The other two sisters exchanged frightened glances. “Excellency,” one said, “may we assist you in—”
“No. I must do this myself. There can be no more mistakes.”
The Magria steeled her heart, although already she was grieving for Anas, whom she had loved like a daughter. I was proud of her, she thought wearily to herself. I indulged her too much, overlooked too much. I have myself to blame as much as her.
“Go with Anas,” the Magria said. “Do not talk of this to the others. I must guide Anas later when this matter is back under control. For now, stay with her. Do not let her out of your sight. Comfort her if she will permit it.”
Reluctantly, the two sisters filed out.
Alone with the empress, the Magria sighed and buried her face in her hands for an unguarded moment of despair.
The sisterhood had grown so weak, and the Vindicants seemed stronger than ever. It had been Vindicant poison that had gotten past their safeguards to strike at this girl. There would be other attempts, and the Magria did not know if the sisters would be vigilant enough to thwart them.
And now this precious child had been seriously mishandled. It was an appalling blunder, but even worse was the vision of a released Beloth marching across the world again. The Magria herself had not foreseen that.
In her earlier visions she had seen that Elandra would marry the emperor but that she would turn to the man who would succeed Kostimon. One of the choices had been Tirhin. The other man was unknown. These men would war against each other, and Elandra would go to the victor to help found a new dynasty. Now it seemed the Magria’s interpretation had been wrong. Elandra had not chosen either Tirhin or the unknown.
Gently the Magria pried the topaz gem from Elandra’s fingers. The girl—so stubborn, so headstrong, so surprising—had chosen herself. Just as Kostimon—in an astonishing twist of contrariness—had chosen her.
None of this had lain in the visions.
The girl could not rule alone. The idea was impossible. Kostimon must know that. He must have some ploy in mind, but what? Did he realize that this child with her long eyelashes, mahogany hair, and Albain chin had the steel of kings in her? Did he understand what he had unleashed? Did he care? Or was he simply planning to create as much chaos as possible in his final days?
The Magria shook her head. Truly she had never felt as blind and helpless as she did now, with no inkling of how to judge the events taking place.
She took Elandra’s cold, still hand between hers. “We are falling into darkness,” she whispered. “Kostimon has given the shadow gods the means to unchain themselves. You have foreseen their return. You alone have divined our way of escape. What is it, little one? What is it?”
But Elandra lay still and wan, lost as yet to all of them.
Chapter Eleven
In Agel's study, Caelan stood a moment longer after the woman left, his mind awash with her beauty. He had never seen anyone like her before. She was exotic, unusual. Slanting cheekbones, almond eyes fringed with incredibly long lashes, a voluptuous mouth, hair like darkened copper. She smelled of sandalwood and cinnabar, clean and inviting. Tall and slender, richly gowned beneath her cloak, she came from another world far from his, a forbidden world he would never enter. He felt a little stunned by her, like a man who had stood too long in the sun.
She had been quick and clever, too slippery to convince. He did not believe she was truly the empress as she had claimed. Despite Agel’s collaboration, Caelan thought she was probably an attendant, a lady highborn and very adept at deception. But she was too young to be empress; she was younger than he. Besides, for all her cleverness, she had not acted like a wife. She seemed confused whenever the emperor was mentioned. She had stammered stupid things about rules that kept her from seeing the man.
Wives were not kept from their husbands. That was nonsense.
But if she was only a lady of the court, then no matter what she had said or half promised, she could not really help him.
Hopelessness swept over Caelan. He sighed and felt weariness sink through his bones.
“Run,” the woman had advised him.
He could barely walk, and yet he knew her suggestion came from genuine concern. He had no future here. Even if the prince still lay deeply unconscious and knew nothing of Caelan’s attempt to betray him, Caelan could not return. He had taken the prince home, but that ended his service. Already he had torn the prince’s coat of arms from his sleeve and hurled it into a roadside ditch.
Where, then, did he go? Did he slip out again through the side gate of the palace, winked on his way by the sentry who had won such a fortune on him? Did he hide himself in the city, waiting for the bounty hunters to sniff him out? Did he set out along a road? Did he take passage on a ship? No sea captain would allow him aboard as a passenger, looking like he did.
Could he admit defeat and give up when he was this close to the emperor? Or should he try again?
Aching and tired, he limped to the door and eased it open a crack.
The passageway seemed clear. He stepped out, holding his breath, and headed down it. There had to be a way to reach the emperor. He would find it.
As he passed the door to the infirmary, however, it swung open and Agel stepped out.
Astonished, Caelan stopped in his tracks. “You! What are you doing here? I thought you left.”
Agel shook his head and pointed to the bulging pouch he carried over one shoulder. “I had preparations to make. And I could not leave you here in such terrible condition.”
Caelan was not ready to forgive him. Kinsmen should stand together, no matter what their private differences were. He had seen behavior in Agel today that shamed him.
“All I need is a meal,” Caelan said, knowing that what he really wanted was a soaking bath, a massage, and several hours of sleep.
Agel nodded. “Let me tend you first. It won’t take a moment, and then I will go to the prince.”
Agel walked back into the study, and Caelan followed. His mind was too blurred with fatigue for him to wonder much why Agel had delayed leaving. In a way, Caelan found himself relieved. He needed his cousin’s help. Perhaps Agel had finally calmed down enough to offer it.
“Sit there,” Agel said, pointing at the stool.
Caelan obeyed and Agel took a small vial from his pouch. He handed it to Caelan.
“Drink this,” he ordered.
Caelan sniffed it but detected nothing repulsive. “What is it?”
“Who is the healer here?” Agel said, as prickly as ever. Then he smiled. “A restorative, you idiot. Drink it, and you will feel strong enough to eat the meal I have sent for.”
Caelan swallowed the liquid in a swift gulp. It had no bitter aftertaste. Relieved, he handed over the empty vial.
“Thank you for waiting,” he said. “I got nowhere with the woman.”
“Can’t you speak of her respectfully?” Agel said with irritation. “You are fortunate to still have your tongue. She was too lenient with you.”
“Oh, come, I know she isn’t the real empress, but only a handmaid,” Caelan replied. “Enough pretense. I must have your help, if only to—”
An involuntary shudder passed through him. He broke off his sentence and passed his hand across his brow. It felt clammy.
Agel stepped closer to him, staring down at him as though from a very great height.
Alarmed, Caelan wondered why Agel was suddenly so tall and he was suddenly so very short, so very tiny, shrinking and shrinking, until he was only a speck, and then nothing at all.
When he awakened, he was lying on a braided run in the antechamber of Prince Tirhin’s personal suite of rooms. Puzzled, Caelan took a while to sort through it. He did not understand what he was doing here, or why he was lying on the floor.
When he tried to sit up, every muscle in his body protested with a level of soreness that made him groan.
At once Agel appeared in the doorway that led to the bedchamber. “So you’re finally awake,
” he said coldly. “It’s about time. Get up and come in here.”
Caelan opened his mouth to ask questions, but Agel had already vanished.
Frowning, Caelan slowly sat up, finding his wits by slow degrees, then levered himself to his feet. He had slept deeply, but he still felt muddled and groggy. A glance at the small window told him night had fallen outside, but how many hours had passed? And how did he come to be back here in the prince’s house?
Memories sifted back to him in pieces. He realized he had been drugged.
Agel’s meddling angered him, but he wasn’t ready to face the implications yet.
Limping with one hand pressed to his aching side, Caelan went first to the door that led outside. It was locked, and he could not budge the latch. Grimly he turned around and walked to the bedchamber.
He paused in the doorway, looking inside.
A single lamp burned near the bed, leaving most of the room in shadow.
Within the circle of light, the prince lay beneath a blanket, asleep or unconscious Caelan did not know. His face had a waxy sheen, far too pale. Agel stood beside him, holding the prince’s wrist in his long fingers.
Disappointed and worried, Caelan drew in a sharp breath and walked on into the room.
Agel released his grip on Tirhin’s wrist and turned to face Caelan.
“Is he better?” Caelan asked.
“Not much,” Agel said bluntly. “His physical hurts are minor. Those I have dealt with. But it is his reason that concerns me.”
Caelan frowned at the man who was now his master in name only. “Yes,” he said very softly.
Agel’s gaze narrowed. “It is time that you told me exactly what happened. I can do nothing if I do not have information.”
Caelan’s frown deepened. “Why did you bring me back here to him? Why drug me? What is your intention?”
“It should be obvious,” Agel said coldly. “You are intent on self-destruction, as usual. But this time I will stop you.”
“Why?”
“Because we are kinsmen,” Agel said sharply. “What happens to you will affect me. If you betray this great man who is your master, will I not also be looked on with suspicion? Treachery is said to run in families.”
Caelan stared at him in amazement tinged with disgust. “You are thinking only of yourself.”
“I am being prudent.”
“You hypocrite—”
Agel lifted his hand. “I will not argue further with you. You are the property of his highness. If you do not stay where you belong, you will be branded a runaway. It is shameful enough to have a cousin who is a slave. Worse to have a cousin who kills for sport. But to have a cousin who attacks his master and then runs from his crime is—”
“Wait!” Caelan said in bewilderment. “What twisting of truth is this? I didn’t attack him.”
“Didn’t you?” Agel said, his gaze never wavering. “Didn’t he reprimand you, and didn’t you turn on him violently? Your temper has always been unreliable. And now you are afraid, too afraid to confess what you have done.”
Caelan was horrified. He realized immediately what the implications would be if Agel spread this lie. “You can’t do this,” he said, his voice choked. “You mustn’t.”
“Then cease this stupid insistence that the prince is a traitor,” Agel said.
Caelan stared at him, his mind whirling. He felt stunned with disgust at what his cousin was attempting to do.
“Who has set you to do this?” he asked finally. He was shaking inside, from rage and fear both. He wanted to throttle Agel, but he dared not move until he had answers. “Who?”
Agel would not meet his gaze. “Our purpose is to save this man. Tell me what you can.”
“Why should I?”
Agel looked suddenly fierce. “I have worked long and hard to secure my appointment to the imperial court. I won’t let you jeopardize that.”
“Tirhin is a traitor,” Caelan said in a hard voice. “You cannot coerce me into saying otherwise. My loyalty to him has ended. Don’t serve him, Agel. He is not worth your concern.”
“That is not for you to say!” Agel said sharply. “You are not this man’s judge.”
Anger leaped in Caelan, but he crossed his arms over his chest and said, “If his mind has gone, there is no reclaiming it.”
“I did not say his mind is gone. But he is far away, deeply severed.”
“That is justice,” Caelan said.
Agel’s eyes grew even colder. “And I have said you are not his judge! This man is a prince, and you are a slave. You are dust beneath his feet, unworthy in rank even to lick them.”
Caelan snorted. “I do not need a lecture about rank and standing. I have been taught my place at the end of a whip. But I am well born, and there is nothing in my lineage to make me ashamed. Never will I forget that.”
“If you are a slave, it is because you threw away all the advantages you were born to. You wasted everything. You deserve to be here, abased and wearing a chain of possession.”
Caelan’s fists clenched. He wanted to choked those pompous, lying words from his cousin. He wanted to hit Agel, to hurt him. He wished with all his heart to see Agel facing a Thyzarene attack, with the dragons screaming and belching fire, and the laughing riders spearing their victims. Oh, to see Agel in shackles, naked and covered with welts from a scourging, lying in filthy straw and grateful for a crust of molded bread.
All Agel knew about slavery was what he saw in Imperial most fashionable circles—the sleek, pampered house slaves, the groundskeeping workers, the champion gladiators who wore fine clothing and had servants of their own. He would never understand the debasement and degradation. He would never know the shame or the mental torment.
Agel already lived in a cage, one of his own making. His bars were prejudice and narrow thinking. How could he understand anything, much less the desperate need to be free? How could he understand honor, when he had thrown his own away? How far had the cruel elders at Rieschelhold twisted his thinking?
Caelan’s anger faded to pity. His fists uncurled, and he drew in a deep, ragged breath. Agel was not worth his hatred. Agel was not worth anything.
He turned in silence to walk out.
“You can’t go,” Agel said to his back.
Caelan kept walking.
“You can’t! I will say that you attacked the prince and injured him. I will accuse you, and you will go to the dungeons a condemned man.”
Caelan drew in a breath. He felt cold with contempt.
Turning around, he sent Agel a steely glare, but it was met by the ice of Agel’s gaze.
“You don’t want to die, do you?” Agel asked him. “You still care about your own life.”
Caelan said nothing. His jaw was clamped too tightly.
Agel took his silence for assent. “Now. You will answer my questions and give me the assistance I need.”
“If you condemn me,” Caelan said hoarsely, “will you not also condemn yourself, as my kinsman?”
“Treachery and murderous assault are two different things,” Agel said in a calm voice. “I cannot be blamed for the latter. You are well known to be a violent man, of unreliable temper and savage fighting skills. And it is also known that you expected his highness to free you for your successes in the arena. He has not done so. Are these not sufficient provocations for a man of your ilk?”
Caelan frowned, wondering how Agel could be so ruthless. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you. It was very difficult to get this appointment. Now that I have it, I intend to keep it. How better to impress the emperor than by healing his beloved son of these injuries? Do you think I came to Imperia merely to treat wounded gladiators, favorite slaves, and imperial concubines? No, I came to treat the emperor himself, and I will not let your stupidity keep me from that.”
Understanding dawned on Caelan. “You haven’t been received yet,” he said slowly. “The emperor has not yet permitted you to examine him.”
It was Agel’s turn to stand silent and tight-lipped.
“You are here on a trial basis. You can be dismissed if you fail to please.”
Agel’s chin lifted. “Already I have been called on by the empress. That was a great step forward, at least until you broke in and interrupted the consultation.”
Caelan shook his head. “She wasn’t the empress, you fool. Her Imperial Majesty wouldn’t come to your shabby infirmary in person.”
“But she did.”
“I have been here longer than you,” Caelan said scornfully. “I know palace protocol. The empress would send for you, by messenger and escort.”
“But the guard said she was ... she herself said she was—”
Agel’s confusion made Caelan laugh. “People lie,” he said. “Especially do aristocrats lie to their servants and inferiors.”
A tide of red crept up Agel’s throat into his face.
“She was not the empress,” Caelan said emphatically. “Perhaps she came to you on her Majesty’s behalf, to observe you and your methods, to see how clean you are, to see whether you are suitable. That’s all.”
“But... but still, the empress has expressed interest,” Agel said finally, trying to rally. “It changes little. As regards you, it changes nothing.”
Caelan’s amusement died. He looked at Agel stonily.
“Now, back to the matter at hand,” Agel said, gesturing at the unconscious prince. “Does he know anything about severance? Can he return by himself? Has he had any training?”
“No.”
“Of course. Severance is not practiced here.” Agel compressed his lips and stared at Caelan very hard. “You were on the Forbidden Mountain. You encountered wind spirits—”
“No, shyrieas.”
Agel waited, but when Caelan said nothing further he walked to the far side of the room and motioned for Caelan to follow him. “Am I to wrest every word from you like drawing teeth?” he asked angrily. “Must I threaten you again to elicit your cooperation?”
“No, I think you have threatened me sufficiently,” Caelan said.
“Then answer my questions, that I may do my work.”
Shadow War Page 19