Shadow War (16 page)

Her gown was
fashioned entirely from cloth of gold, its stiff heavy folds reaching to the
floor and extending behind her in a train that pulled at her shoulders. Over it
she would wear the robes, so heavily embroidered with gold thread and trimmed
with rare white sable from Trau that they were too stiff for her to sit in. The
robes and gown combined weighed almost as much as she. Every morning she had to
don a bulky contraption fashion of thin plate metal and practice walking back
and forth in it. It was crucial that she be able to move gracefully in her
first and most important public appearance. She had to be able to curtsy in the
robes without falling, and she would have to kneel and rise to her feet without
assistance. Then there was the crown to manage as well, and she would be given
a scepter to hold aloft—without wavering—as she recited her oath.

At night, too
weary for restful sleep, she often dreamed that she was climbing a thousand
steps with a tremendous burden on her back. She climbed and climbed forever,
until her legs and back were aching, yet the steps never ended.

How amazing it was
to think that just over a year ago, she was an insignificant girl in her father’s
household, working as a menial in her half-sister’s service, assigned to run
errands and do stitchery.

Even now, when she
tried to think back to her wedding day, the memory was clouded in a haze. She
had been so nervous she thought she would faint. Heavily veiled and richly
gowned, she had gone into the temple on the arm of her beaming father.
Vindicant priests had chanted over her and the emperor. She and Kostimon held
hands, and the high priest tied a silk cord around their wrists. Then had come
the blessing, and the drink of sacramental wine. Past that, she had only vague
recollections of sitting for hours under the suffocating veil while the
feasting went on. She’d been too terrified to eat or drink all day, but
Kostimon had been kind to her.

He had come to her
chamber and unveiled her. For a long time he had stood gazing at her, as though
to drink in her beauty. He had been old and strange in his festive clothes of
imperial purple, a tasseled cap on his head. His skin was creased and
weathered, but not as much as she expected. He looked no older than a man of
seventy, instead of nine hundred years more. His eyes were yellow and very
wise. They twinkled at her before he smiled. Only then did she relax and begin
to feel that she would survive.

“You are very
lovely my dear,” he had said to her. “Exquisite, in an unusual way, and a
little like someone I loved long, long ago. If the gods are kind to us, perhaps
I will come to love you too. And perhaps you will love me. But we will not rush
it. There is plenty of time to get acquainted first. You look exhausted. Your
day has been long, and so has mine. We will talk again tomorrow.”

Approaching her,
he gave her a gentle little kiss on the forehead, the way her father might have
kissed her goodnight. “Sleep well, little one.”

And that was their
beginning, a slowly evolving friendship based on courtesy and respect. She
could not have been more grateful.

In this year, she
understood she was on trial. She could make no public appearances. She had to
keep to her own private quarters in the women’s wing, confined to a suite of
rooms and her own small garden. This was chafing. Sometimes she thought she
would go mad from all the restrictions. But her Penestrican training helped
her.

She read all she
could, and her request for tutoring was granted with amusement. Finally,
Elandra could have the education she’d always wanted. She took to her studies
with zest.

After a while the
emperor began to drop by to talk to her. He would quiz her about her studies,
and when he found her to be both intelligent and conversant, his visits became
regular and longer. They played chess, and he taught her military strategy in
the process. Sometimes he would conceal her behind a panel in his audience room
while he conducted business. Then he would question her afterward for her
reactions and judgments.

With his
encouragement, she grew less timid and learned how to state her opinions and
even defend them without growing uncertain or confused.

He acted more like
a parent than a husband, and began to take pride in her. He showed her off to
his chancellors. He deferred some decisions to her. He watched.

And last month he
had come to her one afternoon when she was playing the lute in her garden. He
dismissed her attendants and took her hand in his rough ones. His yellow eyes
had never been so serious.

It frightened her
suddenly. She found herself lost in his eyes, in their age, wisdom, and
coldness. He was looking at her as though they were strangers, and her heart
stopped beating.

Perhaps it was
over, she told herself. He had tired of her. She was not feminine enough for
him. He had never consummated their union. That alone should have warned her.
Now he had come to tell her he was putting her aside. Perhaps she would go to
the prisons, or perhaps her father would take her home to Gialta. Her very life
depended on the whim of this man.

She tried to meet
his gaze bravely, but she found herself trembling.

Kostimon bent over
her and kissed her full on the lips, something he had never done before. As a
caress it was exploratory and expert, but she felt no spark between them,
nothing in him.

Straightening, he
stroked her face with his fingers. “Our year is nearly over,” he said.

She struggled to
hide her fear, to show nothing except attentiveness. “Yes,” she whispered, her
voice not quite steady.

“I have had you
all to myself. Now that is ending as the bridal year draws to a close.” He
smiled briefly. “In a month you will be crowned.”

She started
breathing again, with such a sudden gulp of air she found herself coughing.
Reaching for a handkerchief, she pressed it to her lips.

“Forgive me,” she
gasped, trying to stop the coughs without success. “I am not heeding you with
much composure.”

He laughed at that
and touched her hair. “So I see. Did you think I would cast you out?”

“I—” To her
mortification, she felt her face burning. She tried to meet his eyes and couldn’t.
“I have failed to be a —wife.”

He laughed again,
while her embarrassment grew hotter. She longed to throw herself in the
reflecting pool.

“Ela,” he said
fondly, using his pet name for her. “You silly child, I have no need for a bed
companion. There are plenty of those, disposable pretties with no thought in
their heads.”

Still staring hard
at her hands, Elandra frowned and began pulling her delicate handkerchief to
pieces.

“You are so much
more,” he said, pride evident in his voice. He put his knuckle under her chin
and tilted up her head. “Look at me.”

Her gaze shifted
away.

“Look at me,” he
commanded.

She obeyed him,
still upset although she wasn’t sure why. It took effort to meet his eyes, but
she saw no anger or disappointment there. She bit her lip to stop it from
trembling and tried to listen.

“You are spirited
and courageous,” he said. “Better than that, you are pure of heart and true of
conviction. I have been neither for centuries. You would go to the wall for
what you believe in. Imperia needs that.”

Her eyes filled
with tears. “Let me give you sons,” she whispered.

He shook his head.
“I have a son. I do not need more. They have always disappointed me.”

“Then—”

“Hear me,” he
said, putting his finger across his lips. “I believe in nothing anymore. I have
lived too long. Seen too much. Been disillusioned too many times. But you have
brought hope back into my heart. You, and you alone. I have tested you, and
found you worthy. I have had discussions with your father. I have even talked
to the Penestrican witches about you.”

She frowned at
that, but before she could speak, he continued, “I am going to crown you
sovereign empress, Ela.”

She looked at him,
stunned.

He smiled. “Do you
understand what that means?”

Her wits were
scattered, yet this was no time to be undone. She struggled to find her voice. “I—you
want me—I am to—”

“You will rule
with me, as me, for me.”

She swallowed,
choking a little, and had nothing to say. The magnitude of it overwhelmed her.

“I am getting old,”
he said, then grimaced wryly at his own understatement. “Let me rephrase that.
I am coming to the end of my time. I have cheated death a long, long while. But
that is over. The augurs have cast no prophecy after me. There has been no one
named who will follow me.”

She knew that. It
made her feel slightly faint.

“Some say the
world will end,” she said softly, and by sheer strength of will managed not to
glance at the black cloud that had lain across the northern horizon for several
days now. “Some say we are facing the end of time.”

“Some say that,”
he agreed. “Fools. I do not believe such superstitions. I am emperor, but I
remain a man. To the gods, I am not important enough for them to end the world
they play with. But neither will I go peaceably; neither will I go without
putting my stamp on who is to follow me.”

She was feeling
stronger now. Her thoughts were more coherent. “Will it be the prince?”

“Probably. If he
is man enough to seize control without destroying the empire in the process.”
The emperor shrugged. “I do not worry about Tirhin. If it should be someone
else, then that is for the gods to decide. But I want my final days to be easy.
I am tired, Ela. I am bored at last with my power, and that tells me my time is
near.”

“No—”

“Hush! Don’t start
any foolishness now, not when I’ve decided to depend on you. Be strong. You are
to rule in my final days, leaving me free to be as idle as I wish. Fauvina
ruled at my side in the early part of my reign. She had a mind much like yours,
tough and quick, resourceful and clever. She aided me much when we were forging
the empire. You will aid me now in preserving it.”

For a moment he
looked into the distance, very much lost in his thoughts.

Elandra dropped
her ruined handkerchief on the ground and drew in several deep breaths. To rule
... to sit at council and make decisions ... excitement burst inside her, then
she swiftly quelled it, afraid to believe it could be true. It was a monumental
responsibility. No one had prepared her for this. Even the Penestricians, with
their visions, had not foreseen such a turning. They had taught her to please,
had taught her to be patient, had advised her to bear children quickly in order
to secure her influence. She had realized months ago that the Penestricians—for
all their wisdom— had no real understanding of what went on in the palace or
how the mind of the emperor worked. How could they, when they had been banished
from Imperia for centuries?

But to rule as
empress ... what would her father say? Would he be proud, or would he be
horrified? After all, who would accept her in such a role? Why, all the lords
of the provinces would have to come and bow to her in fealty, even her own
father. They wouldn’t do it. Not those men. They were warriors, and she was a
woman.

“I understand,”
she said quietly, lifting her chin. “I am to hold the empire together until
Tirhin takes over. I am to make a stable transition of power.”

The emperor turned
back to her with a look of approval. “Excellent! I knew you would grasp it
without tedious explanation. But hear this: hold it for the boy, or hold it for
yourself. I care not. I am done with it, if I can be left alone. If you want
this empire for yourself, then hold it, girl! Hold it hard in your fist, and
never let it go! Never stand back for another, do you hear? Not unless that is
truly what you wish.”

He glared at her,
clenching his square hands into fists that were still powerful. “If there is
any tiny part of you that wants to keep the throne for yourself, then do what
is necessary to hold it. Choose your own consort and found your own dynasty.
Make it what you want. That is my gift to you ... this chance to shape the
world to your liking.”

As quickly as it
had come, his vehemence faded. He blinked his yellow eyes and tilted his head
to one side to look at her quizzically. “Well, that’s enough for now. You’ll
have time to chew it over, see if you like it. Tirhin has no more claim to the
throne than you or anyone off the street. I earned my throne, and by the gods I
do not relish handing it over to any young pup who thinks he can demand it by
some ridiculous right of birth. Fight him, marry him, or depose him. I do not
care. Just bring me peace in my final days. That is all I ask of you.”

She rose to her
feet, gripping his rough hands in her slender ones. “You have my promise,” she
said earnestly. “All I can do, I will.”

“I know,” he said
with a smile, and left her.

From that day, the
news had spread through the palace like wildfire. Peace became a laughable
word, for it was not to be found. All was chaos and preparations. And now that
the event was finally close at hand, there were endless feastings and
celebrations that exhausted her and certainly must be exhausting the emperor.

She hadn’t spoken
to him privately for nearly two weeks. Meanwhile, Tirhin sulked in his own
house, complained to his friends, and declined all invitations from his father.
He was acting like a spoiled child, which perhaps he was. Only he was too old
for such behavior. He was making the emperor angry with his petty defiance, and
Elandra had lost patience with him also.

Although she had
met the prince publicly, in her veil, she had never really talked to him. After
her coronation, however, she would be able to come and go as she pleased. She
could attend public functions, and she could leave off her veil. She could do
anything she liked, and that aspect as yet seemed like a dream. It was
exciting, but frightening as well.