofbeats were louder now, coming toward the stream. Holding her breath, Lea sank lower into the leaves and made sure her bedraggled skirts covered her red boots. The dust she’d stirred up tickled her nose, but she fought not to sneeze. Like a mouse, she dared make not the slightest movement in hopes that she would blend into the cover.

  Her straining eyes glimpsed red among the trees beyond the stream, just before a horse and rider emerged into the open. Although the sun was sinking low, it was not yet dusk, and she could see the man clearly. Her eyes widened in astonishment, for Captain Hervan’s distinctive manner of sitting a horse could not be mistaken. With his left arm bound in a sling, his short cloak swinging from his shoulders, his long helmet plume blowing behind him in the breeze, he reined up his horse and looked all around before he slowly approached the enclosure of tall stakes that had held her prisoner. Looking at the tracks she’d left in the dirt, he turned his head and stared at the woods.

  He seemed to be looking right at her.

  Lea did not move. She did not jump from her hiding place, call out to him, or wave. At first she was astonished at herself, yet some instinct kept her cautious. She felt danger around her, danger of a kind unknown to her.

  A ripple nearby in the ground warned her that an earth spirit had come. Not daring to turn her head, she shifted her eyes to one side to peer down at it.

  “Beware,” it said in her mind. “Danger. Be still.”

  Even as the warning pushed through her thoughts, she heard the sound of another horse, approaching very fast.

  The urge to shout a warning to Hervan filled her throat, yet she choked it back. Ashamed and confused, she blinked her stinging eyes and made no sound.

  Hervan needed no warning, however, for he’d obviously heard the approaching horse. He spun his mount around to face whoever was coming, and drew his sword awkwardly in readiness.

  Run, Lea thought urgently. You’re hurt. You cannot fight.

  And then her senses felt the brush of sevaisin, involuntary and unmistakable. A swift rush went through her, and her eyes widened in surprise.

  The commander—a grim, unmistakable figure in black armor—burst from the trees, bearing down on Hervan. He was riding a cavalry mount instead of his own black horse, and he’d lost his helmet. Blood streaked his face. When he saw Hervan waiting for him, he let out a hoarse, savage cry a
nd spurred his lathered horse even faster.

  Hervan kicked his mount forward. The two men galloped straight for each other, both shouting at the top of their voices. Just as it seemed to Lea that they would crash headlong, Hervan leaned over very low from the saddle in a feat of daring horsemanship and whacked the flat of his blade against the throat of the commander’s mount. Shying sideways, the horse bucked in a twisting corkscrew move that jerked the commander off balance.

  Even so, he stayed in the saddle, his horsemanship obviously equal to the captain’s. He even managed to parry Hervan’s fierce blow.

  The clang of steel echoed loudly, covering Lea’s involuntary gasp. Hervan was almost standing in his stirrups, his reins loose on his horse’s neck as he hammered blow after blow at the commander, who had still not fully recovered his balance on his shying horse.

  Then unexpectedly the commander kicked free of his stirrups and jumped to the ground, landing heavily and awkwardly, going to his knees. His horse dodged away with a kick that missed him. With a whoop Hervan spurred his mount right at the commander.

  The horse reared up and leaped in a maneuver Lea had seen demonstrated on the palace grounds, its forefeet striking out with lethal force.

  She shot to her feet. “No!” she screamed. “Shadrael!”

  Miraculously, he scrambled aside before a hoof could smash his skull to pieces, and slashed at the horse’s belly. Thinking he was going to stab the animal, Lea screamed again, but he’d only cut the saddle girth.

  Hervan went flying through the air and hit the ground hard. Tumbling over, the captain groaned and lay still.

  Aghast, Lea pushed her way through the brush, running now to reach the men. As she drew near, she could hear the commander gasping for air. He stood near Hervan, bent double with his hands braced on his knees, his sword still clutched in one hand. The captain writhed a moment as though he would rise, then collapsed again. He was still groaning piteously.

  Her heart wrung by them both, Lea came up just as Shadrael straightened. His black eyes were like bottomless holes in the pallor of his face. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he lifted his sword as though to finish Hervan. The captain, his handsome face gray and twisted with pain, raised a feeble hand in surrender.