Realm of Light

by Deborah Chester

“Stop pushing!” Caelan snapped at her. “Why are you never satisfied?”

  “Because you have so much to learn.”

  Elandra was amazed to hear a grown man corrected by such a young girl, but she also knew that wisdoms seldom looked their true age. Lea was a very old spirit indeed inhabiting that lithe, youthful body.

  Caelan hesitated, still scowling at her, then abruptly caught her hands in his. “Come with us.”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “When it is time.”

  Frustration filled his face. “But how am I to know if you are well? How am I to be responsible for you? How am I to take care of you?”

  Lea reached up to caress his cheek. “Look within your heart to know that I am well. But you have much else to tend now, my brother. I am not your task.”

  Then she turned and held out her hand to Elandra. “And you, dear lady who loves my brother, you also have much before you. Receive the blessing of the spirits to guide you on your way.”

  Surprised by the benediction, Elandra inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  “Good journey,” Lea said. She drew a leather pouch from her saddlebag and handed it to Caelan. “This is food so you will not have to hunt on the way.”

  He took it in silence, everything he could not say knotted in his face. Wordlessly he swept her close and hugged her hard. “I cannot lose you again,” he whispered.

  Lea closed her eyes and hugged him back. “You never will,” she promised. “I will come. If the gods are kind, I promise you I will come.”

  Then she pulled away from him, tears shimmering in her eyes. She curtsied to Elandra and climbed back on her pony. With one last silent wave, she rode away.

  Since then, Caelan had been quiet and preoccupied. At night in camp, sitting together by the flickering campfire and listening to the strange sounds of unfamiliar plains and marshlands, he had little to say. Perhaps he did not want to speak of his plans while he could be overheard by the Thyzarenes. Perhaps something else troubled him. Elandra kept her own counsel and let him be. As long as his arms held her through the night, she knew all would be well.

  And now, with the wind whipping her cheeks and sending locks of her hair streaming out behind her, she looked down and saw the thick jungles of home.

  Her heart lifted with joy. Suddenly she felt invincible, incapable of doubt or failure.

  She pointed. “Look! There is the river.”

  Bwend nodded and nudged Nia with his left foot. The dragon wheeled lazily and turned toward the river. It was overflowing its banks this time of year, fat with monsoon rains, flooding the paddies and sweeping away humble villages. In places it spread all the way into the edge of the jungle, and lay there among the trees, stagnant and stinking with great clouds of flies rising off its surface.

  The dragons did not drop altitude, and soon Elandra understood why as they came to mountains. Clouds mounded over the peaks, pouring rain on the near slopes. The water pelted Elandra hard, making her draw up her hood and shiver.

  She didn’t really care, however. The ripe, earthy scent of the jungle lifted to her nostrils, and she gloried in its untamable savagery.

  Now they did drop lower, coming close enough in places for her to see the colorful birds and wild parrots that lived in the tree-tops. Screaming monkeys fled before them, surely fearing the great predator dragons that flew overhead.

  Part of the mountain slope stood bare where trees had long ago been hacked down. Ancient stone ruins revealed themselves, bizarre faces carved on an immense scale and worn by time. Vines twisted over them, and from the darkness of a cave mouth there appeared to be a group of wild jinjas huddled together. They vanished before Elandra could be sure, but she found her heart beating fast with excitement just the same.

  So this was where jinjas came from. These old temples of the ancient ways. The traders who brought young jinjas to the sorcery markets guarded their secrets jealously, telling no one where they captured their wares. Elandra smiled to herself. She must have a jinja of her own, one bonded to her. Perhaps Caelan would accept one for his own protection too.

  “That way!” she shouted at Bwend, pointing.

  He nodded, looking insulted by her directions. Elandra was too excited to care. When she left her father’s palace over a year ago, she thought she would never return. Her memories had not all been good ones, but how she missed the sights and smells, the heat, the lazy afternoons when nothing moved but the fans to stir the air; yes, she even missed the dreadful muxa bugs.

  Laughing aloud, she glanced over at Caelan and saw him watching her. She waved at him, and he smiled.

  Ahead, the jungle thinned out and ended. Lush fields of flax, rice, and aotta beans stood in water. The rain ended, and Elandra threw back her hood. How moist and heavy the air felt. She could feel her skin absorbing it. Her hair began to curl and riot about her face.

  A break in the clouds allowed a luminescent shaft of sunlight to spear down to earth. And there stood the gleaming white limestone walls of Albain palace, as solid and safe as ever. Eagerly Elandra leaned low over Nia’s neck, hoping she would fly faster.

  Instead the dragon slowed and began to circle.

  Disappointed, Elandra snapped her head around to look into Bwend’s impassive face. “Why don’t we keep going? Why do you circle here?”

  He met her eyes, but said nothing. Catching up, Basha also began to circle. The Thyzarenes exchanged looks and hand signals.

  Suspicion grew inside Elandra. Had they come this far, only to be tricked at the last moment? Caelan was peering down at the ground, and she could not catch his attention. She fingered her knife, vowing she would not be held for ransom like some helpless captive.

  “Bwend,” she said sharply, “remember I am your empress.”

  Nia bugled, and Basha echoed the sound. The dragons flew closer, then circled again, staying high.

  Elandra gripped the harness so hard her knuckles turned white. She was furious at this delay. What was Bwend doing? Tormenting her? She could see her father’s sentries gesturing. More troops came running. Some were archers. When they lifted their drawn bows, aiming at the dragons, she sat up straight on Nia’s back and glanced again at Bwend.

  “Yes, Majesty,” he said, his voice dry. “If we come in too fast, they shoot us like birds for eating. You would not like to hit the ground that hard, eh?”

  Elandra swallowed and felt ashamed of her previous suspicions.

  They circled the palace again, staying out of arrow range. She could see the famous steps reaching from the broad courtyard up to the portico of the palace itself. Her father’s banners of yellow and white flew proudly. She saw no imperial coat of arms, however, and wondered why her father had struck her banner.

  The people of the household crowded onto the balconies, pointing upward. Soldiers poured from the barracks. More archers appeared.

  Elandra frowned at them, wanting to shout a reprimand. After all she had gone through to get here, were they even going to let her land?

  Bwend pulled a dirty white rag from his pouch and let it stream out for the soldiers to see.

  The men changed formation, clearing a large space in the courtyard.

  “This dangerous,” Bwend said in her ear. “No flag to show imperial business. No reason to come.”

  She held her breath and gripped the harness strap more tightly. “I am ready.”

  Nia dropped in a plummet that left Elandra’s stomach floating somewhere among the clouds. The watery sunlight vanished as the clouds closed again. Grimly, she realized she must look like a wild woman, arriving windblown in this bizarre fashion. She had no veil, no suitable gowns, no entourage. If her father was not at home, would anyone even recognize her?

  Just as this doubt occurred to her, Nia bumped down and staggered forward a few steps on her awkward legs. Beating her wings, the dragon stretched her neck and roared loudly enough to make the troops back up. Then Basha landed, snapping his jaws and sha
king the singed remnants of his beard. He roared and lashed his tail, and Caelan slid off his back hastily.

  At once, Fotel spoke a command and Basha lifted back into the air, smoking and grumbling as he went.

  Caelan took a moment to adjust his sword belt, then he straightened himself to military posture and swept the silent Gial-tan soldiers with a single, appraising glance. The sight of them did not appear to daunt him at all.

  Elandra’s heart swelled with pride in him. Not a single man in this compound was Caelan’s physical equal. He stood head and shoulders above them all. This morning he wore his long blond hair braided back warrior style, and his bronzed, chiseled face looked stern and handsome. His blue eyes were hard and observant. He would miss nothing, she knew. He was evaluating their silent reception, gauging the possible dangers.

  Wisely, Elandra curbed her own impulse to jump off the dragon and go running up the steps. She recalled the day she had left this palace in Bixia’s wake. The soldiers had cheered her that day. But they stood silent and hostile now.

  She turned to Bwend, whose eyes shifted constantly as though he expected to be attacked at any moment. “I owe you my thanks,” she said. “Never again will I doubt the loyalty of a man of Thyzarene.”

  Bwend’s gaze met hers. For an instant he smiled. “Never before have I met an empress,” he replied. “But my service is yours to command whenever there is need.”

  She smiled, and his eyes softened.

  “If you will wait while I make greetings to my father, I will see that you are rewarded—”

  “No, Majesty,” he said firmly. “No reward.”

  She frowned in dismay. “But I promised—”

  “No, Majesty. I have my reward.”

  She couldn’t believe a Thyzarene was actually turning down money. “But—”

  He gave her a shy little bow of his head. “This empress has smiled to me as a friend. This empress has spoken to me kindly as an equal. This empress has ridden the winds without fear. Surely this empress is worthy, and I serve her as a citizen of the empire.”

  She smiled and touched his gnarled hand briefly. “You are a good man, Bwend. When the empire is once again secure, will you and Nia come to Imperia? I would see a better relationship established with your people.”

  He looked startled. “Perhaps.”

  “Majesty,” Caelan said, breaking in.

  She glanced around to see him standing at her knee. He held out his hand to assist her down. His touch was formal and impersonal. He was wearing his most remote expression.

  It was to help her, she knew, for as yet the men staring at her had no idea of who she was. Yet she refused to take what he offered.

  Staring up at him, she said softly for his ears alone, “You stubborn, impossible man. All those times when I tried to get you to act as my official protector, you would not. Now, when I want you to enter my father’s house as my equal, you retreat to my heels.”

  Caelan’s blue eyes met hers. “Will it not help?”

  “It might, but my father always said a person should begin in the manner he intended to continue. Kostimon’s empire is ended. Let us begin the way we shall go on.”

  A very thin smile touched Caelan’s lips and spread up into his eyes. He inclined his head to her, and when she extended her hand to him, he lifted it to his lips, then held it fast.

  From their left, an officer in a turban and a long yellow and white surcoat worn over mail came striding up, spurs jingling, one hand gripping the hilt of his scimitar.

  The dragon lifted her head and bugled at Basha, who was circling safely overhead.

  Elandra turned back to Bwend. “I wish to thank Nia too,” she said. “Will she let me pet her?”

  Bwend frowned but gave her a curt nod. He spoke a sharp command to the dragon, who lowered her head and turned her iridescent eyes warily on Elandra.

  Elandra held out her hand, palm up, and felt the hot, smoky breath of the dragon blow across her skin. “Thank you for carrying me so far and so swiftly,” she said to the beast. “You are a good dragon.”

  Nia grumbled, clearly not having forgotten that Elandra had mesmerized her. Carefully Elandra reached up and scratched under the dragon’s chin as she had seen Bwend do.

  The dragon snorted in surprise, then stretched out her chin for more, half closing her eyes.

  Bwend, looking jealous, spoke sharply, and the dragon drew back her head. She roared, sending men stumbling back, and beat her wings in a strong flurry. Her body lifted until her wings found the wind currents. Then she soared. She and Basha circled overhead once more, then flew away.

  Elandra watched them go until Caelan’s tug on her hand brought her attention back to earth.

  She found herself facing the stern visage of General Alud Handar. There was no recognition in his eyes. His gaze swept over Caelan’s imperial armor and sword, then returned to Elandra.

  He had never seen her unveiled. And while the money-loving Thyzarenes recognized her from her coinage portrait, Handar clearly did not. She realized her hair was unbound and wild. Her gown was creased and stained from travel. Moreover, she was roasting in her wool cloak and probably stank like dragon.

  But to be taken for a lady meant one had to act like a lady. To show doubt and hesitation was to awaken it in others.

  “Greetings, General Handar,” she said regally, as though dropping unexpectedly from the sky on the back of a barbarian looter’s dragon was an ordinary occurrence. “It is good to see you again.”

  He bowed slightly, his frown deepening. “My lady.”

  “You will forgive my haste,” she said. “I will present you formally to Lord Caelan later. We must speak to Lord Albain without delay.”

  “That is not possible.”

  She tightened her lips with frustration. She should have known her father would be away. “This is most disconcerting.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Handar said. His tone was ironic.

  She knew she had to curb that immediately.

  Before she could speak, however, he was gesturing to his right. “If you will accompany me this way—”

  “I shall not,” she snapped. “If you do not recognize the daughter of your own lord and master, then I am sure one of the courtiers who witnessed my coronation will.”

  Handar’s mouth fell open. Comprehension filled his eyes, and he turned pale. “Majesty!”

  She lifted her chin. “Will I be kept in the courtyard forever, General, or may I enter my father’s house?”

  “Of course.” He glared at an officer, who whirled around and barked out a series of commands.

  The soldiers suddenly cleared a path toward the steps, facing it on either side and standing at attention.

  Handar bowed low, humiliation written plainly across his face. “My deepest apologies, Majesty. I—”

  He had been kind to her once, when she was only a frightened, baseborn daughter of the household, on her way to a new life. She had not forgotten, but the lesson had to be taught. She had learned that from Kostimon.

  “Why is the imperial banner not flying?” she asked, cutting across his apologies. “Where is my father? When will he return? Has he gone to hold a war council?”

  “No, Majesty,” Handar replied, and there was a stricken note in his voice that caught her attention. “I am afraid there is no war council being held.”

  “What do you mean? What are you saying? Explain.” But already she guessed something was very wrong. She stared at the man, and her head suddenly felt as though it were being crushed. She could not breathe. “Do not tell me he is dead,” she said, horrified by her own words.

  Caelan’s arm went around her, steadying her as she swayed, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were focused only on Handar’s face.

  Her lips felt frozen. “Is Albain dead?”

  Handar lowered his gaze from hers. “No, Majesty, not yet. But he is dying.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The steps stretched upward in endless progressio
n, as though to the sky itself. Halfway up, Elandra began to tremble, and she thought her legs would fail her.

  “No,” she whispered, unable to believe it. “No!”

  Caelan looked down at her in sympathy, and frowned a warning.

  She understood at once and knew she could not submit publicly to her grief, but inside she felt as though she were being torn apart. She had not grieved for Kostimon, who in many ways had been more a father figure to her than her own. But Albain had been the first man she had ever loved. All her life she had looked up to him, admired him, craved his affection. She would have done anything for him. Just a glance or a quick pat on her head when she was a child had sustained her for weeks.

  And now . . . now, when she needed him more than ever before, to hear he was dying seemed like a bad dream. She could not believe it, refused to believe it.

  Handar escorted them into the palace, murmuring about accidents and bad portents. There had been lightning and earthquakes, he said. The river had flooded its banks, and one of the stable walls had fallen. Lord Albain had been crushed by a panicking elephant while he tried to help his men restore order.

  Caelan never loosened his grip on Elandra’s hand. She could feel the reassurance he sent her even as he pinned his gaze on the general.

  “And are there no healers to attend him?” he asked.

  “Indeed, yes,” Handar replied. “Our physicians say he is injured inside.”

  Caelan frowned. “The slow bleeding?”

  “It is as they say.”

  Elandra looked up at Caelan in hope. He was a healer’s son. He understood what this meant.

  His blue eyes darkened with compassion, and he gave her a small shake of his head.

  Her mouth opened, but she didn’t cry out. She had no breath to do so. The world swam before her eyes, but Caelan would not let her faint.

  “Keep walking,” he said softly. “Hold your head high.”

  She obeyed him, her eyes stinging with tears she would not shed. They found the vast entry hall full of courtiers and the curious, most of whom had gathered to watch her arrival. The women were veiled and gowned elegantly. The men wore gilded mail and silk surcoats heavily embroidered in gold and silver. She recognized coats of arms from across the entire province. Jinjas flitted here and there, peeking out from behind their owners, sharp teeth bared in curiosity, pointed ears twitching in response to the general air of suppressed excitement.