Chapter Fifteen

Less than an hour after her father had turned her life upside down, Elandra hurried through the vaulted entry of state with its polished marble floor and soaring columns.

Outside beyond the portico, the famous thousand steps of gleaming white limestone stretched down to an immense rectangular courtyard where normally her father’s troops assembled for inspections or conducted precise cavalry drills.

Today, however, a full ten squadrons stood in silent formation on matched horses. Five squadrons wore the white and yellow surplices of Gialta over gilded mail armor. Turbaned and mustachioed, they were mounted on white horses. Curved scimitars hung at their belts, and the Albain coat of arms flew from thin banners affixed to their spears. The five squadrons of Imperial Guards wore polished breastplates and plumed helmets. They were mounted on tall, muscular war horses, all bays. Wearing vivid crimson cloaks that spread out over the rumps of their horses, they looked foreign and formidable. The double-eagle crest of the emperor glittered with pure gold, magnificent in the bright sunlight. Imperial banners flowed and unfurled in the humid breeze, flying above Albain’s own coat of arms.

The elephants of the caravan stood lined up at the foot of the steps, placidly waving their big ears to fan themselves. Their handlers squatted beneath them, ivory goad sticks dangling from idle hands.

The elephants were beautifully plumed and caparisoned with embroidered harnesses. Bright red curtains fluttered from their palanquins. Even the pack elephants wore the ornate harness of state, and red pack cloths showed beneath their loads.

Catching her breath at the sight, Elandra paused beneath the portico amid the waiting courtiers and officials.

Several of them turned and bowed to her automatically, then drew back as they realized she was not Bixia.

But even those few acknowledgments were enough to fill Elandra’s heart with an unfamiliar sensation. She had found Magan waiting in her tiny tower room, newly assigned to be her personal maid. Magan had bathed her and dressed her in a traveling gown of stiff blue linen with a veil that fluttered now in the hot, sticky breeze. With her hair coiffed in a complicated knot as befitted a lady, Elandra hardly recognized herself.

For all her initial reluctance to go, she now found her heart beating faster with growing excitement. A new life stretched ahead of her—one of uncertainty, yes, but also one filled with all kinds of possibilities.

She lifted her head high and carried herself proudly, determined to act worthy of the honor her father had bestowed on her today.

Still, she must not forget that the imperial troops were waiting for Bixia, not her. This parade was in her sister’s honor. Elandra must not keep anyone waiting.

One of the porters had already taken her shabby trunk and Magan’s little cloth bag down to be loaded on the rear elephant.

“We must hurry,” Elandra said to Magan and hurried outside into the blazing sunshine.

She started down the broad white steps, her veil streaming out around her.

Shouted commands rang out, and two hundred polished swords were drawn in unison. Sunlight blazed off the steel. The Gialtan troops stood in their stirrups, brandishing their scimitars. Each member of the Imperial Guard rested his sword on the shoulder of the man to his right.

A deafening roar rose up fom the courtyard, hitting her with a wall of noise.

Startled, Elandra stopped in her tracks about hallway down the steps and stood there with growing dismay at this tremendous tribute. They had mistaken her for Bixia.

The cheering bounded and rebounded oil the walls, growing louder and louder, liven the elephants lilted their trunks to bugle.

Elandra’s face grew hot behind her veil. She raised her hands helplessly to stop them, then glanced back over her shoulder to see if Bixia was coming.

Her sister was nowhere in sight.

Elandra met Magan’s amazed gaze. “They think I’m Bixia. How do I stop them?”

Magan grinned, her nut-brown face filled with deviltry. “She ought to be out here on time to get her cheers, oughtn’t she?”

Elandra lifted her hands at the troops again, but the cheering only swelled louder.

Exasperated, she reached for her veil clip. “As soon as they see who I am, they’ll stop.”

“My lady, don’t!” Magan said in alarm. “You can’t unveil out here.”

“But—”

“No! It isn’t done.”

Elandra glared at her. “I’ve gone without a veil all my life. I’ve been seen by my father’s soldiers countless times. What difference—”

Magan gripped her hand, and her eyes were serious now with warning. “The difference is that your father has recognized you officially today. You are a lady now. You must act in the way of a lady.”

“But I can’t let this go on—”

“You cannot stop it now,” Magan said. “That would embarrass everyone.”

Biting her lip, Elandra ducked her head and hurried down the rest of the steps as quickly as she could. She could not believe the trick of fate that had made them mistake her for Bixia. Her father would be angry, and Hecati would be furious.

Breathless, she reached the elephants and glared at the bowing handlers.

Then a herald’s trumpet rang out above the cheering, cutting it off abruptly.

Elandra whirled around and saw the standard bearers with her father’s coat of arms emerging from the portico. More trumpets continued to ring out in a fanfare.

Then Albain appeared with a veiled Bixia on his arm. Her gown was of green silk gauze, fluttering and stirring in the wind. Her veil was sheer and long enough to be looped up over her golden hair and fastened there with jeweled pins that winked and flashed in the sunlight.

Elandra shrank back closer against the side of an elephant, wishing she could sink through the ground for her mistake. She dared not even look to see what the troops were doing.

But as the fanfare ended from the trumpets, commands rang out a second time across the courtyard. Elandra saw the troops draw their swords again, and again the cheers rose up.

But they were not as loud this time, not as heartfelt or vehement.

When Albain and Bixia reached the foot of the steps, the cheers cut off as though in relief.

Silence flooded the courtyard, in its way almost as grueling as the heat.

Elandra met Bixia’s enraged green eyes briefly, then dropped her own. She dared not look at Hecati at all.

Beneath her veil, she took short, shallow breaths and knew reprisals would come.

Albain’s one good eye was squinting balefully. As the two generals dismounted and approached side by side, he gestured for them to step back.

Wooden-faced, they saluted and did so.

Bixia plucked at Albain’s sleeve. “Father, you saw how they insulted me. I will not receive them.”

He turned his glare on her. “You will,” he growled in a low voice. “Or, by the gods, I’ll take a strap to you. Soldiers will cheer whom they please, and you got plenty.”

“But it wasn’t the same. Not after she ruined everything.” Bixia swung her gaze to Elandra. “You cheap schemer! How dare you come down before me. I’ll—”

“Compose yourself,” Albain broke in. “Hell’s breath, Bixia, remember who you are.”

“I am future empress,” Bixia said snappishly. “I will not be demeaned by this bastard upstart of yours.”

Elandra’s face flamed hot with fresh embarrassment. She stepped forward to speak, but Bixia pointed at her.

“I shan’t have her in my caravan. Scheming and conniving, who knows what she’ll do next to embarrass me? Send her away, Father. I command it!”

Albain’s face turned purple. “You command me?” he roared, forgetting the need for discretion. “Murdeth and Fury, I’ll brook no such impertinence, not even from you!” Abruptly he lowered his tone. “You are not empress yet, girl. Until the crown sits on your head, see that you remember that.”

Bixia stuck her nose in the air. “In two months I’ll—”

“Go on as you are today, and I swear I’ll break off the arrangement.”

Bixia blinked and turned pale beneath her sheer veil. She stared at him a long while, as though to make sure he meant it. Then her gaze shifted to Elandra and filled with tears.

“Why do you favor her?” she asked. “Why are you so good to her and cruel to me? She has ruined today, ruined it.”

Bixia started to snivel, but Albain gripped her wrist and drew her close to his side. “By the gods, you’ll stop this and compose yourself. Now! Do you hear? Start acting like the empress you want to be. Straighten your sour face and receive these officers properly.”

Bixia gulped and sniffed. “Why do you scold me? Elandra is the one who has spoiled everything.”

“Elandra, at least, knows how to keep her poise and act properly in public,” he growled back, making Bixia gasp.

Wide-eyed, she gulped and straightened her shoulders.

“That’s better.” Albain glared once again at Elandra, who hadn’t dared move, then gestured at the two generals.

Both came forward impassively as though there had been no delay.

They were presented to Bixia, who received them aloofly, her voice cold with hauteur.

Still red-faced, Albain beckoned to Elandra. She came forward reluctantly, embarrassed and uncertain as to whether her father was furious with her or simply disappointed. Over to one side, Hecati threw her dagger looks.

“My natural daughter, Lady Elandra,” Albain said to the commanders. “She also travels under your care, sirs, to be received and prepared for marriage by the Penestricans.”

“We are doubly honored, Lord Albain,” the general of the Imperial Guard said. He spoke Lingua with an odd, flat accent.

Alud Handar, general of the Gialtan squadrons, bowed respectfully to Elandra. His eyes were warm and friendly in his stern face. “We shall guard these precious pearls of our lord and master with our lives.”

“Then good journey,” Albain said gruffly.

He took Bixia’s hand and kissed it according to protocol. “Farewell, my daughter,” he said formally. “I count the hours until I can bestow your hand in marriage.”

“Goodbye, Father,” Bixia said haughtily. “I await our reunion.”

They glared at each other for a moment longer; then Albain turned to Elandra and clasped her hand in both of his big calloused ones. “Have courage to face what lies before you. My blessing to you, little daughter.”

Over his shoulder, Elandra saw Bixia turn red with fresh anger. Albain had not given Bixia his blessing, but no doubt he was saving that honor for her wedding day. Still, it was another slight that Bixia would want revenge for.

Ruefully, Elandra curtsied to her father. She wished more than ever that she was still an unnoticed member of the household, keeping out of sight and out of trouble in the servants’ passageways. Aside from Magan and perhaps General Handar, she had no allies to protect her away from Albain’s direct influence.

“Thank you, Father,” she said softly. She gazed up at him, her eyes full of apology.

His expression softened marginally. “Remember to keep your place,” he said.

The chastisement was mild indeed, but it was enough to make Elandra draw in a sharp breath and drop her gaze.

Bixia sniffed with patent dissatisfaction.

Then they were being lifted into the palanquins and settled. The handlers perched themselves behind the head of the elephants.

The troops wheeled about in formation, imperial horses prancing skittishly around the elephants. The Gialtan barbs ignored the elephants and trotted smoothly forward.

Trumpets sounded again, and the tall gates swung open. With banners flying, they were on their way into the unknown.

* * *

By nightfall, they had left the road that paralleled the river for a rough track that led away from the irrigated fields and paddies into the jungle itself. The terrain was rough, and leafy branches brushed the sides of the palanquin frequently.

Elandra soon adjusted to the majestic sway of the elephant carrying her and Magan. Riding so high above the ground, she was able to see numerous monkeys. Wild parrots flew everywhere in brilliant profusion. Flowering vines looped down from the treetops above, perfuming the air with sweet fragrance that briefly overcame the damp, fetid scents of the jungle. Now and then she glimpsed a predator lying concealed among the mossy branches. The air was heavy and still, making the intense heat a clammy, smothering enemy.

She and Magan used the reed fans constantly, but by the time they stopped for camp, Elandra felt limp from the heat. She had no appetite for the food served to her. To her relief, Bixia and Hecati looked equally exhausted and did not even talk to her.

The soldiers were detailed into sentry units. The rest dispersed elsewhere, to make a second camp. Servants put up tents and cots, and Elandra found her quarters a tiny, airless, claustrophobic place.

The darkness pressed down, hot and still. She felt as though it were water, trying to drown her. Magan draped netting over her for protection against the stinging, vicious insects. It was like being wrapped in a shroud, but Elandra made no complaint.

Eventually she slept, but her slumber was light and restless.

“Elandra Albain,” whispered a soft voice through the darkness.

Elandra stirred and sat up. The netting around her was gone. As she blinked, uncertain whether she’d heard her name spoken, the dark tent around her faded away like smoke. An eerie green light filled her surroundings, and she saw herself sitting unclad and shivering upon a bench of stone. In the distance stood a pair of mighty stone pillars, like sentinels.

The green light spilled from between them, spreading low across the ground like fog. It illuminated this strange dream place with a ghostly radiance. A figure came wading toward her through the glowing fog, a tall shadow, powerful with broad shoulders and muscular legs.

Elandra drew in her breath with a sharp sense of alarm. She tried to scramble off the bench, but found herself unable to move.

Her paralysis frightened her even more. Heart pounding, she struggled to control her own fear. It’s only a dream, she tried to reassure herself without much success. Dream or not, it seemed far too vivid and real.

She found herself increasingly mesmerized by the shadow’s easy, loping stride. Time compressed to stillness, unable to flow naturally. The man continued to come closer, yet he seemed quite a distance away. Too far for her to see his face, which remained concealed by the gloom.

Like her, he was clad only in darkness. Her skin flushed hot as though she’d ben dipped in boiling water, yet the very top of her head felt icy cold. She found herself gripping the sides of her bench with all her strength, and she could not stop trembling. Her breathing deepened, and her back arched of its own volition.

Suddenly she was off the bench, standing tall. Her fear remained, yet it shielded an eagerness she had never known before. Something inside her seemed to recognize this half- seen stranger. He walked like a warrior, graceful and strong. She had never seen anyone as tall. His neck was like a column, straight and strong. She strained to see the molding of his head and face.

To see him more clearly ... to gaze into his eyes ... to feel the touch of his fingertips on her skin ...

She stepped forward, walking to meet him halfway. Her heart lifted and yearned. She knew him, had known him throughout the sands of time. He was for her, as she was for him. Gladness burst through her, and she wanted to sing as she ran. Why had it taken so long to find him again?

In the blink of a moment, the distance between them ended. They stood face to face, breathless and cloaked in the strange shadows.

“Elandra,” he whispered, his voice striking like a bronze bell within her soul.

The light was spreading, lifting around them. In moments she would see his face and know his name again, this man whom she had loved for all of time.

She lifted her arms to his neck and pressed herself close against warm skin and hard muscles.

“Elandra,” he said again. “I have found thee, my only love.”

His lips brushed against her trembling ones, even as she caught her breath for the kiss that would return her memory.

But from the corner of her eye she glimpsed a quick flash of yellow light, bright and foreign to the soft green light at their feet.

Distracted, Elandra turned her head to look, and her lover vanished like smoke.

“No!” she cried aloud. She looked in all directions, but he was gone.

Filled with a sense of loss, Elandra took a few aimless steps. “Come back!” she called. “Please come back to me!”

She did not know his name, and her frustration grew. If she could call out his name, he would come back to her.

“Please,” she whispered again.

He did not reappear, and she knew she could search forever through the shadows and not find him.

Angry, she turned toward the yellow light and stormed toward it. “Why?” she called. “Why couldn’t you wait?”

The light tried to recede and wavered. That’s when Elandra saw it was only a shield for a woman, motionless and watchful.

Slightly plump and middle-aged, she was garbed in a long black robe that covered her entirely from neck to wrist to feet.

“Who are you?” Elandra demanded. “Why did you interrupt? What are you doing here?”

The woman’s eyes widened in astonishment that changed to alarm. Without a word, she gathered up her long skirts and abruptly ran.

But her flight only fanned Elandra’s anger more. She ran after the watcher, pursuing her in a wild, zigzagging flight up and down hills and over boulder-strewn ground. The woman ran awkwardly and not very well. Soon, she slowed and began to glance over her shoulder more and more often. Elandra gritted her teeth and increased her stride.

You are an old gazelle, she thought, drawing on an old childhood game when she had been taught by the huntsman how to pursue quarry with her mind as well as her body. I am the panther, swift and bold. I can catch you.

With every stride, she gained on the older woman.

By the time they reached the stone pillars, Elandra was close enough to grab the back of the watcher’s robe. She yanked hard, bringing the woman to a halt just short of the gateway.

The woman twisted in her hold, eyes filled with fear. “No,” she said breathlessly. “You cannot exit with me. You cannot—”

“Tell me his name, watcher,” Elandra said.

The woman’s fearfulness grew. “Impossible!” she breathed. “You cannot see me. You are not—”

“I see you,” Elandra said, twisting harder on the woman’s robe. “I have caught you, watcher. Tell me his name!”

“Yes, tell,” commanded another voice.

Startled, Elandra looked around and saw Hecati standing in the fog. The old witch stood cloaked in murkiness, as though smoke billowed around her. Elandra smelled a scent of something burning, and knew Hecati’s magic was at work. Strangely, in her dream she did not fear.

“His name!” Hecati commanded.

The watcher tried to pull free of Elandra’s hold. “No!” she said to Hecati, lifting one hand in a gesture of repudiation. “Begone, intruder. You have no place here!”

Hecati threw back her head in laughter, and Elandra stepped closer to her captive.

“Quickly,” she whispered. “Explain to me why—”

Something invisible hit Elandra a stunning blow. She staggered back, unable to breathe or even see. The world spun around her and went entirely dark.

Then she could breathe again. With a gasp, she struggled up only to find her face and shoulders entangled in insect netting. Through the tent flap, bright moonlight shone over the camp and cast a shadow from the silhouette of the sentry who paced outside.

Elandra drew in an unsteady breath and shoved her hair back from her face. She was covered with perspiration and breathing hard. Her nightgown stuck to her damp skin.

Unlike the usual sort of dream that faded immediately, this one remained vivid in her mind, haunting her. Who was the woman who watched? Why had she been in Elandra’s dream?

And who had been the man?

Remembering how she’d responded to him, Elandra blushed in the night. Was she mad to dream of her future husband like a silly field-hand girl? Hers would be a marriage of convenience and dynastic alliance. The union would strengthen her father’s power as a warlord. It would provide her with a home, a name, and possibly children, but nothing more.

Love ... how could she dream about it like that, as though she’d been molten candlewax poured into a new mold, pliant for whatever he willed, eager to give herself like . . .

Breathing hard with embarrassment, Elandra pressed her hands against her cheeks in an effort to calm herself. Perhaps the woman she’d chased was only a symbol of her conscience, standing as a witness. But why had she run? And what had Hecati been doing there?

Perhaps she’d been visited by a dream walker.

Even as the thought entered her mind, Elandra shivered with dread. Dream walkers were creatures who entered the dreams of the unsuspecting and shaped their minds while they slept. Creatures who stole dreams and twisted them into dark magic. Creatures who might do worse.

She flung off the netting and stood up in the dark tent, restless with alarm. The camp was protected with jinjas. No dream walker could reach her without an alarm being sounded.

But even as she tried to reassure herself, a tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Hecati practiced small magic all the time and the palace jinja never noticed.

Hugging herself against another shiver, Elandra paced slowly back and forth in the cramped confines of her tent. Outside, a predator screamed in the jungle, but the camp slept on peacefully. No alarms. Her dream was only a dream, nothing more.

Still trying to convince herself, Elandra continued to shiver in the hot silence of the night. She did not return to her hard cot. There would be no more sleep tonight.