“Going to cut out your heart,” the sergeant said, coughing again. He sneered, pushing Caelan harder into the wall until Caelan felt himself suspended on that single pinnacle of pain, unable to move or even cry out.
“Hurry, Mox! Damn you, be quick!”
Snarling, Mox raised the dagger. “Slit ‘is throat,” he growled.
“No!” the sergeant said, intervening. “I want him alive while we cut out his heart. I want him to feel it pumping in another man’s hands. I want him to know when we rip it out of him.”
Caelan rolled his head to one side, gasping for breath, feeling the blood bubbling up where it didn’t belong. All he knew was that he had failed. This time, his strength and his gifts hadn’t been enough. It didn’t seem fair that he should die like this down in the grubby depths of a dungeon room, stabbed in the back, chained like an animal, outnumbered. As a destiny, it was sordid and pathetic. And the prophecies he’d been told were lies.
He thought of Elandra, wondering if she would ever know his fate. He longed for her, wished he could tell her once more how much he loved her.
His only prayer was that she would be safe.
“Make it quick,” he said to the sergeant.
The sergeant put his ugly face close to Caelan’s. “Do you hurt now? Eh? Does that knife in your back make you want to beg and puke? Well, see how this feels.” He grinned. “All right, Mox. Make it clean, and make it slow.”
A furious pounding on the door awakened Elandra. Disoriented and groggy, she pulled herself upright on the bed while the jinja hissed and sniffed the air.
She looked at the small, golden creature. Its big, luminous eyes met hers. “Safe.”
Iaris, who had been asleep in a chair, rose and walked over to the door. Her unpinned hair streamed down her back, making her look younger and more vulnerable. Holding a lamp in her hand, she spoke to whoever was knocking, then glanced at Elandra.
“It is the guard,” she said. “He is to escort you to the emp— the prince.”
Elandra’s eyes widened. “Now?”
“Yes.”
Elandra glanced involuntarily at the window, seeing her wan reflection shimmering in the darkness beyond the glass. “What is the hour?”
Iaris yawned. “It does not matter. Your presence is requested. You will go.”
Defiance tightened the skin around Elandra’s eyes, but before she could speak, Iaris was striding toward her.
“Don’t be a fool!” she snapped. “You are his prisoner, as are we all. Thus far, he has treated you with the greatest courtesy, but that could change in one snap of his fingers.” Drawing a gown from Elandra’s journey chest, Iaris flung it at her. “Get dressed.”
Within the hour, Elandra was beautifully gowned and her auburn hair was sleeked back in a heavy coil at the base of her neck. Her topaz hung in its pouch between her breasts, and she kept her hand on it for comfort as she walked through the corridors of Tirhin’s villa with her head held high.
Guards were stationed throughout the house. They snapped to attention as she passed them. She glanced at their weathered faces, seeing experience and long years of service in every crease and scar. Crimson cloaks hung from their shoulders, proclaiming them as the elite Imperial Guard, but most of them had the rough look of common foot soldiers, as though they had been pulled from the ranks for Tirhin’s service.
None of them met her eyes. Elandra kept her expression confident and assured, as though she was accustomed to being summoned by her sworn enemy in the middle of the night. But her heart was pounding in short, hard jerks. It was one thing to belittle Tirhin and defy him in public. It was another to face him alone, without protectors or allies. She felt as though she were marching to battle, and she went armed with nothing but her wits and a sleeve knife. If she still possessed any courage, it seemed to be in tatters at this moment.
“If you have no bravery, at least pretend to the enemy that you do,” her father used to instruct his troops.
Elandra clung to that advice now, wishing her father were walking at her side. But this she must face alone.
She was escorted downstairs to the ground floor. The house was all shadows and golden pools of lamplight, filled with hushed quiet.
Her escort paused at a pair of carved doors and knocked quietly. The doors were opened a crack.
“The empress,” her escort said.
The doors swung inward, and Elandra’s guards stepped aside. In unison they saluted as she walked alone into the room beyond. Then the doors were closed behind her.
Elandra found herself in a study. The room was square and small, with a vaulted ceiling. Animal skins lay upon the polished marble floor. A heavy wooden desk had a map spread across its surface. A burning lamp cast soft light. Shelves filled with scroll cases flanked a tall window. Busts of learned philosophers were displayed on pedestals according to an old-fashioned notion that the likenesses of great thinkers could impart wisdom. The room smelled of leather and old parchment.
She drew a deep, steadying breath. This civilized room reassured her. Although she knew herself to be foolish in thinking so, she felt marginally safer here.
The individual who had admitted her now bowed. It was Agel, the healer.
Recognizing his thin, handsome face and cold eyes, Elandra lost her assurance. She stared at him, feeling suddenly afraid, and did not trust her voice enough to speak.
Agel gave her a perfunctory smile, as though he could read her thoughts. “Please wait here. Sit if you wish.”
Elandra glared at him. “How kind of you to give me permission,” she said regally.
He flushed, frowning, and left the room through another door behind a tapestry.
As soon as he was gone, Elandra paced over to the window. She stared out into the hostile darkness, sensing the evil that lay within it, feeling the evil here around her. Her fingers rubbed the cold glass, tracing the tiny bubbles and imperfections within its surface. With every passing moment, her agitation grew.
A sound behind her startled her. She whirled around, gasping for breath, her heart like thunder within her breast.
Tirhin came limping into the room, using a carved ebony cane for support. Unlike her, he was attired informally in a linen under-tunic with a long robe of midnight blue silk belted around him. He moved slowly, with great difficulty, making no attempt to mask his pain.
“Elandra,” he said, his voice soft and velvety despite an underlying note of strain. “Thank you for coming. I thought we might begin anew in private, where we have no need to act as our rank demands in public.”
His face was as white as his undertunic, throwing his black brows and hair into dramatic contrast. His eyes caught the firelight and shimmered for a moment, paler in color than she remembered, almost yellow.
Despite herself, she shivered.
“Come,” he said, reaching out his hand to her with a smile. “Let us sit and talk.”
Elandra did not move. Her fear was unreasonable, for she could see no threat in his face or manner. Yet she remained afraid.
“Please,” he said.
She heard fatigue and pain in his voice and realized he was waiting for her to sit down before he did the same. His knuckles were white where they gripped the top of the cane.
Compassion touched her then, and she took one of the chairs, sitting erect with her long skirts belled around her, her hands folded in her lap.
Tirhin dropped heavily into his with a grunt of relief and stretched out his bad leg before him.
This close, she could see how much he had changed. Deep lines had been carved around his mouth. A permanent crease between his brows marred his forehead. He looked older by years, and his eyes seemed haunted. Tension radiated from him.
She looked at him, and was glad he suffered. She hoped his guilt consumed him, for no punishment could be more appropriate. Had he sat before her sleek, contented, and fat with his ill-gained riches, she would have thrown her knife at his throat. But this pain-wracked shell of a man
, this prince who had lost his youth, vitality, and laughing good looks was someone she could tolerate. Barely.
He met her eyes and gave her a tentative smile, then lifted his forefinger at Agel, who hovered discreetly in the background. “Some wine for the lady, healer. Oh, and bring the box.”
In silence Agel brought a tray containing a flagon of amber-colored wine, two goblets of hammered gold, and a small wooden box with an ornate lid.
Elandra watched scornfully as the healer filled the goblets. “And when did this skilled healer become your servant?” she asked.
Agel did not glance up as he finished pouring the wine, but his nostrils flared.
Tirhin chuckled. “The slaves have all been sent to bed. Our conversation is private, not for idle ears. Thank you, Agel. That will suffice.”
The healer bowed and left the room. Elandra breathed easier after he was gone. “I thought Lord Sien would be at your side.”
“Sien died when Kostimon died,” Tirhin said. “Agel has saved my life.” He drank thirstily from his goblet, then handed the second goblet to her.
Elandra lifted her hand in refusal. “I am not thirsty.”
“At least let us share a toast, Elandra.”
She stared at him coldly and made no move to take the goblet, which he still extended to her. “We have nothing to celebrate.”
“Not even a mending of a broken friendship?”
Elandra did not relent. “You are premature.”
His smile faded, and a shadow crossed his eyes. He set down the goblet with enough force to slosh its contents. “Will you not meet me halfway?”
“Why should I?”
He struggled a moment with himself, as though to keep his patience and his temper. “This hostility from you is most unbecoming. It does nothing to show the people that we are united in—”
“We are not united,” Elandra said sharply.
“Let me finish,” he said. “I was going to say united in friendship. Why do you fear me? We are family. I mean you no harm.”
“Do you not,” she said softly beneath her breath.
He overheard and frowned. “I am not your enemy, whatever you may think.”
“Then why am I your prisoner?”
Tirhin leaned back in his chair. “Leave if you wish. Go. I will not stop you.”
“My chamber door was locked tonight.”
“For your protection.”
She sniffed. “I was brought to this room by an armed escort.”
“For your protection. In Gault’s name, Elandra, you have seen the city. You must surely realize the danger that surrounds us. These walls offer some protection, but not enough. Twice the guards have killed things which crept inside somehow, things you do not wish to meet.”
“You brought them here.”
Anger flashed in Tirhin’s face. He slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Kostimon brought them! Do not lay that blame on me!”
Her gaze dropped a moment; then she looked up again. “And what blame will you accept?”
His mouth tightened. “I let the Madruns sack the city. I regret that now, but at least they have finally been driven out. At the time it seemed my only chance of seizing the throne from the old devil.”
“Couldn’t you have waited?”
“For how long?” he retorted.
“A few weeks. A few days. Your father had little time left.”
Tirhin snorted and drained the contents of his goblet. “Do you think he would not have found a way to thwart death again? I tell you, he was planning something—”
“How could he—”
“Why not?” Tirhin broke in. “He made his bargain before with the dark god to evade death.”
“Yes, but that was over.”
“Was it? I’m not so sure.” Tirhin poured himself more wine with an unsteady hand, spilling some of it. “He and Sien were plotting some scheme with the darkness.”
“But—’“
“I tell you, he would have succeeded!” Tirhin said sharply. “You knew him only a short time, but even so, do you truly believe that he would not have tried again to keep his life and his throne, if there were any way to do it? No matter what the cost?”
Elandra sat in silence a moment, but finally she replied with honesty. “Yes, I believe he would have taken any chance offered to him.”
“Yes.” Tirhin shifted in his chair and grimaced.
Elandra rose to her feet. “You are unwell. The hour is very late. We can talk later—”
“We will talk now!” he said forcefully, glaring up at her. “This is our only chance for privacy. There is little time, and I will not be put off.”
Pain gripped his face again, and he rubbed his leg fretfully.
Watching him, Elandra frowned. “You are exhausted, and your wound pains you. Can this not wait until morning when you are more rested?”
He bared his teeth in a bitter version of a smile and shook his head. “There is never a moment when the wound does not pain me,” he admitted. “I do not sleep at night. While the rest of the world lies quiet, I have nothing to do but fill the hours with activity.”
Elandra stared at him in consternation. “You do not sleep at all?”
“No.”
“But you must take rest.”
“Oh, yes, I rest. But there is no sleep. Please, sit down.”
She sank back into her chair, feeling more pity for him than she wanted to. “But how can you live if you do not sleep?”
He shrugged and ran the back of his hand across his forehead.
“Can the healer not cure you?”
His lips curved bitterly, and he would not meet her eyes. “Obviously not.”
“I do not understand. For all his faults, Agel is a most skilled healer, trained in Trau’s best school.”
He stared into the bottom of his cup. “Some hurts are beyond all the skill and ability of this world.”
Understanding came to her. Chilled, she shrank back in her chair and stared at him with new eyes. Memories of General Paz came to her, along with memories of her own poisoning.
“The darkness is within you,” she whispered.
Still he would not meet her eyes.
She swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. She had escaped the trap, but could Tirhin? “Is it the poison?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“If we appealed to the Penestricans—”
“Those witches are not coming within a league of me,” he said, and filled his goblet again.
“But if they could help you—”
“They will not,” he said.
“Tirhin, it can be fought. It can be—”
“But I don’t want to fight it,” he said. He turned his pale yellow eyes on her, and she felt as though she had been physically shocked.
She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
“It is time to be frank, Elandra. I want no secrets between us,” he said, leaning forward. “The throne will be mine, and once I have it, I shall not relinquish it. I have taken the darkness in exchange for the same life span as my father.”
Horrified, Elandra stared at him. “Tirhin, no!”
“Yes. The wound will never heal. I can never sleep again, but I don’t care. All is worth it.”
“But your father did not—”
“No,” he interrupted quietly. “Kostimon did not make the same bargain I have. Kostimon did not pay the same price. But you see, Kostimon had to pay when he died. I am paying now, in exchange for something far sweeter.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. But I am nothing to fear, I assure you. I shan’t turn into a monster when you least expect it. I am as I shall always be. Young and manly. In my prime.”
Elandra blinked. Was he mad? Did he not see how thin and haggard he actually was? Was he unaware of how ill he looked? Did he still believe himself the strong, handsome young man he had been only a few months past? He was lying to her;
most certainly he was lying to himself if he believed any of what he had just said.
“Now I have been open and honest with you,” Tirhin said, putting his cup aside. “I have explained my reasons and shared my plans for the future with you.”
“Future?” she said in astonishment, and gestured at the window. “What future do you expect? Darkness has swallowed Imperia. Soon it will engulf all the empire.”
He nodded. “Things are changing, but we will rebuild the city. We—”
“Tirhin!” she said sharply, forgetting caution. “Are you mad? Do you not realize that we are ending? The demons will rule, not you.”
“We will rule,” he said, leaning forward to grasp her hand.
She tried to pull free, but he held her fast.
“Listen to me,” he said intently, gazing into her eyes. “I have nothing to fear, and once you are married to me you will have nothing to fear either. There are ways to survive, even in perpetual night.”
“No,” she whispered, trying again to pull free.
“You are a beautiful woman,” he said. “Courageous, wellborn, intelligent. The people love you. When my father chose you, he chose well. Together, we can mend what is broken in the empire. You are already crowned. Our alliance will be—”
“No!”
She jerked her hand from his and stood up, circling to stand behind her chair. She needed that physical barrier between them.
“Elandra, listen—”
“I will not hear you,” she said in agitation. Dear Gault, she had even felt sorry for him. She had forgotten how charming the man could be, how persuasive.
“Elandra, it is imperative that we marry.”
Her face grew hot. She glared at him defiantly. “Imperative for you, perhaps, but not for me.”
“You cannot rule the empire alone. The people will not accept it.”
“Then I shall not rule,” she told him.
He laughed and levered himself painfully to his feet. “That is a lie. I can see ambition in your face, hear it in your voice. You were hoping to align yourself with Gialta and the imperial army, but as you have seen, neither of those factors belong to you. I made sure of that from the start.”
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