Shadow War

by Deborah Chester

  “All my life I have believed in the wrong things,” he said aloud, speaking to the sky that was slowly brightening despite the rain. “I should be running for my life. I think I would be safer trying to hide in the wilderness than going back to resume my chains.” He sighed. “A fool who serves a traitor. The gods help me.”

  Chapter Seven

  A loud noise awakened Elandra from sleep.

  Groggy and confused, she sat bolt upright and brushed back her long heavy tangle of auburn hair from her face. She listened, even drawing back the velvet bed curtains, but all lay silent around her. Not even the palace servants were stirring yet.

  It was that cold, still time just before daybreak, when the night reluctantly released its dark grip on the world. Elandra had been dreaming—strange, unpleasant dreams mingled with intense anxiety about some task she had to perform.

  Sighing, she gripped her head in her hands. She felt tired. Sleep came fitfully these days, if at all. She could not stop worrying about the coronation and all it entailed. Since Kostimon had told her last month that she was not to be crowned consort but instead sovereign, she had suffered a sense of gnawing dread.

  Everything had been changing so quickly since the announcement. She had already been moved from the women’s wing of the palace to new state chambers near the throne room. She had her own guards now, the members drawn from the elite Imperial Guard. All were strangers to her. They had been brought before her yesterday in a brief, private ceremony, wearing tunics emblazoned with her new coat of arms. One by one, each man had knelt before her and sworn to serve her with his life. Afterward, she had been informed that this ceremony of fealty would be repeated following her coronation. She was asked to choose a color for her guardsmen. One of the chancellors also muttered that a protector should be chosen. The protocol involved seemed unclear; there had been no empress sovereign since Fauvina some nine hundred years before. Many ancient tomes in rotting leather bindings were pulled down from the palace archives and consulted with much head-shaking and lip-pulling.

  Even the coronation ceremony itself had to be conducted differently. There was some problem with the Vindi-cant priesthood over the matter of the wording. Elandra, beset with seamstresses fitting her for her coronation robes, had not yet learned the words of her own oaths because she kept getting revisions. Her political tutor, Miles Milgard, stamped in and out of her chambers regularly, trying to teach her history or inform her of the current state of alliances and trade agreements while she stood on a cushioned stool like a mannequin, with four seamstresses surrounding her, pinning and stitching as fast as they could.

  Her gown was fashioned entirely from cloth of gold, its stiff heavy folds reaching to the floor and extending behind her in a train that pulled at her shoulders. Over it she would wear the robes, so heavily embroidered with gold thread and trimmed with rare white sable from Trau that they were too stiff for her to sit in. The robes and gown combined weighed almost as much as she. Every morning she had to don a bulky contraption fashion of thin plate metal and practice walking back and forth in it. It was crucial that she be able to move gracefully in her first and most important public appearance. She had to be able to curtsy in the robes without falling, and she would have to kneel and rise to her feet without assistance. Then there was the crown to manage as well, and she would be given a scepter to hold aloft—without wavering—as she recited her oath.

  At night, too weary for restful sleep, she often dreamed that she was climbing a thousand steps with a tremendous burden on her back. She climbed and climbed forever, until her legs and back were aching, yet the steps never ended.

  How amazing it was to think that just over a year ago, she was an insignificant girl in her father’s household, working as a menial in her half-sister’s service, assigned to run errands and do stitchery.

  Even now, when she tried to think back to her wedding day, the memory was clouded in a haze. She had been so nervous she thought she would faint. Heavily veiled and richly gowned, she had gone into the temple on the arm of her beaming father. Vindicant priests had chanted over her and the emperor. She and Kostimon held hands, and the high priest tied a silk cord around their wrists. Then had come the blessing, and the drink of sacramental wine. Past that, she had only vague recollections of sitting for hours under the suffocating veil while the feasting went on. She’d been too terrified to eat or drink all day, but Kostimon had been kind to her.

  He had come to her chamber and unveiled her. For a long time he had stood gazing at her, as though to drink in her beauty. He had been old and strange in his festive clothes of imperial purple, a tasseled cap on his head. His skin was creased and weathered, but not as much as she expected. He looked no older than a man of seventy, instead of nine hundred years more. His eyes were yellow and very wise. They twinkled at her before he smiled. Only then did she relax and begin to feel that she would survive.

  “You are very lovely my dear,” he had said to her. “Exquisite, in an unusual way, and a little like someone I loved long, long ago. If the gods are kind to us, perhaps I will come to love you too. And perhaps you will love me. But we will not rush it. There is plenty of time to get acquainted first. You look exhausted. Your day has been long, and so has mine. We will talk again tomorrow.”

  Approaching her, he gave her a gentle little kiss on the forehead, the way her father might have kissed her goodnight. “Sleep well, little one.”

  And that was their beginning, a slowly evolving friendship based on courtesy and respect. She could not have been more grateful.

  In this year, she understood she was on trial. She could make no public appearances. She had to keep to her own private quarters in the women’s wing, confined to a suite of rooms and her own small garden. This was chafing. Sometimes she thought she would go mad from all the restrictions. But her Penestrican training helped her.

  She read all she could, and her request for tutoring was granted with amusement. Finally, Elandra could have the education she’d always wanted. She took to her studies with zest.

  After a while the emperor began to drop by to talk to her. He would quiz her about her studies, and when he found her to be both intelligent and conversant, his visits became regular and longer. They played chess, and he taught her military strategy in the process. Sometimes he would conceal her behind a panel in his audience room while he conducted business. Then he would question her afterward for her reactions and judgments.

  With his encouragement, she grew less timid and learned how to state her opinions and even defend them without growing uncertain or confused.

  He acted more like a parent than a husband, and began to take pride in her. He showed her off to his chancellors. He deferred some decisions to her. He watched.

  And last month he had come to her one afternoon when she was playing the lute in her garden. He dismissed her attendants and took her hand in his rough ones. His yellow eyes had never been so serious.

  It frightened her suddenly. She found herself lost in his eyes, in their age, wisdom, and coldness. He was looking at her as though they were strangers, and her heart stopped beating.

  Perhaps it was over, she told herself. He had tired of her. She was not feminine enough for him. He had never consummated their union. That alone should have warned her. Now he had come to tell her he was putting her aside. Perhaps she would go to the prisons, or perhaps her father would take her home to Gialta. Her very life depended on the whim of this man.

  She tried to meet his gaze bravely, but she found herself trembling.

  Kostimon bent over her and kissed her full on the lips, something he had never done before. As a caress it was exploratory and expert, but she felt no spark between them, nothing in him.

  Straightening, he stroked her face with his fingers. “Our year is nearly over,” he said.

  She struggled to hide her fear, to show nothing except attentiveness. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice not quite steady.

  “I have had you all to myself. No
w that is ending as the bridal year draws to a close.” He smiled briefly. “In a month you will be crowned.”

  She started breathing again, with such a sudden gulp of air she found herself coughing. Reaching for a handkerchief, she pressed it to her lips.

  “Forgive me,” she gasped, trying to stop the coughs without success. “I am not heeding you with much composure.”

  He laughed at that and touched her hair. “So I see. Did you think I would cast you out?”

  “I—” To her mortification, she felt her face burning. She tried to meet his eyes and couldn’t. “I have failed to be a —wife.”

  He laughed again, while her embarrassment grew hotter. She longed to throw herself in the reflecting pool.

  “Ela,” he said fondly, using his pet name for her. “You silly child, I have no need for a bed companion. There are plenty of those, disposable pretties with no thought in their heads.”

  Still staring hard at her hands, Elandra frowned and began pulling her delicate handkerchief to pieces.

  “You are so much more,” he said, pride evident in his voice. He put his knuckle under her chin and tilted up her head. “Look at me.”

  Her gaze shifted away.

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  She obeyed him, still upset although she wasn’t sure why. It took effort to meet his eyes, but she saw no anger or disappointment there. She bit her lip to stop it from trembling and tried to listen.

  “You are spirited and courageous,” he said. “Better than that, you are pure of heart and true of conviction. I have been neither for centuries. You would go to the wall for what you believe in. Imperia needs that.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Let me give you sons,” she whispered.

  He shook his head. “I have a son. I do not need more. They have always disappointed me.”

  “Then—”

  “Hear me,” he said, putting his finger across his lips. “I believe in nothing anymore. I have lived too long. Seen too much. Been disillusioned too many times. But you have brought hope back into my heart. You, and you alone. I have tested you, and found you worthy. I have had discussions with your father. I have even talked to the Penestrican witches about you.”

  She frowned at that, but before she could speak, he continued, “I am going to crown you sovereign empress, Ela.”

  She looked at him, stunned.

  He smiled. “Do you understand what that means?”

  Her wits were scattered, yet this was no time to be undone. She struggled to find her voice. “I—you want me—I am to—”

  “You will rule with me, as me, for me.”

  She swallowed, choking a little, and had nothing to say. The magnitude of it overwhelmed her.

  “I am getting old,” he said, then grimaced wryly at his own understatement. “Let me rephrase that. I am coming to the end of my time. I have cheated death a long, long while. But that is over. The augurs have cast no prophecy after me. There has been no one named who will follow me.”

  She knew that. It made her feel slightly faint.

  “Some say the world will end,” she said softly, and by sheer strength of will managed not to glance at the black cloud that had lain across the northern horizon for several days now. “Some say we are facing the end of time.”

  “Some say that,” he agreed. “Fools. I do not believe such superstitions. I am emperor, but I remain a man. To the gods, I am not important enough for them to end the world they play with. But neither will I go peaceably; neither will I go without putting my stamp on who is to follow me.”

  She was feeling stronger now. Her thoughts were more coherent. “Will it be the prince?”

  “Probably. If he is man enough to seize control without destroying the empire in the process.” The emperor shrugged. “I do not worry about Tirhin. If it should be someone else, then that is for the gods to decide. But I want my final days to be easy. I am tired, Ela. I am bored at last with my power, and that tells me my time is near.”

  “No—”

  “Hush! Don’t start any foolishness now, not when I’ve decided to depend on you. Be strong. You are to rule in my final days, leaving me free to be as idle as I wish. Fauvina ruled at my side in the early part of my reign. She had a mind much like yours, tough and quick, resourceful and clever. She aided me much when we were forging the empire. You will aid me now in preserving it.”

  For a moment he looked into the distance, very much lost in his thoughts.

  Elandra dropped her ruined handkerchief on the ground and drew in several deep breaths. To rule ... to sit at council and make decisions ... excitement burst inside her, then she swiftly quelled it, afraid to believe it could be true. It was a monumental responsibility. No one had prepared her for this. Even the Penestricians, with their visions, had not foreseen such a turning. They had taught her to please, had taught her to be patient, had advised her to bear children quickly in order to secure her influence. She had realized months ago that the Penestricians—for all their wisdom— had no real understanding of what went on in the palace or how the mind of the emperor worked. How could they, when they had been banished from Imperia for centuries?

  But to rule as empress ... what would her father say? Would he be proud, or would he be horrified? After all, who would accept her in such a role? Why, all the lords of the provinces would have to come and bow to her in fealty, even her own father. They wouldn’t do it. Not those men. They were warriors, and she was a woman.

  “I understand,” she said quietly, lifting her chin. “I am to hold the empire together until Tirhin takes over. I am to make a stable transition of power.”

  The emperor turned back to her with a look of approval. “Excellent! I knew you would grasp it without tedious explanation. But hear this: hold it for the boy, or hold it for yourself. I care not. I am done with it, if I can be left alone. If you want this empire for yourself, then hold it, girl! Hold it hard in your fist, and never let it go! Never stand back for another, do you hear? Not unless that is truly what you wish.”

  He glared at her, clenching his square hands into fists that were still powerful. “If there is any tiny part of you that wants to keep the throne for yourself, then do what is necessary to hold it. Choose your own consort and found your own dynasty. Make it what you want. That is my gift to you ... this chance to shape the world to your liking.”

  As quickly as it had come, his vehemence faded. He blinked his yellow eyes and tilted his head to one side to look at her quizzically. “Well, that’s enough for now. You’ll have time to chew it over, see if you like it. Tirhin has no more claim to the throne than you or anyone off the street. I earned my throne, and by the gods I do not relish handing it over to any young pup who thinks he can demand it by some ridiculous right of birth. Fight him, marry him, or depose him. I do not care. Just bring me peace in my final days. That is all I ask of you.”

  She rose to her feet, gripping his rough hands in her slender ones. “You have my promise,” she said earnestly. “All I can do, I will.”

  “I know,” he said with a smile, and left her.

  From that day, the news had spread through the palace like wildfire. Peace became a laughable word, for it was not to be found. All was chaos and preparations. And now that the event was finally close at hand, there were endless feastings and celebrations that exhausted her and certainly must be exhausting the emperor.

  She hadn’t spoken to him privately for nearly two weeks. Meanwhile, Tirhin sulked in his own house, complained to his friends, and declined all invitations from his father. He was acting like a spoiled child, which perhaps he was. Only he was too old for such behavior. He was making the emperor angry with his petty defiance, and Elandra had lost patience with him also.

  Although she had met the prince publicly, in her veil, she had never really talked to him. After her coronation, however, she would be able to come and go as she pleased. She could attend public functions, and she could leave off her veil. She could do anything she lik
ed, and that aspect as yet seemed like a dream. It was exciting, but frightening as well.

  The world, after a year of living cloistered in her quarters, seemed to be growing too large too suddenly.

  But she had no time to brood about it. Today she would go to the temple for fasting and the purification ceremony. Tomorrow she would be crowned. That meant this was her final day to be simply a woman. Tomorrow she would become something else. Would power corrupt her? What would she be expected to do first? Would the emperor truly relinquish the reins to her, an untried girl?

  She drew up her knees and hugged them, rocking herself. Everything was unknown, yet she had faced other tests and survived them. She could survive this too.

  As a child, she used to dream of living life boldly, of having adventures, of taking journeys, of gathering knowledge and ideas. She used to question why women should be shut away and cloistered from the world, ripened like conservatory fruit for the pleasure and disposal of men. She wanted to follow at her father’s heels when he inspected his troops. She loved to hear his stories of the battles when he came home after long absences, grown crude and harsh and louder than usual. His armor would have new dents in it. He would be restless and tense at first, then gradually he would soften and relax. Never would he tell her everything; his stories would have odd gaps in them, gaps that her imagination struggled to fill.

  But dreams were easy for a girl without prospects. Illegitimate and hard-working, uncertain of her status in a household too busy, Elandra had never imagined she would find herself here in the imperial palace. Childhood dreams were not supposed to come true. That was what her cruel Aunt Hecati used to say. Elandra had never imagined she would find herself at the edge of a destiny such as this. She kept waiting for reality to bump her harshly from this fantasy. She kept waiting for Aunt Hecati to strike her with a switch and order her to get back to work. Sometimes she sat up in the night, breathless and choking, and believed she was back in the Penestrician stronghold, blind and imprisoned in her tiny stone cell while ancient chanting rose and fell in the distance.