Chapter Twenty
Elandra did not know exactly how long she had remained blind among the Penestrican women, but she guessed approximately a month had passed.
It was a hard, silent time of loneliness and self-doubt. She had always heard that to be blind was to be in the dark, as though one’s eyes could not open. But she saw no darkness. Only the unending, featureless, glaring white of Hecati’s revenge. It was more disorienting than Elandra could have imagined; worse, she thought, than actual darkness. At least the dark was a familiar place. But this was not.
The Penestricans had been kind but aloof, making no effort to treat her. She had been given a room to herself, very small. Eight paces in both directions. That hardly mattered; she was used to nothing else. The walls were stone but rough. She had explored them by touch and knew they were natural rock, not dressed blocks. She suspected she was in a cave. It was very dry and warm, however. A small hole—too small to crawl through—cut high in one wall brought her fresh air from outside.
Thus, she could smell damp and know if it was raining outside. Warm, sun-freshened air meant daytime. Cool air meant evening.
She had a stool and small table, a narrow cot, and a shelf to hold a lamp she did not need. No one ever came to light it. Her only contact with other human beings was three times a day, when food and fresh water were brought and her necessity pail taken away for cleaning.
Everything was clean.
Three times a week, she was led down a narrow passageway, placed in a corner, and doused with water. Her attendant would then swathe her in a rough towel and dry her while she shivered and gasped. She would be led back to her cell. Nothing was ever said to her, even if she asked questions.
Her clothes had been taken away, reminding her strangely of her dream where she had kissed the mysterious lover and Hecati had walked in her dream. She had no dreams now, only her thoughts chasing endlessly around and around in her brain.
To be kept naked at first had seemed the greatest un- kindness of all. She felt totally vulnerable and dependent, and she had hated them for treating her with this silent indifference.
In retaliation she had trained herself not to cringe or try to cover herself whenever someone came to her room. Finally indifference became a habit, not a pose. She stopped caring, almost, and it ceased to be a torture. After all, she was in a place entirely of women. There were never any male voices, never any male scents. Sometimes, in the stillness of what she assumed was night, she could hear far- distant chanting echoing through the passageways.
It was always faint, but some element in it disturbed her and made her restless. She would get up and pace, back and forth, counting her steps so as not to bump into the walls, until the chanting would finally fade away altogether.
Idleness and boredom were the hardest elements to endure. She found herself wishing Bixia would visit, even if only once, to tell her she’d not been forgotten. But it was a stupid wish, an absurd wish. Elandra was angry at herself for even hoping for something like that. Bixia was busy being trained and prepared. She probably had no time for anything else. Even so, Elandra knew Bixia was too selfish to come even if she had the opportunity.
Elandra tried to stay grateful to the Penestricans for not turning her out as a cripple. After all, she could not be married like this.
As always, Hecati had defeated her.
All her life Elandra had tried to bury her own dreams and ambitions, to never allow herself high expectations under the guise of being practical. Without expectations, disappointments hurt less. But for a few short days during her journey here, she had allowed herself to dream of what life might bring her. Never had she imagined this fate.
The shock in her lingered deep.
She had never been an introspective person, but her confinement forced herself to explore her own mind. She examined the kind of person she had been until now. She thought about the kind of person she was becoming.
Not a self-pitier. She still had enough pride to hold herself together.
Weakness and dependence were abhorrent to her. She wanted to ask the Penestricans to train her in some task she could do, to give her anything that had purpose again. But that chance had not yet come.
A sound at her door disturbed her thoughts. Ever wary, Elandra rose from her stool and faced the door. It was not yet time for food. She had had a bath yesterday. Trapped in the whiteness, she strained with her ears and her sense of smell to determine who was there.
The door swung open, creaking slightly on its hinges. Hope lifted in her. Was this a visitor? Would at last she have someone to talk to?
“Yes?” she asked eagerly. “Why have you come? Who is there?”
The woman entered the room without answering. Her footsteps were soft on the stone floor. Bare feet, Elandra thought. But unlike the usual attendant who hobbled as though old and who puffed when she walked, this person moved gracefully with a low, distinctive jingle of earrings.
With her came a scent of herbs and musk, very faint but pleasing. There was something familiar yet elusive about her that teased at Elandra’s mind. How maddening not to recognize what her senses seemed to be telling her.
In silence, the visitor took Elandra’s hand and tugged.
Elandra resisted. “Where are you taking me?”
Not answering, the visitor tugged again.
Anger tangled with frustration inside Elandra. “I don’t understand why I am treated so. Why won’t you answer my questions? Must I be punished for having been spell- burned?”
The visitor tugged harder, pulling her forward.
Elandra gave up the useless questions and stumbled along. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t going to let anyone see her hurt and confusion. Blind or not, she was still the daughter of Albain. She wouldn’t beg for their mercy.
There were fourteen steps from Elandra’s door left along a passageway, then a turn to the right and thirty-nine steps to the bathing room.
Today, however, they turned left twice. Suddenly Elandra was lost and disoriented.
She slowed down, using her free hand to feel along the wall. The woman leading her kept tugging at her to go faster. Elandra’s uncertainty grew, and with it came fear.
Quickly she squelched that emotion. She must not let them think she was scared. If anything, she must bide her time until she could figure out a way to get word to her father. No doubt the Penestricans had concealed her fate, fearing Albain’s blame in the matter. But Elandra did not intend to stay here imprisoned and forgotten like some charity case, if she could help it.
“I wish to speak to the Magria,” she said now. “If you are not permitted to speak to me, fine. Only have mercy on my plight and give my message to her. My father is Lord Albain. He will come for me and take me off your hands if only he is informed of what has happened. Will you tell the Magria this? Please?”
The woman said nothing, only tugged at her to hurry.
Sighing, Elandra bumped into the wall and righted herself. Where were they going?
They turned again. The floor was very rough and uneven beneath Elandra’s bare feet; then its surface grew smoother. Strange scents came to her: pungent odors of herbs, cedar, and rodents. The air against her face grew progressively warmer and drier.
The woman escorting her stopped in front of her without warning. Elandra bumped into her and heard a hiss of anger. She was shoved back with a rough hand.
Before Elandra could react, her arm was gripped above the elbow, and she was pulled forward, then stopped.
Confused, Elandra hesitated. The same action was repeated. This time, her foot stumbled down a step. Understanding flooded her.
“Steps,” she said aloud. “Very well.”
Slowly she made her way down a whole series of steps, her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It would help,” she said, “if you would tell me how many steps there are.”
The woman said nothing.
Annoyed, Elandra clamped her lips together. This rule of silence was both cruel and absurd. She might be blind, but she wasn’t deaf or stupid. She would not ask again.
They passed through a doorway and entered a place that was extremely hot.
The temperature made Elandra gasp. Perspiration broke, out across her face, and she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Already the heat seemed to be sapping her energy. She could not imagine where she was, unless it was a kitchen, yet she heard no sounds of activity and smelled no food cooking.
The woman pulled her up one shallow step, then along a smooth floor of cut stone. Only five steps; then the woman turned around to face her and pushed her shoulders until Elandra sat down.
Even the stone felt warm when she sat on it. The heat was intense, radiating into her from all sides. Wiping her face again, Elandra lifted her head, tilting it to catch any nuance of sound that might help her understand where she was and what was happening.
She smelled burning wood, and heard a low crackle of fire. There were many other scents she could not identify.
The woman circled her and left the way they’d come.
When the faint patter of her footfalls faded and there was only silence, Elandra frowned. She extended her arms and touched only air. For an instant she thought she heard a faint rustle, but she decided it was her imagination.
Still, she had the growing suspicion she was not alone. Was she being observed? It was unpleasant to think she might be entertaining some watcher with her gropings and explorations.
Frowning more deeply, she folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Nothing changed.
At last she rose to her feet, paused until she had her balance, and slid one foot forward.
The stone ended abruptly half a stride away. She swept her toes back and forth along the edge of the pavement, then made a quarter turn and slid her foot forward. Almost immediately she felt the edge.
She made another quarter turn and found no end to the stone. That had been the way she’d entered.
Another quarter turn, and she found a nearby edge.
Another quarter turn, and she was once again facing the direction in which the attendant had left her.
Elandra did not intend to step off blindly into thin air. She turned around and started back the way she’d come.
“Stop.”
The voice seemed to come out of nowhere.
Startled, Elandra froze in place.
“You are not permitted to leave.”
She looked up, placing the voice as coming from high above her. Elandra turned around to face it. Inside, she felt overwhelming relief. At last someone was talking to her.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The woman chuckled.
“Why have I been brought to you?” Elandra asked. “Can anything be done for my blindness? I have heard the Penestricans possess many powers, but I know nothing about your order. Forgive my ignorance and tell me please if you can help me.”
“So many questions,” the woman said. Her voice sounded old yet vigorous. “You have been dealt many tests, yet your spirit is not broken. That is good.”
Angrily Elandra gritted her teeth. She had no patience for this sort of nonsense. “Why should I be tested?” she asked. “For what purpose, unless it is for your amusement?”
“You are impertinent. You were sent here by your father for training, and that is what you have received.”
“There’s been no training!” Elandra cried impatiently. “No one has even spoken to me, until now. Besides, I cannot be married if I am blind. What good—”
“The platform ahead of you ends two strides from where you are standing now,” the woman said. “Walk forward slowly and step off the platform onto the sand. It is not a high distance. You do not have to jump, but take care not to fall.”
Bewildered, Elandra responded to the clear, simple directions in spite of herself. She felt her way forward, then crouched to hold onto the edge of the stone while she slid one leg down. The platform was perhaps no more than knee height above the sand.
Her feet sank into the grainy substance. The sand was almost too hot for comfort, as though the sun had shone on it. She winced and hopped a little, turning back to the platform.
“No,” said the woman. “Sit on the sand.”
“It’s too hot.”
“Walk forward. You will find a pillow. Sit on that.”
Gingerly, Elandra minced across the hot sand and stumbled over the pillow. It was a wide square cushion, big enough for her to sit on and curl her legs under her. She brushed the sand off her feet as quickly as possible.
“Excellent,” the woman said. “Now do not move.”
“Why?”
“Ask no questions. Obey.”
“Why are you testing me?”
No answer.
Compressing her mouth stubbornly, Elandra sat there with growing resentment. The idea of being tested was infuriating. It made her wonder if they could do something to restore her sight. If they could, and they had not done so, then they were beyond cruel.
Her anger growing, she reached down to scoop some of the hot sand into her hand.
Something ropelike and sinuous slid across the back of her hand.
She flinched back instinctively, her heart quickening.
Suddenly she was aware of them. She could hear the faint rustling glide of scales across sand, could hear the hissing. Snakes surrounded her.
A visual image of their powerful, writhing bodies filled her mind. Her mouth went dry, and she choked off all sound, forgetting even to breathe as she froze in place.
“You sense them?” the woman asked, her voice soft and intense.
Elandra could not speak. Jerkily she nodded.
“Do not move. You must accept their presence.”
In spite of the heat Elandra felt clammy all over. She breathed in fear.
One of the snakes slithered across her ankle, and she nearly screamed. All her life she had feared snakes. Growing up in the hot humid jungles of Gialta, she considered the reptiles a way of life, but deadly nonetheless. Even in her father’s palace, the servants were ever vigilant. Cats and tame mongooses roamed at will to help patrol the rooms. As a very young child, Elandra had witnessed her old muimui, her nurse, being bitten while pulling a snake from Elandra’s crib. The old woman had swelled up horribly and died. Shortly thereafter, Elandra had gone to live with her father, but the memory had never left her.
Now her heart thudded inside her chest, and she drew in short, raspy breaths. A snake slid over her legs, and she started shaking. They were closer, hissing, their tongues flickering along her wrist in delicate little patterns of exploration.
Her body was freezing. She had tensed her muscles so tightly they ached. Filling her was the certainty that if she moved the slightest degree, or spoke, or even breathed too deeply, one of them would bite her.
Then she would convulse with agony, and would swell with poison, and would die, choking for air.
“There are forty serpents in the sand pit with you,” the woman’s voice said calmly. “The warmth makes them active, and they have found you. Do not move.”
Simple hatred was not enough. Elandra clenched her eyes tightly shut, raging against the woman in her mind. Clammy perspiration trickled down her temples. With every thud of her heart, she felt the urge to run consuming her.
She couldn’t stay here, waiting for one of them to bite her. She had to do something, had to flee, fight, get out of here.
Suddenly she was gasping for air, gulping it in with desperation. Panic shuddered through her. This was crazy. She didn’t have to take this.
And yet something held her motionless. She forced the panic down, remembering her father’s voice in her mind. Never act in panic, he always instructed his troops. Panic in warfare is defeat. Panic is death.
A moan rose in her throat, and she stifled it. Don’t move, she told herself. Don’t move. She could feel them now, sliding over and around her. Their sinuous bodies were warm and silky soft on her skin. Their tongues flickered across her, making her fight herself not to flinch. She was trembling with exhaustion. She did not know how much more of this she could endure. Then one curled around her throat, and panic flooded her anew.
The snake tightened its coils. It was going to choke her. She could feel its blunt snout moving through her hair. Its tail tickled along her shoulder blade. She shuddered again and clenched her fists in the sand. Her heart was hammering out of control. She could not stand this, could not.
“Its coils will tighten slowly,” the woman said in a soft, expressionless voice. “It kills by crushing its prey. Of course this is a young one, very small. When they are fully grown, they encircle the body and crush the lungs of their victims. Do not move if you want to live. If you move you will startle it, and it will crush your throat instantly.”
Elandra did not have to be told. She had seen grown men crushed to death in the rice marshes by giant anacondas.
Tears ran down her cheeks. Her consciousness shrank to the strong bands encircling her throat. She believed what the woman had told her, yet the snake continued to slowly choke her. The constriction was becoming alarmingly tight.
She opened her mouth, punting, and realized that whether she fought or waited passively she was going to die here in this rite she didn’t understand.
Anger tired within her. She was the daughter of a warrior, and she wouldn’t die tamely.
Lifting her hand, she tugged at the snake around her throat. Immediately it tightened its coils with a quick, reflexive action that made her gasp for air.
Her anger intensified. She found the snake’s head, felt its tongue flicker against her palm, and closed her fingers around his neck. Then she squeezed with all her strength.
Its tail whipped against her shoulder, and it tightened its coils harder. She was gasping now, fighting for every breath of air. With her last shreds of consciousness, she twisted with both hands and snapped the snake’s neck. A final reflexive shudder ran through its length; then it lay limp.
She unwound it from her throat and flung it as far from her as she could.
Still consumed by fury, she rose to her feet, shaking off the other snakes that had been crawling over her legs. None of them bit her. She lifted her head and faced where she thought the watcher might be.
“I defy you,” she said loudly. “I will not submit to your tests again. Let me go.”
“If you cross the sand, the snakes will strike,” the woman warned her. “Most are poisonous.”
“You put me here to die,” Elandra said. “But I will do so by my choice, not by yours.”
She oriented herself and stepped off the pillow onto the hot sand. It burned her feet as before, but this time she did not flinch. She strode out, driven by her anger and defiance, and counted the number of steps back to the stone platform.
Despite the woman’s warning, nothing bit her. Elandra tossed her head with a feeling of triumph. So that had been another lie too. She bumped hard into the platform, bruising her thighs, and climbed onto it.
“Stop her!” the woman commanded.
Elandra heard quick footsteps approaching. Hands gripped her arms. Elandra swung out blindly and managed to hit the other woman’s face. The attendant uttered a soft cry and lost her grip on Elandra, who gave her a strong shove.
Stumbling forward, Elandra almost managed to get past the attendant, but she grabbed Elandra from behind by her hair.
Sharp pain in Elandra’s scalp made her yelp. Gritting her teeth, she elbowed the attendant in the stomach and wrenched free again. She tried to run but immediately stumbled down the steps she’d forgotten were at the other end of the platform.
She landed awkwardly, bruising her knees and hip, and cursed her blindness.
The attendant was on her in an instant, pulling her upright and shaking her. “You fool!” the woman cried. “You’ll break your neck trying to run like that!”
It was Bixia’s petulant voice who spoke to her. Bixia who had led her here. Bixia who fought with her now. Suddenly Elandra knew why the sound of her earrings and the smell of her perfume had seemed so familiar. None of the Penestricans wore such adornments. She should have guessed immediately.
Elandra gripped Bixia’s arm. “Sister! I beg you to help me—”
There was an abrupt sound, as though a pair of hands clapped once. The glaring whiteness around Elandra vanished, making her stagger with surprise.
Blinking, she frowned and squinted at the gloom that surrounded her. Rubbing her eyes, she found herself able to focus on Bixia’s face in front of her. Bixia was scowling at her.
Amazement spread through Elandra. “I can see,” she whispered.
The shock of it was too sudden. Her knees went wobbly and she sat down without warning. She raised her hands and turned them over, ecstatically gazing at the lines of her palms and the texture of her own skin. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
The room itself was a huge cavern, lit only dimly by fat white candles and the fire blazing in the center of the sand pit.
Elandra glanced over her shoulder but saw no snakes writhing on the sand. Puzzled, she swung her gaze back to her half-sister.
Bixia was as naked as she, revealing a lush, sensuous body adorned with possibly every item of jewelry she had been given by their father. Bracelets were rowed up both arms, and several necklaces hung around her neck. Jewels swung from her ears. Her blonde hair flowed down her back, unkempt and full of tangles. Fury blazed in her green eyes.
“Is this part of your training too?” Elandra asked.
“No! You simpleton, don’t pretend you don’t know what’s happening. You and your innocent airs make me sick!”
“But—”
“It’s all your fault! I’ll never forgive you for this. Never! I swear it from the bottom of my heart!”
“Silence!” commanded the woman behind them.
At once Bixia bit back the rest of what she might have said and bowed her head. She managed to keep glaring at Elandra, however, from beneath her tangle of hair.
Still puzzled, Elandra turned slowly back to face the sand pit. She saw a thin woman standing on a dais beside a stone chair. The unclothed Penestrican’s hair was braided around her skull. Her bare arms and legs revealed a network of mutilation scars. On her right wrist she wore a simple bracelet in the shape of a snake.
When the woman beckoned, Elandra walked slowly around the sand pit to the bottom of the dais. She gazed up at the older woman, recognizing an air of authority that was unquestionable.
“Are you the Magria?” she asked.
The woman’s slim brows rose. In silence she inclined her head. Her eyes were filled with intelligent scrutiny.
“Why is Bixia being treated like this?” Elandra asked. “As bride-elect of the emperor, she deserves respect and courtesy. Surely you do not blame her for what Hecati tried to do.”
The Magria’s eyes grew cold. “She has been raised by a witch. There is much to be held accountable—”
“But not by Bixia!” Elandra said sharply. “She didn’t know—”
“But you did!” the Magria broke in.
Disconcerted, Elandra stared at her.
“Yes,” the Magria insisted. “You knew about the witch. Answer!”
There was no denying it, not now when she finally understood what Hecati really was. “I knew,” Elandra admitted.
“And you did nothing. You told no one. You did not denounce her, as is required by law!”
Elandra bit back the urge to defend herself. There was nothing to say without being clumsy, no way to justify her fear without admitting cowardice, no way to explain the intimidation and coercion Hecati had practiced on her through the years.
Besides, she had a suspicion the Magria might already know the full circumstances. Warily, Elandra kept quiet, saying nothing even when the Magria glared at her.
“Well?” the Magria demanded.
Still Elandra refused to answer. Two could play this game of silence, she thought.
A terrible look entered the Magria’s face. “You are both fools. I waste my time with you.”
“Then give us to the women who are supposed to train us for marriage,” Elandra said with deliberate insolence. “Clothe us properly and treat us according to our different stations. Put an end to these games of yours.”
“Games!” the Magria said sharply. “Games? There are no games here, girl. Everything that happens in the sand pit is truth.”
Elandra faced her without saying anything.
The Magria slowly descended the steps of the dais until they stood face to face. Then the Penestrican circled Elandra, studying her openly.
“You are very like Fauvina,” she whispered. “The auburn hair and white skin, the temper and the courage. Very like her. Yes, the cycle turns. It turns, and destiny is written.”
Elandra frowned, but it was Bixia who stepped forward.
“No!” she cried. “You cannot take my privileges from me. I am to marry the emperor, not her! It was foretold, and you cannot change that.”
While Elandra’s bewilderment grew, the Magria turned a terrible smile of pity on Bixia. “You have no destiny. Those who have told you so all your life have done you a great disservice.”
“I do have a destiny!” Bixia stamped her foot like a spoiled child. “I do! It says I am to marry the emperor, and you can’t stop me!”
“Father was told,” Elandra said in agreement. “The prophecy was clear.”
The Magria’s eyes pinned her. “Speak the prophecy.”
Bixia sighed, but Elandra said in a clear, precise voice: “The daughter of Albain shall marry the emperor.”
“Yes,” the Magria said. “That is correct.”
“I am his daughter!” Bixia said hotly.
“So is Elandra.”
“No!” Bixia cried. “She is a bastard, a worthless embarrassment. She doesn’t belong here. Father was wrong to even send her with me.”
“The prophecy does not lie,” the Magria said.
“You make a lie of it! You are evil and a—”
The Magria lifted her hand, and Bixia’s sentence choked off. Bixia clutched her throat, writhing and turning blue. Alarmed, Elandra realized she was in the presence of powers she did not understand. Were these women also witches?
“We are not witches,” the Magria said severely.
Uneasiness crawled through Elandra. So they read minds as well. Surely they were indeed possessed of dark powers.
“No,” the Magria said sharply. “Do not judge what you do not understand. You have met one real witch. Was she like us?”
“I—I do not yet know,” Elandra said.
The Magria’s mouth twisted. “We serve the goddess- mother of all creation, the earth itself. With education you will come to share our love and worship. You will walk our way.”
Bixia was still being choked by the Magria’s will. Elandra swallowed and made herself face the Magria.
“I will not walk your way,” she said defiantly. “Call your powers what you will. They are not for me.”
“We live with the five natural powers—that of the earth, in which all life grows; that of water, which nourishes life; that of the moon and her mysteries; that of blood, which is life; that of a woman’s womb, which gives her power over men as she both takes their force and gives back sons in exchange. We do not consort with demons. We do not walk in shadows.”
Elandra was only half listening. She took a half step toward her tortured sister, then stopped herself from intervening.
“Wise,” the Magria murmured and lowered her hand.
The invisible force choking Bixia released her. Gasping and crying, Bixia sagged to her knees and coughed.
Elandra went to her, but Bixia fought her off. “Leave me alone! I hate you!” she croaked, and fell into another coughing fit.
Angrily Elandra turned on the Magria, but the woman stopped her with a quelling look.
“Do not waste your effort defending her. She does not want your pity. Disappointment is a bitter cup. Let her drink it unhindered.”
“I don’t understand,” Elandra said.
The Magria’s eyes were clear and very wise. “Yes, you do.”
“But I can’t be the bride-elect,” Elandra said in bewilderment. “I have no birth—”
“Your lineage is above hers. Your mother Iaris was the daughter of Lord Cernal, holder of most of Gialta west of the river, as your father holds most of the eastern bank. Lord Cernal descends from the same line as the Empress Fauvina. You, Elandra, not your half-sister, carry imperial blood. You, Elandra, not your half-sister, had a prophecy told over you at your birth.”
Elandra’s heart began to beat very fast. Feeling breathless, she whispered, “I am to marry a man whose name shall be known throughout the ages.” She blinked, unable to believe it. “But... not Emperor Kostimon!”
Bixia, still kneeling on the ground, began to cry.
“It can’t be,” Elandra said blankly. “I don’t believe it.”
“The Fates cannot be denied,” the Magria told her. “You were raised as a servant in your father’s house, yes?”
Elandra frowned but gave her a tiny nod.
“Yet you carry yourself with pride and the demeanor of a lady. You were persecuted by the Maelite witch, were you not?”
Elandra’s frown deepened. She said nothing.
“Was she not cruel to you? Deeply, heartlessly cruel?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you survived her cruelty. You did not let her break your spirit. Is this true?”
“Yes.”
“On the day of your departure, the soldiers cheered you instead of Bixia.”
Elandra’s mouth fell open. “How did you know—” She cut herself off, knowing the question was foolish in the circumstances.
“When we drove the witch from our premises—that fiend who would dare to defile this place of the goddess- mother—it was not Bixia whom the witch attacked, but you, Elandra. You, the future empress of our world.”
“But—”
“Why should she strike you down? If you were as insignificant as you believe, why should she waste her efforts on you? Why not destroy Bixia?”
It occurred to Elandra that Hecati would have enjoyed opportunities to do much mischief from her position behind the throne, but she said nothing.
“The witch struck you with deadly intent, yet you did not die.”
“Blindness is a kind of death,” Elandra murmured bitterly, awash with memories.
“Nonsense. Don’t pity yourself now. That is past.”
Elandra faced her, chin held high, eyes direct. “You could have restored my sight immediately, yet you didn’t.”
“I did not restore your sight,” the Magria said, equally direct. “You did.”
“How—”
“We have tried to bend your spirit and find that adversity merely strengthens you. I have looked on you with sight, and I know you cannot be coerced. Neither will you work in ignorance, nor will you obey without question what you do not understand. You have the qualities for leadership and position which your half-sister lacks entirely. Bixia also walked the sand pit,” the Magria said, her voice soft but relentless over the sound of Bixia’s weeping. “She failed the test of the serpents.”
Elandra shot her sister a swift look of consternation, but all she saw was Bixia’s bowed head.
“But you, Elandra, did not fail,” the Magria continued. “You were given a paradox with conflicting solutions. The only possible means of success was to create a third solution, which you did. You fought and defeated the snake. You are truly the daughter of a warlord. Even blinded and at a terrible disadvantage, you did not allow your disability or your emotions to overcome your wits. You have not been pampered and spoiled. You have no conceit or vanity. Your mind is keen and ready to be educated. You are ambitious and courageous. Your strength will not fail you in the challenges ahead.”
She took Elandra’s cold hands in hers, and smiled. “You are our next empress, child. Destiny has called you, and it is my honor to train you to meet it.”
Conflicting feelings raced through Elandra. This seemed so impossible, and yet she could not deny what the Magria was saying. What about the man in my dream? she started to say, then held it back with instinctive caution. In her heart, she wanted to believe he was the man she was destined to marry, not some debauched old man.
Instead, she skirted the question uppermost in her mind with another. “Why did you send dream walkers to haunt me?”
Something unreadable crossed the Magria’s face. She hesitated visibly. “That is another matter, which we will discuss at the proper time.”
“And my father?” Elandra said, frowning. “What has he to say to this change?”
“For your father, the alliance and its advantages remain the same. He will be informed.”
Elandra’s mouth was dry. She swallowed, but it did not help. “And . .. and the emperor?”
The Magria stroked Elandra’s hair. “My child, the emperor will be besotted when he sees his lost Fauvina restored to him.”
Elandra drew back sharply from her caress. “I am not this woman you speak of. I am myself!”
“Of course. But it will help win his heart.”
Fresh doubts crowded Elandra’s mind. For the first time some of the implications began to sink in. The emperor was as old as time, or nearly so. The emperor was said to consort with demons and those of the shadow world. The emperor had murdered all his children save one, the current prince. The emperor was a ruthless tyrant, whose word was absolute law. Invoke his displeasure, even once, and a person’s life was forfeit. And she was to belong to him? She was to pleasure him? Obey his every whim? Fetch and fawn for him? Wait for him to die? And then what would happen to her?
Elandra began to tremble. It was not what she wanted. All the glory in the world could not make up for the risk. For Bixia, so vain and spoiled and pretty, it had been ideal. Bixia was shallow enough to smile and flutter and flirt. She would despise him secretly and dream of lovers. She would be ruthless and capricious and grasping. Bixia could survive such a life, even thrive on it.
But Elandra was not made like her sister. Elandra wanted a man she could respect and honor. She had never asked for much in her life, and now overwhelming bounty was being showered on her. While a part of her was dazzled by the thought of sitting next to the most powerful man on earth—a man some claimed was almost a god himself—the rest of her was afraid. She had not been made to lie and pretend. He would hate her on sight, and she would die.
The Magria gazed at her as though she could read Elandra’s mind. “No,” she said softly. “Do not decide before you fully understand. You were prepared to enter a marriage of convenience based on our selection and your father’s agreement. How is this any different?”
Elandra opened her mouth, but she had no reply.
“We offer you a marriage of tremendous consequence. Do you really wish to refuse this chance to be queen?”
“He has seen Bixia’s portrait,” Elandra said, digging into hurts that lay deep. “He chose her willingly for her beauty. I do not have any allure for men, like Bixia does. I never have.”
“You will be trained in the arts of pleasing a man.”
Heat flamed in Elandra’s face. To hide her own embarrassment she grew angry. “Will I learn to cast a spell over him?”
“Silence!” the Magria said sharply, eyes blazing. “You fool!”
Abashed, Elandra dropped her gaze and stood quietly, her heart pounding beneath her breast.
“Were not so much at stake, I would fling you out— both of you! Foolish, impertinent girl, mouthing off beyond your limited comprehension. You have no choice here. None!”
Glaring at Elandra, the Magria finally seemed to pull herself back under steely control. “Fear and emotional upheaval have made your tongue unruly,” she said at last. “For that I will forgive this display. But only once. Am I clear?”
“Yes,” Elandra whispered, still looking at the floor.
“There is opportunity for you beyond your wildest dreams. You wanted to see the world, and you will. You wanted knowledge, and you will have it. You wanted love, and it will come. Put your fear aside.”
She turned away, gesturing for Elandra to come with her, but Elandra hesitated, gazing down at her weeping sister.
“What happens to Bixia?” she asked.
“That remains to be seen. Come.”
“No,” Elandra said, then tried to temper her discourtesy. “I—I mean, yes, of course I will come, but first please let me have a moment with her, alone. There is so much to consider.”
The Magria’s expression revealed nothing, but after a moment’s hesitation she acquiesced. “Very well. It will avail nothing, but you may have the time you request. A sister will be waiting outside to conduct you to my chambers when you are ready.”
She glided away without a sound and vanished into the gloom.
In the flickering candlelight, Elandra knelt beside Bixia and tried to put her arms around her.
But Bixia jerked away. “No!” she said, flinging back her hair. Her green eyes were puffy with tears. Wildly she glared at Elandra. “You want me to tell you I’m happy for you? You want me to forgive you for what you’ve stolen from me?”
Elandra sighed. “I just want—”
“I won’t forgive you! And someday I’ll make you regret the way you have betrayed me.”
“But I—”
“Don’t play innocent with me. You’ve planned this from the first. You and your special prophecies. How you must have laughed when you ripped apart my bridal robe. How you must have gloated when the soldiers cheered you. How you must be enjoying yourself now, at my expense.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Elandra said in dismay. She had known Bixia would take everything the wrong way. “Please listen to me.”
Bixia scrambled to her feet. “Get away from me! It wasn’t enough that you always had Father’s affection. It wasn’t enough that you humiliated my mother and made her cry in secret every time she saw you. No! You couldn’t be satisfied until you robbed me of all that was promised. Scheming and—”
“I didn’t scheme for it. I just—”
“You’re a liar and a thief!” Bixia screamed at her. “They’ll never let me near you again, and that’s good because if I could I’d cut out your black heart!”
“Please don’t be like this. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll still marry—”
“Who? Some paltry nobleman with a backwater palace in a forgotten, underfunded province?” Bixia laughed scornfully and tossed her golden head. “I’d sooner die than take your leavings. You think you’re rid of me and Aunt Hecati, but you’re not.”
“It’s Hecati who caused the trouble in the first place,” Elandra said hotly.
“And she’ll cause more. Plenty more!” Bixia’s eyes narrowed, and her face held only spite. “Enjoy your pretty gowns and fancy jewels as quickly as you can. You won’t have them long. The emperor will take one look at your long face and die of horror.”
“Perhaps he’ll be relieved to be married to someone with a mind for a change, instead of another pretty slut,” Elandra retorted.
Bixia went white.
At once Elandra was ashamed of herself. This was no time to be petty, not when she’d robbed Bixia of her life’s ambition.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, holding out her hand.
Bixia slapped it away. Tight-lipped and trembling, she glared at Elandra like someone possessed. “I hate you,” she whispered. “I shall always hate you. Count yourself warned, for if there is any harm I can bring you or those you love, I shall do it! I swear this in the name of Mael.”
Shocked, Elandra backed away from her. She started to say something, started to plead with Bixia to deny what she’d just uttered, but Bixia had become a stranger—enraged and violent, nearly insane with hatred.
“Get out!” Bixia said with loathing. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Clapping her hands over her ears to shut out Bixia’s screams, Elandra turned and ran.
Outside in the passageway, she ran full tilt into someone in a black robe, someone plump and motherly who held her close when Elandra would have fought free.
“No!” Elandra said, choking on her tears. “No, I— please.”
“Hush,” the woman soothed her. “Hush, now. All will be well.”
And suddenly Elandra found herself clinging to this gentle stranger, weeping as though her heart would break.
“Greatness is born of pain, little one,” the woman murmured, stroking her hair. “Let the tears fall. Let the tears cleanse you, little wife of the emperor who is and the mother of the emperor who will be. All will be well with you. All will be well.”