Chapter Thirteen

Upstairs, in the east wing of Lord Albain’s stone palace, the tall windows stood wide open to catch the cool breezes. Early morning sunlight spilled in, bringing with it a warning of the intense heat to come. Soon the muxa bugs would dry their dew-paralyzed wings and come alive. The screens would have to be rolled down over the windows for protection. Already, the jungle beyond the stalwart walls emitted screams and bird calls as its day denizens awoke.

Within the suite of apartments belonging to Lady Bixia, daughter of the house, all remained peaceful. The sunshine glowed upon fine Ulinian carpets and walnut chairs gracing the sitting room. Yesterday the room had been complete chaos, piled high with scattered possessions, half- packed trunks, and muslin packing cloths. Now it had a stripped, empty feeling. The trunks had been carried away last night by the porters. The room stood bare of Lady Bixia’s favorite trinkets, music, sewing boxes, and foot cushions. Only a trace of her scent lingered on the air. Otherwise, it was as though she had not lived here for eighteen years. Even the cages containing her parrot and pet monkey had been swathed in traveling covers and removed.

The double doors to Lady Bixia’s bedchamber remained firmly closed, for although this was the grand day of her departure, she never arose before noon.

Her servants had been up since before dawn, driven to a frenzy of last-minute packing and preparations for the comfort of their mistress.

Some servants had been up all night.

Crouching on the cool stone steps leading up to the empty hearth, Elandra forced her sore and aching fingers to keep stitching. She had to finish hemming this new dressing robe so it could be packed. Only last night had Bixia discovered the robe was too long. In a screaming fit, she had ripped at the garment and flung it on the floor. Elandra tried to clean it, and she’d been up all night sewing.

The stitches were not ordinary ones, but instead some kind of intricate embroidery indicative of the finest handwork. It had taken hours to puzzle out the trick of the tiny stitches.

Now Elandra was so tired her eyes would barely focus, and she could not stop shivering from exhaustion. Glancing up for a moment and grimacing at the stiffness in her neck, she realized the sunlight was finally brighter than her little lamp. Leaning over, she blew out the flame and sighed with her eyes closed.

If only she could rest for a moment.

But she dared not. Dragging her eyes open again, she forced herself to regain her concentration. If she didn’t complete her task, it would be the switch for sure.

The needle jabbed into her finger, and she flinched.

Swiftly she stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth and sucked at the wound. She couldn’t afford to spill even a tiny drop on the gorgeous white brocade fabric. It was the finest cloth she’d ever touched, incredibly soft, and beautifully cut by an expert seamstress. It was the only garment of Bixia’s trousseau that Elandra had been allowed to see, much less handle, and its exquisiteness took her breath away. It did not deserve to be treated like a rag and flung about, even if it didn’t fit the way Bixia wanted it to.

Quick footsteps approached the door to the sitting room, and it was shoved open without a knock.

Startled, Elandra looked up in dread, but it was only one of the maids hurrying in with her arms full of clothing freshly finished from the laundry downstairs.

Elandra sighed and relaxed. “Hello, Magan.”

The woman looked surprised to see Elandra. “What are you doing in here?”

Elandra shrugged, although the taut muscles in her shoulders screamed from the movement. “I haven’t finished with this yet.”

Magan looked at the garment flowing from Elandra’s lap, and her eyes widened. “Gods’ mercy, what arc you doing with that?”

“Mending it,” Elandra said.

Magan’s mouth opened, and she seemed about to say something before she changed her mind. “Give me that,” she said with an apprehensive glance over her shoulder. “If the hag finds this, it’ll be the end of you.”

Elandra also looked at the doorway in apprehension. The threat was real enough. Hecati was a vicious taskmaster. Not the tiniest detail or omission ever escaped her vigilant eye.

“Come on, I say! There’s no time to be lost.”

“But I’m not finished,” Elandra said. “I’ve got to or—”

“Don’t be stupid. You can’t be caught with this.”

Elandra didn’t argue further. The servants had protected her more than once. Folding the robe hastily to hide the unfinished hem, she gave it to Magan, who stuffed it quickly in between some of the other gowns.

“And the box it was in,” the maid said. “Where’s that?”

“I don’t know. Bixia came out wearing it last night. That’s when she found out it was too long and threw such a fit.” Elandra frowned in growing consternation. “It’s part of the trousseau, isn’t it?”

“Never mind that. If we don’t find the box, it’s my back as well as yours.”

“It might be in her bedchamber,” Elandra suggested.

Magan made a face. “I’m not going in there. Let her get in trouble for once, playing with things such as this without a care for their importance.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

The sound of voices in the corridor made both of them look. Elandra didn’t hear Hecati’s unmistakable tones, and relaxed again.

Magan shook her head. “The men are in the courtyard loading the elephants. I’ll get these put in the last trunk to be carried downstairs, and we’ll pray no one figures out what happened.”

“Thank you, Magan,” Elandra said. The maid had always treated her with kindness, and she was grateful.

Rolling her eyes, Magan sent Elandra a quick wink and hurried into the dressing room at the far side of the suite just as more maids hurried in with armloads of slippers and undergarments, looking excited in the general commotion.

Elandra watched them go by, and felt her own spirits rise. Bixia was being packed for her bridal journey, and good riddance as far as Elandra was concerned. In an hour her half-sister would be gone at last, and perhaps there would finally be peace in this house. If nothing else, Elandra was looking forward to having a life of her own without spoiled Bixia to fetch and carry for.

Elandra put away her needle case and tucked it in her pocket. She rose stiffly on legs that would barely support her. After sitting on the steps all night, she was so cramped and knotted she felt a hundred years old instead of seventeen. Yawning, she pushed her heavy tangle of hair back from her face and stretched with her hands on the small of her back. She wanted to fall into bed and sleep forever.

A whistling sound through the air was the only warning she had before pain stung her leg through her gown.

Elandra turned around in a fury, barely managing to hold her tongue. There stood Hecati, a thin, tiny woman who had a supple willow switch in her hands. Her plain face was pursed in its customary vinegary scowl, circled by a snowy white wimple that never looked creased or soiled no matter how hot and steamy the days got. Her eyes glared at Elandra with contempt.

Elandra glared back, resentful of this woman who had made her life a misery. Be careful, a small inner voice warned her. Soon she’ll be gone. You can hold yourself until then. But it was hard to be prudent, especially now when freedom was so close.

“Idle good-for-nothing,” Hecati scolded. “Everyone is working as fast as they can and you stand here like some great lady with no task to do.”

“I just—”

“Silence! You haven’t my leave to speak.” Hecati’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’ve not seen you for hours. Where have you been? Hiding? Sleeping? Shirking?”

Alarm replaced Elandra’s anger. Hecati still had plenty of time to punish her before the departure. Elandra moved back a half step. “No,” she said in a low neutral voice. “I haven’t been hiding. I’ve been hemming the—I mean, I’ve been doing some mending.”

Hecati focused on her even more intently. “You’re lying,” she said. “What have you been doing?”

Elandra could have cursed her own hapless tongue. She was too tired to lie effectively. With Hecati she needed all her wits about her. “Nothing,” she said resentfully.

“Exactly. Nothing. You are a lazy wretch.” Hecati raised the willow switch threateningly. “Now tell me the truth!”

“I’ve done no wrong,” Elandra insisted. How she wished this horrible woman would just go, but Hecati stood before her like a nightmare that never ended.

Hecati tapped her shoulder lightly with the switch, and Elandra flinched reflexively. Hecati permitted herself a tiny smile of satisfaction that made Elandra hate her even more.

“I am still waiting for the truth, girl. Or do you want it beaten out of you?”

Elandra sighed. “I was just mending some of Bixia’s—”

“That’s Lady Bixia.”

Elandra lowered her gaze to hide her resentment. “Some of Lady Bixia’s old gowns that she wants to give to the servants as her departure gift.”

“Lie! That work has already been done.”

“Most of it,” Elandra said hastily. “But there were a few items she found and—”

Hecati lifted her hand, and Elandra broke off her sentence. The woman considered the story, her hostile eyes staring implacably at Elandra.

She had always been a foe. From the first day Hecati arrived years ago to take charge of Bixia’s upbringing, battle lines had been drawn between her and Elandra. She had made her favoritism plain, taking obvious pride in the fact that her sister had given birth to Bixia. At first she had tried to get rid of Elandra, shutting her away, refusing to let her play with Bixia. Lord Albain had put a stop to that. Then Hecati had tried to have Elandra sent away. Albain had refused that also. He wanted his daughters raised together. Beyond that, he let Hecati do as she pleased, and it pleased her to turn Elandra into Bixia’s personal slave.

But you are leaving today, Elandra thought, clinging to her one hope. You are leaving forever and taking Bixia with you.

“Truth and lies,” Hecati murmured, her gaze rolling upward. “Truth and lies. You have been sewing all night—”

“Yes,” Elandra said quickly and held her breath. She tried to think of something that would distract Hecati. If Hecati even suspected part of what she’d done, Elandra knew she would—

Hecati struck her with the switch. “Wrong has been done! What do you conceal from me? Answer me!”

As she spoke, she hit Elandra again.

The switch stung like fire. Elandra backed away, although trying to dodge punishment only made Hecati whip harder. “I’m concealing nothing!” she cried.

More blows rained down on her. Each one stung viciously.

“Speak the truth or say nothing at all!” Hecati commanded. “How dare you practice your mischief on this of all days?”

Cornered against the wall, Elandra endured the whipping. The switch was an awful weapon, for although it hurt terribly it raised only temporary welts and never made any permanent damage. There was never any proof to carry to her father.

With each slash, Elandra bit her lip hard to keep herself from crying out. Her cheeks burned with rage and humiliation. Defiantly, however, she refused to let any tears spill from her brimming eyes. She wished the gods would strike Hecati dead of apoplexy. She wished she dared wrest the switch from Hecati’s hands so she could hit her back. A corner of her mind knew this beating was Hecati’s last chance of punishing her simply for her existence, but that did not lessen the humiliation of it.

Finally the whipping stopped. Hecati stepped back, letting the tip of her switch rest on the floor. She was breathing hard, and her eyes glowed as though she had enjoyed what she inflicted. “Well?” she demanded.

It was the old ritual, carried out again and again through the years.

Elandra’s ears were roaring. She held her head very high as she forced herself to straighten away from the wall and turn around. Her eyes swam with tears, but she blinked fiercely in an effort to hold them back. Sunshine from the window behind her blazed in across her shoulders, and its heat made the welts hurt more. Hating the old woman,

Elandra bowed her head and knelt at Hecati’s feet in a pool of sunlight. She took the hem of Hecati’s starched linen gown with its sheer overlay of silk gauze and kissed it while resentment pounded through her with such force she felt dizzy.

If only I knew the forbidden ways, she thought to herself. I would risk perdition gladly to pay this creature back for her cruelty.

Hecati put her slippered foot on top of Elandra’s head, forcing her face to the carpet. “I am the aunt of the future empress of the world. What are you?”

Elandra nearly choked, but she forced herself to utter the answer. This is the last time, she promised herself. “I am nothing,” she replied as she had been taught so long ago.

“You have been punished.”

“As I—I deserve,” Elandra said.

For that little break in her voice, Hecati’s foot pushed even harder. With her face mashed against the carpet, Elandra breathed in its dust and fibers and knew the choking helplessness of being entirely at another’s mercy.

“Should I punish you again?”

Elandra gritted her teeth on the expected answer. No! her heart cried within her. Her hands curled into fists on the rug. “Yes,” she finally whispered, although she shook against the temptation to grab the switch and give Hecati a taste of it. “I—I should be punished again.”

Hecati removed her foot from Elandra’s head. “I think perhaps you should. There is anger in your voice today. Yes, and defiance too. You have not answered my questions either.”

Trying not to sob, Elandra pressed her face against the rug and dared not make a sound.

Finally, Hecati stepped back. “There is not time to deal with you suitably. I read your heart, girl. I know you are eager to see Lady Bixia and me go.”

Crouched there, Elandra still seethed, but she tried to control herself. “Lady Bixia must go to her destiny,” Elandra managed to say. “It is time for her life to change.”

Hecati sniffed. “Yes, how eagerly you say it. You think that when we are gone you will be made into a lady, that you will run this palace, that you will even sit at your father’s right hand during banquets. Oh, yes, I know what is in your devious heart. But you will have none of those honors. Bastards deserve to remain hidden away. Without us here, you’ll be relegated to the lowest end of the servants’ hall. You can spend your years scrubbing pots and killing beetles in the kitchen, for all I care.”

Elandra lifted her face to Hecati. “He is not as cruel as you.”

Hecati blinked at this defiance; then her eyes narrowed. “That tongue of yours should have been cut out at birth. Your father forgets your existence half the time. See if he remembers you at all when we are gone.”

Elandra drew in a sharp breath, but before she could reply, Hecati gripped her by the arm and pulled her upright.

“Stand over there, out of the way, and wait until you are summoned to assist dressing Lady Bixia.”

Shoving Elandra aside, Hecati opened the double doors leading into Bixia’s bedchamber and went in.

A frown knotted Elandra’s brow, and she let out her breath in a gusty sigh of relief. The whipping still hurt, but it was the humiliation that cut deepest. She leaned against the wall. Her eyes were stinging, and the tears spilled out before she could stop them. She brought up both hands and pressed them against her trembling lips, trying to pull herself back under control.

Before she succeeded, however, Hecati came storming out of Bixia’s room with an elaborately carved box of walnut in her hands. Her face was livid.

“Here is the box!” she cried. “The special box for the bridal robe. Empty!” She dropped it onto a chair and glared at Elandra. “I knew you were up to some wickedness! What have you done with the bridal robe?”

“Nothing!” Elandra said. She slapped her tears from her cheeks and told herself she should have fled the room the minute Hecati was out of sight.

“You’re lying,” Hecati said. “Here is the box, its seal broken and its contents stolen. You’re a thief as well as a liar. What have you done with it?”

Elandra tried desperately to think of an answer that would spare her another beating, but she was too tired to think. “I know nothing about that box. I did not open it.”

Hecati advanced on her, and Elandra had to force herself not to shrink away. It was not her fault, she reminded herself. She must stick to the truth, no matter what.

“The bridal robe has been sewn under a special blessing,” Hecati said furiously. “I packed it away in this special box for safekeeping with my own hands.” Hecati’s voice faded away and she glared at Elandra, her face turning redder with every passing second. She gripped Elandra by the arm, her fingers digging in like claws.

“You got it out, didn’t you?” she accused. “You wanted to see it, knowing no hands must touch it until the wedding day. You wanted to ruin Lady Bixia’s happiness in any way you could. You jealous little bitch!”

She slapped Elandra a hard, numbing blow, and would have hit her again, but Elandra wrenched free. Hecati lifted the switch to strike her. Elandra caught it and pulled it away from her.

The switch vanished in her grip as though it had never existed. Elandra gasped, and backed away in fear. “What magic is this?” she whispered, then ran for the door.

“Magan! Trina!” she called. “Send for a jinja—”

An invisible hand gripped her throat. Elandra stopped in her tracks and put her hands to her throat, where the  pressure was choking her. It tightened, closing off her air until she writhed in desperation.

Then the pressure ceased, and she was free.

Gasping and coughing, Elandra dropped to her knees and gulped in lungfuls of air. Her throat burned with pain.

Fear grew inside her, a cold, numbing fear that made her legs feel as weak as water. Her heart was pounding as though she had run up the thousand steps of the palace. She shuddered and closed her eyes. But she could sense the magic in the room. Her hair tugged at her scalp as though it stood on end from static electricity. She could smell something very faint but unpleasantly scorched. She swallowed hard and refused to look at Hecati.

The old woman strode over to her with a swish of her long skirts. “You force my hand,” she said in a low, furious voice. “Damn you!”

Elandra shook her head and lowered herself like a toad. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, don’t—”

“You have gone too far,” Hecati told her. There was something horrible in her voice, a menace beyond mere anger. Elandra bit back a moan of fear and shivered. “Too far! I give you one last warning to tell me the truth now regarding the robe, or I’ll carve open the back of your worthless skull with my fingertip.”

She ran her fingernail over Elandra’s head, and Elandra flinched. It was all she could do not to leap up in terror.

Instead, she crouched at Hecati’s feet, hating and fearing her as never before. Her mind was blank. She was sweating in the rising heat. She felt like she would be sick, and yet she had to find an answer.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Speak!”

The command made her jump in her skin. Her heart whammed harder. Elandra struggled to find her voice.

“Bixia took out the robe because she wanted to try it on.

She—”

Hecati cried out in rage. “You’ll regret this, you she demon. Everything you’ve said is a slandering, scurrilous lie.”

Elandra raised herself in desperation, hurling the naked truth now like a weapon. “Ask Bixia! How else would I be allowed to touch anything to do with the wedding? Ask her!”

“I will not disturb her precious sleep with such a trifle. Why should she defend you?”

Why indeed? Elandra thought bitterly. Bixia was certainly capable of lying when it was to her advantage.

“Fool!” Hecati paced back and forth, fuming. “You have ruined it. Where is it? Give it to me at once.”

Guilt sprinkled over Elandra. Now it would be inspected. Hecati would find where it had been spot-cleaned. She would find the wrinkles. She would see the unfinished hemming. She would notice the practice stitches that Elandra had botched before she caught the knack of the difficult embroidery.

“I didn’t know it was that special,” Elandra said, trying to defend herself. “Lady Bixia tried it on and was angry that it was too long. She threw it on the floor and I—”

“Be silent. You have always tried to cause all the trouble you could, but this action is unpardonable. Even Albain cannot forgive this.” Hecati threw Elandra a look that was almost triumphant. “This time, you have ruined yourself.”

Turning away, Hecati clapped her hands sharply until Magan peered in through the doorway.

“Yes, mistress?” Magan asked warily.

Elandra had no doubt the servants had heard every word.

“The dressing robe for the bridal night. Bring it,” Hecati commanded.

Magan cast Elandra an unreadable glance. Elandra looked back and quickly shook her head, but the maid was already gone. Elandra sighed. If Magan was smart, she would flee while she had the chance.

Freedom had been so close, just an hour away. Elandra felt fresh tears well up in her eyes, but she fought them back. It was no good feeling sorry for herself. Finding out Hecati practiced the forbidden arts was enough of a shock. Elandra warned herself not to breathe, not to move. She must take care.

But why couldn’t it be enough that Hecati had accomplished her life’s work? Why couldn’t she be generous and forgiving just once? Bixia was going to be the new bride of the emperor, living in honor and unimaginable glory for the rest of her days. Hecati would have a place at court. Anyone else would be merciful for a small transgression, but not Hecati.

The old witch got too much satisfaction from hurling out this last punishment.

Elandra stole a quick glance at her, beginning to feel fresh resentment now that her shock was fading.

“You’re a fool,” Hecati said scornfully. “You’ve let your jealousy go too far this time. But you won’t get away with it. I promise you that.”

Elandra started to plead with her once again, but choked on the words. She couldn’t go on begging. Not when this wasn’t her fault. “If you would only hear my side,” she said instead. “I’ve done only what I was asked to do. I—”

The door to Bixia’s bedchamber wrenched open, and the bride came out.

Sunshine blazed over her, highlighting the masses of golden curls tumbling down her back. Her nightgown had slipped down off one plump shoulder, revealing skin that was pale and rosy. She yawned hugely, lifting her arms in a stretch that let the sunshine strike transparently through her gown, revealing the buxom curves beneath it.

Hecati pinned on a bright smile in an abrupt change of mood and rushed to her. “Good morning, my lady!” she said, her voice like honey. “The weather has dawned perfect today. Most auspicious for our journey.”

Bixia yawned again and frowned at her. “It’s already hot. Where’s my fan bearer? Why isn’t she stirring the air for my comfort? And why are you two caterwauling outside my door at this ungodly hour? Be quiet. I’m going back to bed.”

“But, my lady, you must allow your attendants to dress you. We leave in a few minutes. Even now your father is downstairs, ready to bid you farewell.”

Bixia’s shrewd, cat-green eyes darted around. “I’m sure Father is eager to see the last of me. And eager to start counting his new wealth.” Tossing her head, she strolled back into her bedchamber.

“My lady, do not, I beg you, crawl back into bed.” Looking frustrated, Hecati started in after her, but turned back at the doorway and glared at Elandra.

“You are not dismissed,” she said in a low, vicious voice. “We are not finished with this matter.”

Elandra drew an unsteady breath and climbed to her feet. Her gaze went to the door. This time when she got the chance, she would run. She could find a place to hide, and she wasn’t going to come out until Hecati was gone.

Hecati’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. She lifted her hand, and the willow switch reappeared magically. It whistled through the air, and Elandra jumped back to dodge it.

“Lady Hecati,” interrupted one of the attendants timidly.

Hecati whirled around. “Yes?”

The girl came forward, holding the crumpled white dressing robe in her hands.

With a cry, Hecati yanked it from her and held it up. The luxurious folds tumbled to the floor. In the clear light, all the wrinkles could be seen. The soil marks showed also, as well as the water rings where Elandra had tried to clean them away.

Hecati’s horror mottled her neck and face with color. She threw the robe on the floor. “What did you do with this? Dust the furniture with it? It’s ruined.”

Elandra gathered it up. “It can be cleaned and pressed. I’ll—”

“Take your filthy hands off it. You’re not worthy to touch it.”

Hecati seized one side of the robe and tried to yank it away from Elandra. The cloth ripped, and both of them stopped their struggle, equally aghast.

Elandra was the first to recover. She dropped the robe and backed away. Fear tasted sour in her mouth. She wasn’t going to be blamed for this. She refused to be blamed for this.

She looked around for the attendant, but the girl had vanished. None of the servants were in sight, and even the background chatter in the dressing room had fallen silent, as though they were all listening ... or hiding.

Hecati flung the robe down and turned on Elandra. Her mouth drew back in a grimace, and her eyes held such anger Elandra backed up yet farther.

“You have defiled this, the symbol of a sacred union. It took the woman of Mahira ten months to sew it. Every thread, every stitch was blessed. It was pressed in sacred steam and scented with rosemary and hyssop. It was locked in a box for safekeeping, not to be seen or handled until the wedding night. This is what you have destroyed.”

Elandra’s pulse pounded in her throat and temples. Dismay filled her with every word Hecati uttered. She had not known, for she wasn’t allowed to participate in the trousseau preparations. She had seen none of the fabulous court gowns made for Bixia. Whenever something new was delivered from the dressmaker’s, Elandra had been dismissed from the room by Hecati. Last night, when Bixia offered to model some of her new things for Elandra, it had seemed at last as though they were sisters. Elandra had been pleased by Bixia’s generosity, at least until Bixia had one of her temper fits and ordered Elandra to re-hem the robe.

Had she known of its significance, Elandra would never have touched it. And indeed, she had done her best to save the ruin that Bixia had started and Hecati had finished.

Now Bixia appeared a second time. Her nightgown hung even lower off her shoulder, revealing the heavy top of one breast. She was still yawning. ‘What are you yelling about?”

Mutely Hecati pointed at the robe lying on the floor.

Bixia stared at it and nudged its folds with her toe. “That’s my bridal robe.”

“Yes, my lady,” Hecati said in a hollow voice.

“It’s ruined.”

“Yes, my lady.” Hecati’s eyes stabbed into Elandra like pins. “Your half-sister is to blame.”

“No!” Elandra said. She looked at Bixia in desperation. “Tell her that you asked me to shorten it for you. Tell her!”

Bixia’s green eyes didn’t even waver. “It’s been torn to pieces. Why did you do such a thing? Don’t you care that it’s sacred?”

Her accusation left Elandra stunned. “But I—you tried it on and didn’t like it. You—”

Flatly Bixia said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never play with my sacred bridal robe. It’s evil of you to lie.”

Hecati’s head lifted and she seemed to grow taller and larger, filled with vindication. A gleam of satisfaction entered her eyes.

I luri punctured Elandra. She tried to fight it off, tried to deny all feeling. Bixia never told the truth when a lie served her better. Elandra should have known Bixia wouldn’t risk getting into trouble.

Hecati rubbed her thin hands together. “Now,” she whispered, glaring intently at Elandra. “The time has come to finish you.”

Elandra drew back, desperately looking around the room for something to fight back with. But how could she fight the forbidden ways? Refusing to give up, she shoved off her growing despair. If she could circle around and reach the door...

“Girls!” Lord Albain bellowed from outside the suite. “Enough dallying. Everything is loaded. The beasts aren’t going to be kept standing while you primp and fool about.”

The three women stood silent, frozen in place.

Elandra gasped aloud in relief and pressed her hands to her mouth. “Father,” she whispered.

The door to the suite swung open, and a slim, green-skinned jinja slid inside. No taller than Elandra’s waist, the creature wore a sleeveless vest and wide trousers embroidered richly with gold thread and tiny jewels. It had a triangular face, huge eyes, tiny vicious teeth, and pointed ears. It made the motions of walking, although most of the time its small feet did not really touch the floor. As Elandra stared at it, it paused just inside the door and sniffed the air. Then, quicker than the eye could follow, it darted about the room—here, there, and back again, before pausing at the open window. Where the sunshine hit it, the jinja’s green skin shimmered translucently, like colored glass.

“All is safe to enter, master,” the jinja called. “No poison. No assassin. No spells.”

Elandra whipped her head around to look at it in amazement. Couldn’t it smell the magic that had been used in the room? But her own nostrils no longer detected the faint scorched scent of Hecati’s spell. She realized Hecati had been fooling the jinja for years. Elandra’s fear grew. Hecati must be powerful indeed. But even she would not dare act openly in front of Lord Albain, who could have her put to death.

“You stupid creature!” Hecati said sharply to the jinja. “Who would offer his lordship danger here?”

Ignoring her, the jinja licked the tips of its little fingers and began to clean its ears with them.

Gihaud Albain strode inside with his customary impatience, spurs jingling with every step.

He was a tall, broad man. Not fat but square, with massive shoulders and thick arms. His hair had once been fiery red, but had now faded to a rich gold. It was shaved off the front half of his skull and worn in a long warrior’s ponytail. He was dressed in his ceremonial mail leggings and embossed armored breastplate. He carried his embroidered gauntlets in one hand, and his dress sword clanked at his side. With his scarred cheek and missing eye, he looked tough and gnarled even in his fancy regalia. Lord Albain was responsible for holding the south border of the empire against the barbarians, and he did his job very well. At present, there was peace, and he had been bored and restless all spring from the inactivity. But today he looked content, even proud, and he strode in with a vigor that seemed startling in the secluded surroundings of this womanly apartment.

The sight of Bixia in her nightgown made him frown. “Girl! You idle lazybones, get dressed! Are you daft, to be dawdling on a day like this? We can’t keep the Penestricans waiting. Nor the imperial escort waiting down in the courtyard. They’re already mounted.”

Bixia tossed her head, oblivious to his shouting. “Let them wait,” she said haughtily. “I am to be the next empress. I can take as much time as I want.”

Bristling, Albain shook his thick forefinger at her. “Now, listen to me, you spoiled—”

“My lord,” Hecati interceded hastily. “There is good reason why your daughter is not ready. Hear me, sir. She has been betrayed by one close to her. By one she trusted with all her heart. Yes, and worse than that, your lordship has been betrayed as well by this same fiend.” Hecati’s eyes flashed. “The entire marriage agreement between Lady Bixia and Emperor Kostimon now lies in jeopardy.”