Chapter Fourteen
By nightfall, the ceremonies were at last finished, and the feasting could begin. As the processional returned from its long circuit through the city, Elandra forced herself to keep waving to the cheering citizens although her arms were aching. The crown was nearly as heavy as her dress, and her neck felt stiff from having supported it all day. But she could not complain. She had been cheered everywhere, and all the warlords of the provinces had knelt to swear allegiance to her, even her father—looking both gruff and intensely proud. The processional had taken her down the Street of Triumph, a broad avenue paved with white marble that gleamed radiantly in the sunshine and even at dusk still glowed pale and softly white.
The street ran straight through the heart of the city, all the way out to the harbor. On either side of it stood the famed Arches of Kostimon, mighty stone edifices carved with descriptions of the emperor’s many triumphs over his enemies. Statues of the emperor on horseback stood atop the arches, a double row of bronze figures that stretched on endlessly, symbolizing the infinite reign of this incredible man.
Coming back up the avenue in her open litter, Elandra looked at its breadth and its beauty, all extolling the achievements of her husband. Beside her, Kostimon looked tired but still bright-eyed. He clearly reveled in the cheers and adulation. She saw how much energy he drew from the crowds and the noise. Above all things, Kostimon loved being emperor.
Ahead rose the towering granite walls of the palace compound. Enormous bronze gates with great embossed spikes on their panels creaked open, and the processional streamed back inside with the cheers of the people still resounding.
Turning her head to see everything, Elandra considered the palace to be a city within a city, for it was filled with temples as well as a complex of meeting halls, council chambers, storehouses, granaries, and treasuries. This was the very heart of the empire, the center of the power and might of Kostimon’s reign.
Involuntarily she glanced at her husband’s profile. He had created all this from nothing. He had held it against those who would wrest it from him. He had truly wrought a profound achievement.
Kostimon tipped his crown to the back of his head and scratched his curls. “It’s cold when the sun goes down.”
She smiled at his complaints and dared give his arm an excited squeeze. “I am constantly filled with renewed admiration and pride at what you have done in your lifetime.”
Surprise crossed his face. “What is this? Praise from my newly exalted wife?”
“Yes.”
“And what favor are you trying to wheedle from me in exchange for these compliments?”
His sudden cynicism dimmed her happiness. More quietly, she said, “There is no favor. I meant what I said sincerely.”
“Ah. There will be too many compliments tonight, too many flowery speeches, too much hot air. If I leave the banqueting early tonight, my dear, don’t be put out.” He gave her a twisted smile. “You see, I have done this sort of thing too many times to find it quite as exciting as you do.”
She drew back to her side of the litter. Her face felt stiff. Proudly she forced her voice to be composed and even. “Yes, of course,” she replied. “I understand perfectly.”
The boundaries had been clearly drawn for her. She might be sovereign, but she was not his equal and never would be. And for all his smiles and little acts of kindness, he had only been humoring her today. She could not expect such treatment to continue. She could not expect anything to change.
Except that she was empress in her own right. And as long as she did not cross wills with him, she could do what she pleased and command what she pleased.
She held that to her, and refused to let his mood spoil hers.
“I am sorry you are so fatigued,” she said formally. “Thank you for this day. It has been wonderful. I shall never forget it.”
“The golden riches of my empire are yours,” he replied.
Pretty words, but his tone was absentminded. She wondered if he meant any part of what he had just said.
At the imposing palace steps, their litter was lowered to the ground by the sweating bearers. Elandra rose to her feet, shaking off the dried flower petals that had been flung over her by the populace. She stood while her ladies straightened her skirts and smoothed the heavy folds of her robes; then, with her hand on Kostimon’s arm, she ascended the steps of the palace, where light glowed through the open doors in warm welcome.
They parted inside, their attendants whisking them away to private chambers for freshening up. The coronation robes were finally lifted from Elandra’s aching shoulders. She sighed in relief, then sat in a chair while her hair was restyled around the crown. For the few minutes that her long tresses were brushed, she could look at the tall crown sitting on the dressing table and know the blessed relief of being free of its weight.
An armed guard came in with a small man wearing the sash of a palace official. With a bow, this individual put the crown inside a locked box and in exchange produced a diadem radiant with diamonds and rubies.
He noticed the magnificent necklace displayed across Elandra’s cloth-of-gold bodice, and his eyes widened.
“Ah!” he said in wordless admiration. “It will do very well.”
She did not know who he was, or why he thought he could give his opinions. Gazing at him in the mirror, she lifted her brows.
“Why do you bring me a different crown to wear?”
He almost smiled. Short and balding, he seemed very self-assured without being officious. “There are several reasons, Majesty. The first is that this is a gift from the emperor in honor of the occasion.”
Her heart quickened, and she smiled in instant pleasure. “A gift?”
“Yes, Majesty.” He handed it to her on a little silk pillow. “Commissioned by the emperor and of original design.”
It was beautiful, delicately wrought and of a design like none of the other jewelry she had rejected earlier today. She took the narrow crown in her hands and turned it over, marveling at the fine gold filigree and the high quality of the jewels. The diamonds were particularly fiery, flashing against the dark bloodred rubies.
“How lovely,” she said. “I have never seen finer work. Who made it?”
“Ah,” he said, and rubbed the side of his nose with his forefinger. “I believe the, um, Choven.”
She nearly dropped it, and her widened eyes flashed to meet his in the mirror. “The Choven! Is this spell-forged?”
He smiled. “I think, um, not, Majesty.”
She relaxed. “Oh. Still, it is very beautiful.”
“It is unsurpassed in quality and workmanship, as are all things made by the Choven.”
She nodded and handed it to the woman dressing her hair. The diadem was fitted into place atop her head, and thick locks of her hair were twisted about it and artfully pinned.
“And it complements the imperial jewels of the Empress Fauvina very well,” the man continued.
“You know these jewels?” she asked in surprise. “They are very old.”
“They were also Choven-made.”
“How do you know?”
His smile broadened, and he gave a small bow. “I am the Keeper of the Imperial Jewels, Majesty. It is my business to know.”
She drew in her breath, but did not allow her expression to change. “And as the keeper,” she said pleasantly, “I suppose you are aware of what transpired this morning?”
“Yes, Majesty. A regrettable occurrence. The woman is not a member of my staff. The individuals she bribed in order to gain access to your chambers have been dealt with.”
“Is this all your explanation?”
He allowed himself a very small frown. “In my defense, I will only say that I received no instructions regarding the jewels your Majesty was to wear. Therefore, I sent no member of my staff to await your Majesty’s pleasure. Had I known of your Majesty’s intention to wear the Empress Fauvina’s jewels, they would have been cleaned and presented at the appropriate hour.”
“I see.”
She spoke tersely, aware of the meaning that lay beneath his words. Kostimon had not given his permission for her to be arrayed in jewels. As a consequence, she had been deliberately overlooked by this man. Anger flashed inside her, but she restrained it. This man owed her no loyalty yet. Her supporters comprised a very small circle right now, but she intended to change that. Time and patience were all she required.
The Keeper of the Imperial Jewels stood watching her with a pleasant expression belied by the wariness in his eyes. She knew she was being judged for her reaction. It was important that she not make an enemy of him, but neither must she appear weak.
Her gaze met his levelly. “I will not be overlooked again,” she said.
“No, Majesty.”
“While the Empress Fauvina’s jewels are admirable, they were suited for today’s occasion only. I will not continue to wear them.”
He bowed. “A prudent decision, Majesty.”
“I will acquire my own collection, fashioned from my jewel of choice.” As she spoke, she thought of the topaz concealed between her breasts. “As Keeper of the Imperial Jewels, will you be my adviser, or do you serve the emperor only?”
A protocol question was always safe. The man’s expression relaxed slightly, and he smiled. “I should be honored to advise your Majesty. Establishing your own collection is an eminently wise course of action. It prohibits certain interpretations.”
She frowned. Was that a warning?
He continued. “As for selecting designs and commissioning a maker ...”
“Yes? The jewelers of Imperia do not seem particularly inspired.” As she spoke, her mind considered the possibility of sending business to Gialta. The Albain family jewels were very fine.
The keeper allowed himself a small chuckle. “Majesty, may I say that the imperial jewels are always fashioned by the Choven? Imperia jewelers must make do with occasional trinkets, baubles for gifts, and the like. They principally serve the aristocrats of the empire, but not the imperial family.”
Elandra grew very still. Mentally she sent forth a quick prayer of gratitude that she had not made a serious error this morning. Collecting herself, she gave the man a gracious nod. “You have been most helpful. My jewel of choice is the topaz.”
“Ah,” he said. “The golden hues. Splendid.”
“You will see to this at once?”
He bowed. “Tomorrow I will send forth a message to the Choven. They cannot be rushed or commanded, but their craftsmanship is unsurpassed.”
She nodded, catching a glimpse in the mirror of a gesturing attendant. It was time for her to go. “Thank you.”
She rose to her feet, elegant and graceful in her imposing gown. The diadem flashed brilliantly from her auburn curls with every movement of her head.
The keeper bowed deeply and departed with his attendant guard and the locked box containing the larger crown of state. Elandra watched him go. She did not know if she had made an ally of him, but at least he was not her enemy. In the maze of palace politics, even that might be counted as a small victory.
Head high, she swept out to go to the banquet, aware that if Kostimon did not attend there would be talk and speculation. For a moment she felt daunted, but then she steadied herself. One step at a time. She must remember that and not allow herself to be overwhelmed by the challenges that still lay ahead.
At the doorway to the banqueting hall, however, she found her path blocked by Prince Tirhin. He bowed to her, his eyes shadowed, his expression far from welcoming.
Every eye was watching them. Elandra swept a swift glance around at the sea of faces, then forced herself to face him.
“Are you once again my escort?” she asked.
Tirhin’s teeth were clenched, but he gave her his arm with an outward show of gallantry. “If the empress commands it.”
She did not know if once again he was following his father’s orders, or if he had some other intention in mind. They walked up the length of the vaulted hall together while the guests bowed and curtsied. At the head of the table, servants seated them with one empty chair between them— Kostimon’s.
Lord Sien appeared, a gaunt, enigmatic figure in his saffron robes and leopardskin stole. He bowed before taking his seat on Elandra’s other side. Having him next to her made her profoundly uneasy, but she refused to show this. The man had always frightened her, especially in what he stood for, and she knew he was extremely powerful. Kostimon was said to listen to his council more than anyone else’s. The high priest was firmly entrenched in palace politics, and seemed to know everything almost before it occurred.
Could he read minds? She met his yellow, deep-set eyes briefly and managed a small smile of courtesy. He did not smile back, and his eyes seemed to glow at her, probing deeper than she liked.
Tirhin patted the emperor’s empty seat. “It seems his Majesty has already retired.”
She wished she could do the same. “It has been a long day,” she said neutrally.
Tirhin emitted a short bark of laughter and reached for his wine cup. “Gault, so it has.”
She noticed his hands were unsteady when he put down his cup. From his continued pallor, she guessed he was ill instead of drunk. But there was the banquet to open, and the guests were still standing at their places, awaiting her signal.
She gave it, and with a general scraping of chairs they settled themselves. An enormous roasted swan was carried in on a round silver platter by four sweating footmen. This was presented to her, and Elandra praised it.
At once a majordomo appeared at her elbow with a bow. “If I may carve for your Majesty.”
She smiled. “Take the most tender portion, please, and convey it to Lord Albain with my compliments.”
The man obeyed. Settling back in her chair, Elandra risked a quick glance at Tirhin and saw his face set like granite. Had the emperor been seated beside her, she would have given him the best portion; then he would have returned the favor. But since the emperor was not present, she would honor her father as was only fitting. Tirhin could not expect her to honor him for any reason.
When the laden plate of succulent meat had been carried to Albain, he rose from his place halfway down the table and raised his cup in a toast.
“To the empress!” he said gruffly, squinting through his one eye. “May Gault preserve her.”
The guests rose to their feet, echoing the toast as they raised their cups.
Then followed a long succession of toasts and compliments while the meats grew cold and Elandra’s face ached from so much smiling. She could feel fatigue around the edges of her consciousness, and knew that without the magic of the Mahirans she would have collapsed long ago.
At last the eating could begin. She nibbled at the delicacies, finding most of them too rich for her taste. Lord Sien ate in silence, ignoring everyone. Like Elandra, Tirhin barely touched his food, but he continued to drink steadily.
She marveled at his capacity. “You seem to have a deep thirst, sir.”
His dark head tilted toward her. “Call me Tirhin, mama. We are a family, are we not?”
Heat touched her face, and she bit her lip. “I do not think family is the best term for it.”
His eyes mocked her. “Then what would you call us? A gaggle of unhappy relics?”
“You may be unhappy. I am not.”
“Oh, ho,” he said, sitting up straighter with a sardonic smile. “I suppose you are not. All of Imperia lies at your feet. Or so you think.”
Again she thought of this man’s slave, distraught and torn between loyalties. She was suddenly tired of Tirhin’s petty jealousy, tired of his sulking face, tired of the subtle ways in which he mocked and defied his father.
“I understand you are a devotee of the gladiatorial games,” she said, changing the subject without warning.
The prince blinked, and a faint wash of color tinted his cheeks. “Why, madam,” he said, signaling for his cup to be refilled, “do you intend to become a spectator now that you are released from your bridal confinement? I had supposed you would instead be busy breeding a new heir for the empire.”
Her mouth tightened. He was skating dangerously close to insult. “This sport may begin to fascinate me,” she replied, conscious of Lord Sien listening at her other shoulder. “I understand you own the champion.”
This time unmistakable color darkened Tirhin’s cheeks. He glared into the depths of his cup, and his fingers gripped it so hard they turned white. “Yes,” he said at last, flinging a look at her. “I do.”
“Is that not gratifying?”
“Of course.”
“I understand also that you often take the fellow with you to functions and parties. Is he here tonight?”
“No.”
“What a pity.”
Tirhin gave her a twisted smile. “Now that you have been raised to such exalted standing, do you intend to sample—”
“Tirhin,” Lord Sien said sharply in warning.
The prince frowned and knocked over his cup. Wine spilled like blood across the table linens, and a servant rushed to blot it up.
Caught between them, Elandra looked from one man to the other. The lamplight seemed to fade near her chair, letting the shadows crowd closer; then all was bright and merry again. She blinked, alarmed, and wondered what had just occurred. It felt as thought a spell had been formed and sent, but she was unaffected.
In her lap, her hand clenched hard on her napkin. She wanted to run from this place, but she couldn’t. Fear burned in her throat, but she held it back until her breathing returned to normal. Swallowing hard, she looked at Tirhin, who sat as though frozen, his face bleak with unhappiness.
“You were saying?” she prompted.
He blinked and seemed to rouse himself. His eyes, dark with resentment, gazed past her at Sien. “I only meant to ask if you intend to sample the many public events and amusements of the city, now that you are released from your bridal confinement.”
She replied with inconsequential chatter, but in her mind she was turning over the true meaning of what he had been about to say before Lord Sien interrupted him. It had been meant as an insult, she was certain.
Elandra sighed. If only she could talk in private with this man and convince him she was not his rival, but such an opportunity had not yet presented itself. She was not certain how to arrange it without causing trouble and talk. She did not want Kostimon to get the idea that she and Tirhin were conspiring against him.
“Your highness looks tired,” Lord Sien now said to the prince across her. “Perhaps you wish to retire.”
Tirhin’s fingers tightened around his wine cup; then he nodded without meeting the priest’s gaze. “Yes. If I may have the permission of the empress to withdraw early? I am a little fatigued.”
“You look unwell,” she said in sympathy, aware that his pallor had intensified. He looked like a ghost above the vibrant hue of his tunic. “Of course you may withdraw.”
Tirhin stood up immediately, swaying against the table as he did so. He bowed to her, graceful, debonair, and tense. With one final glance of resentment, he exited the hall.
Now there was only Lord Sien to talk to. Elandra accepted a pastry filled with almond-flavored cream and toyed with the flaky layers, wishing she also could withdraw.
“Take care, Majesty,” Lord Sien said in a low voice.
She glanced at him in startlement. “In what way?” she asked more sharply than she intended.
Her nervousness made him smile toothily. She felt pinned by his gaze, like a little animal frozen before a predator.
“Do not underestimate the prince.”
Elandra swallowed. “I do not,” she said carefully.
“He has not behaved ... wisely of late. But chagrin can lead to darker motivations if it is not checked.”
This cat-and-mouse conversation annoyed her. She took a chance on being direct. “You mean, it can lead to treason?”
Lord Sien blinked; then amusement glimmered in his hooded eyes. “So you know of that, do you?” he asked.
She glanced around, but the servants had momentarily retreated out of earshot. Although in the full view of hundreds of people, she was effectively alone with this man. He spoke softly beneath the general noise of the banquet, and they were in little danger of being overheard.
A cold chill ran through her, but she sat erect in her chair and faced him without flinching. “I do know of a plot,” she said. “Has the emperor also been informed?”
A snort of laughter, quickly checked, came from the priest. “Did you not run to him with the news?”
She went on looking at him, although inside she found herself shaking with nerves. “Did you?”
He smiled without amusement. “It seems, Majesty, that we both have a strong degree of caution.”
“Meanwhile, Tirhin makes his mischief unchecked.”
“Oh, not exactly,” Lord Sien assured her. “The prince is learning the price of certain actions.”
She did not like the satisfied way in which he said that. She thought of the tremor in the prince’s hands, and felt more afraid. Tirhin had never struck her before as a man easily subdued. What had happened to him on the Forbidden Mountain? What had he done? What had he seen?
The priest selected a pear from a dish and began to cut it into small pieces, spearing each with the tip of his dagger, and eating them with relish.
“Might I ask your Majesty’s sources?” he asked between bites. “You are better informed than I expected.”
“My sources should remain unidentified at present,” she replied. “I will only say that my father taught me that information always plays a vital role in any situation.”
“Ah, Lord Albain.” Lord Sien turned his gaze down the long table, where her father sat shoved back from the table, picking his teeth and making jests with the man beside him. “A formidable warrior.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother. Majesty? What did she teach you?”
Elandra’s teeth gritted together. How smoothly and subtly he reminded her of her own illegitimacy. Temper enabled her to lift her eyes and meet his proudly. “My mother taught me how to survive, Lord Sien.”
Again he blinked, as though he had not expected that sort of answer from her. He considered her a long moment, then slowly nodded. “I see.”
She frowned, longing to terminate this conversation. But with him, she did not quite dare.
At the other end of the hall, the musicians were tuning up. There was to be dancing after the feast, but Elandra did not feel up to that. She sat there, willing this man to go away.
Instead, he cut up a second pear, his hands quick and deft with the knife. “You have had fair warning,” he said now. “Your own informants can supply the rest. Take heed of it, Majesty.”
“Yes.” She knew not what else to say.
“Your guardsmen are wearing their new colors tonight,” he went on. “I advise you to choose a protector as soon as possible. It is your right as sovereign.”
She nodded. “Yes, I have considered it.”
“And will you do more than consider it?”
“Tell me, Lord Sien. In the matter of a protector, must he be from my guard?”
Sien’s deep-set eyes quickened with interest. “No. While customary, it is not required.”
“Then I could choose a warrior from, say, Gialta.”
“You could, although it is inadvisable.”
“Why?”
“It points a direction.”
“I do not understand you.”
He laid down his knife. “It indicates a favoritism to your home province. The empire, Majesty, consists of many provinces all joined together under Kostimon’s banner. That union took a long time to form. It can be broken apart much more easily.”
Again, she had the feeling he was warning her, obliquely, and watching to see if she had the intelligence to understand. Her dislike of him grew.
Sien continued, “That is why the protector is generally chosen from among the guardsmen. Politically neutral.”
“But if I wanted to make my selection elsewhere, I could.”
Sien’s brows lifted. “Yes.”
“If, perhaps, I wanted to choose a Traulander, I could.”
Sudden comprehension leaped in his eyes. “That is unwise, Majesty.”
She had surprised him. She liked that. “Is it? Why?”
“Trau has its own brand of mysticism apart from the rest of the empire. The people are clannish. They seldom venture beyond their own borders. They abhor violence. Few, if any, of them are trained in the high weapons skills required for this position.”
“But if there should be an exception—”
“You mean the games champion, the one who belongs to his highness.”
There it was, out in the open, like a glove of challenge between them. Elandra did not truly intend to select another man’s slave for her protector. The idea was absurd, and would cause unnecessary trouble, yet she wanted to see how far she could push the matter.
“I have heard this man has incredible fighting skills.”
“Have you seen him fight?”
She lowered her gaze modestly. “I am sure you realize, Lord Sien, that I have not been permitted to attend the games.”
“Of course. Naturally his reputation as a swordsman is formidable. But he is only a—”
“Is it not true that he defeated a Madrun savage in combat this week?” she asked.
“I—yes.”
“Is it not true that he is said to fight like a trained member of the Imperial Guard?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged as if to say, Why not?
Lord Sien frowned at her. “The man is a slave, a gladiator, a ruffian. He could not be trusted in the palace. Certainly he could not be trusted with the life of the empress sovereign.”
She thought of Caelan, with his intense blue eyes. She thought of his steely fingers closed about her throat. She thought of his rudeness, his impatience, his stubbornness. No, he was not suitable at all.
“Still,” she persisted, enjoying her game, “he is said to have an unnaturally strong loyalty to his master. Is that his quality, or perhaps it is the prince himself who inspires such dedication in his men.”
Sien studied her a moment, then allowed himself a very faint smile. “Interesting,” he said softly. “I think the empress will make her choice with great prudence according to precedent. The slave is, after all, a condemned man, and not available for the position, even if Prince Tirhin could be persuaded to sell him.”
She was not certain she heard him correctly. “Condemned?” she echoed.
“Yes, Majesty. In the dungeon at this very moment, being tortured for his confession.”
She was appalled. Had the fool tried to denounce Tirhin after all? Was this his reward? “Why?” she asked. “Only a day or so ago, he was being praised by everyone. Half my guardsmen won money on him. What has happened?”
“Have you not heard?”
She was suddenly impatient with the slyness in Sien’s voice. “Obviously I have not heard.”
“Then your informants need better training.”
She made an impatient gesture. “What has happened?”
“You saw how unwell the prince looks.”
“Yes.”
“He was attacked by this slave. Beaten grievously before the attack was stopped by the other servants.”
Her mouth opened. She tried to imagine such an event, and remembered again the brutal crushing of her throat by those strong fingers.
“Yes, Majesty,” Sien said. “His highness has been much shaken. He trusted this slave, dispensed favors to him, granted him much more freedom than he should have. Only to be turned on viciously, like a mad dog.”
Sien was almost smiling as he spoke. Satisfaction radiated from him. She could not understand how he could derive so much pleasure from a horror like this.
“Therefore,” the priest continued, leaning toward her, “do not toy with the idea of acquiring the brute. His head will be adorning the spikes over the city gates soon enough. Look among your own loyal guardsmen for your protector, and do not delay. Kostimon has lived a long time thanks in part to the diligence of his Hovet. If you value survival, on the advice of your esteemed mother, you will heed my counsel in this matter.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you. Lord Sien, for your trouble and for your wisdom. I shall pay great heed to your advice.”
He left her soon afterward, and Elandra stood up to dance with her father. Her head was spinning. She did not know whether to believe Sien or not. Perhaps the Traulander slave was mad. Perhaps he had invented the story of his master’s treason, planning this attack all along. Or perhaps none of it was true.
She felt too confused to sort it out.
Lord Albain was not a good dancer. He stumbled through the intricate steps, red-faced and swearing under his breath.
She would have laughed, but she knew he would misunderstand her amusement and be hurt by it.
“Father, please,” she said at last, out of pity. “Let us step out of the line and watch.”
“By Murdeth, I won’t!” he replied stubbornly, hopping against the beat of the song. “If my daughter wants to dance, I’ll be hanged if I don’t see that she gets to.”
He was endearing, but so miserable she shook her head. “But I am too tired to dance, Father. Truly. Let us stand aside and talk.”
Grumbling and mopping perspiration from his face, he followed her from the dance floor. The music faltered and died, and everyone stopped.
Mortified, Elandra signaled hastily for a chancellor. “Please instruct the musicians to play on,” she said. “I am too fatigued to dance and shall retire soon, but the festivities must continue as long as the guests wish. That is my command.”
The man bowed deeply. “Yes, Majesty.”
He hastened away to confer with the musicians. The tune struck up again, and slowly the couples resumed the reel.
Elandra took her father’s arm and walked with him toward a shadowy alcove, where they might have a small amount of privacy.
“I have longed to talk to you all day,” she said.
He gripped her hand in his large, calloused ones. Now he raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “My little Elandra,” he said gruffly. “Empress of the land. I am proud, very proud.”
“Thank you. Father, about—”
“You must take care, Elandra. Guard yourself well, and do not form alliances within the court too hastily. Consider situations from all sides before you become involved.”
“Yes, Father. But—”
“Intrigues are a nasty business. But they can’t be avoided, not here. The place is rife with them.”
“I have learned.”
“Have you? Good. You were always a clever girl. You will show good judgment now.”
“Yes, but, Father,” she said, gripping his sleeve. “I need to ask your advice—”
He shook his head. “No, child.”
“But—”
“No. I am not the man to advise you. I am just an old warmonger. Fighting is all I know about. The ways and wherefores I leave to others.”
Exasperation rose in her. If he would just listen for a moment, but then he never had. “I need a jinja,” she said hastily before he could cut her off again.
That got his attention. His single eye narrowed at her. “A jinja? Why?”
“There are strange portents,” she said wearily. “You’ve seen the cloud on the horizon.”
He sighed. “All have seen it. An era is ending, child. We all know that.”
“Yes, and I feel the need for protection, for help.”
Albain’s craggy face grew fierce. “Albain blood flows in your veins. Have you forgotten that? Are you afraid?”
She wanted to scream at him to drop this pretense that there should be no fear, ever. She wanted to confess that she was afraid, horribly afraid. She wanted to be held in his arms and reassured. She wanted to find a place where she could feel safe.
But his scorn stiffened her spine. She flung up her head and looked him in the eye. “I have forgotten nothing,” she said, making her voice haughty. “But if the emperor walks nowhere without a man at his back, whom am I to have at mine?”
“Ah. I see. But you need a flesh-and-blood protector, girl, not a jinja.”
“I want both.”
He considered it, pursing his lips. “You know jinjas are forbidden here. I have left mine at the city gates, squalling in a cage in the care of my baggage handlers. It is hard to walk about, feeling the magic that shifts through these halls, and have nothing to sound the alarm.”
“Exactly.”
“Would you defy the emperor?”
“Will you defy me?” she retorted.
He grew very still, his gaze arrested. Then slowly he smiled. “Your mother would have spoken to me in just that way, sharp as a spear, cutting to the heart of the matter. I will see what I can do.”
She smiled at him in grateful relief. “Thank you.”
He held up his forefinger. “There is one problem. You must return to Gialta to claim it.”
“But I do not think I can.”
“It is the only way. There must be the bonding, or a jinja will not serve well, not the way you require.”
“Can there not be a bonding here?”
He shook his head. “It would not work.”
Disappointment filled her. Frowning, she hissed a moment through her teeth. “Then the jinja must wait until I can come.”
“All the more need to select a protector.”
She nodded. “Lord Sien recommends I do so quickly. And he says I should not choose a Gialtan.”
A slow smile spread across Albain’s face. “But I think you do not always listen to this priest, do you?”
An identical smile appeared on her face as she looked up at him. “I listen. I may not heed.”
Albain chuckled a moment, then sobered. “Be careful, girl. He makes a bad enemy.”
“I know. He advises me to choose among my guardsmen, but they have not proven themselves yet. How can I test the one who will best serve me?”
“You are the daughter of a warrior, and the granddaughter of a warrior,” Albain said gravely. “Your mother’s house is very fierce. Listen to what sings in your blood, Elandra. Put your trust in your lineage, in the courage and good sense we have bequeathed you. Don’t listen to the whispers of men. Listen inside.”
She bit her lip and nodded, wishing he could tell her something more tangible. Instinct and guesswork were not always the most reassuring qualities to depend on.
Albain gave her cold hand a squeeze. “By Gault, you have confounded the world already. My girl an empress in her own right. My girl on the throne.” He broke out in an unsuppressible chuckle, wheezing a little. “By Gault, I used to think myself poorly favored, with two girls and no sons, but now ... Ha, ha! Show them what you’re made of. Show them, Elandra! Let your mother’s fire blaze forth. Do what you damned well please, and don’t stand aside for any of them.”
She wanted to. With all her heart she longed to seize the world with both hands and make it her own. Yet she was so afraid of making a mistake.
It was like standing on the brink of a cliff. If she spread out her hands and believed in herself, she could soar like an eagle. If she clung to herself in doubt and worry, she would plummet like a stone.
“I will tell you this, and then I must go,” he said, bending close to her ear. “The best course to confound the intriguers is to hew to your own truth. Do what they least expect and never back down. Remember you have the upper hand. And for the sake of Gault, do not offend the emperor. He has promised me extra lands on my western boundary.”
She could have snapped in frustration. What good was his advice when he contradicted himself? Do as she pleased but don’t offend the emperor? Still, what had she expected? His advice was better than anything else she’d been told.
“Will you send me your armies should I ever need them?” she asked in a very quiet voice.
Albain froze. His one good eye narrowed, and his jovial mood vanished. For an instant he was like a hawk sighting prey, still and dangerous.
“I swore an oath to you today. What more do you seek?”
“The oath was sworn to the throne,” she replied, taut with nervousness at what she was daring to ask. “I ask you now for more than that.”
“You mean when the cloud descends and you and the prince will fight for what’s left of the empire?”
“Yes,” she said.
Her senses seemed to heighten. She heard the music, glimpsed the dancing and laughter, but her being remained focused on him and his answer. Time came to a halt around her, and she almost ceased to breathe. She must have one piece of solid ground, one true assurance to count on for insurance against what might possibly come in the future. Even if it was only refuge.
Albain drew in a deep breath and glanced around slowly and openly to make sure they were out of earshot. He put his back to the company so that no one could read his lips.
“Elandra,” he said in a quiet voice, “if ever you have need, I will unleash my armies and rend the empire from one end to the other. Merely send me word, and my sword arm is yours till death.”