Shadow War (18 page)

“Yes, I am
impertinent, because I speak to you tonight as your equal. Is that not what you
wanted from me? Is that not what you assigned me?”

“Not yet!” he
roared. “Not until tomorrow—”

She chopped across
this impatiently. “What do these niceties matter in a crisis? Only a few days
past you spoke to me of holding the empire together. If you panic, what choice
do the people have?”

“How dare you?” he
whispered, his yellow eyes blazing. “How dare you accuse me of panicking?”

“Haven’t you?”

They glared at
each other in tense silence. It was the emperor who dropped his gaze first.

“I have never
panicked in my life. I see how greedy you are for power, how swiftly you grab
for it at the first opportunity—”

“You threw it at
me!” she shouted, truly furious now. He was unfair, stupidly unfair. She had
liked him, believed in him, but in reality he was just a wicked old man who
would turn on even the people who loved him. “Did I caress you and whisper to
you, begging to be crowned a sovereign? Did I? Did I ever ask for it? Did I
ever scheme for it? No! If nothing else, at least admit the truth!”

“I make my own
truth!”

“Then it is good
your throne has broken! Has the weight of your own caprice and injustice
shattered it? How can you think only of yourself at such a time? How can you be
so selfish?”

“I am the only one
who matters,” he told her. “I am the center of the world. Everything revolves
around me. You were a fool to forget that. Hovet!”

The door opened,
and the protector entered. He saw in a glance their flushed, angry faces. He
drew his sword, advancing slowly.

She was too angry
at this shortsighted, arrogant man to care about the danger she was in.

“If you were not
so conceited and vain,” she said sharply, “you would understand that I agree
with you! Of course you are the center of our world, the center of the empire.
It
does
depend on you. It needs you to stand firm and calm, to look
unconcerned by this omen. It needs you to mend the throne so that the people
need not know what has happened. It needs you to sit on it and to dispense your
justice as you have always done. Sweet Gault, man, send to the Choven to come
and repair it, or ask them to make you another, but do not crumple before your
own servants and say you are finished. If you believe it, they will also. Then
the empire
will
begin to die. And it will be your fault.”

By the end of her
speech, Hovet had reached her. Grimly, he held his sword ready, awaiting the
order to strike her down.

Breathing hard,
spent from her emotions, Elandra raised her chin and glared at the emperor like
a true Albain. Inside, her heart was hammering, but she was glad to die in a
fight, glad to die with her blood hot and her last words the truth. Kostimon
would not see her quail, she assured herself, trying to maintain her courage.
He would not see her back down.

The emperor raised
his hand, only to let his fingers curl weakly. Lowering his hand, he shook his
head at Hovet, who looked almost disappointed. The emperor snapped his fingers
in dismissal, and Hovet trudged out again, sheathing his sword as he did so.

Elandra thought
she might faint with relief. Barely she held herself together and went on
standing there, proud and straight, her chin still high.

“By the gods,” the
emperor said quietly. He still looked angry, but he was calmer now. Reason had
returned to his eyes. “It is true, my assessment. I said you would go to the
wall for what you believe in, and you have.”

Her anger came
back, a flash of white heat in her face. “Was this another test?”

“No.” He gestured
at his broken throne. “Even I would not go to these lengths to test you.”

She turned her
back on him, filled with disappointment so sharp it was like a pain through her
ribs. “I believed you,” she whispered. “I thought you meant all the things you
said. But it was only a cloud, fluffy and bright, meant to amuse us, nothing
more.”

He did not pretend
to misunderstand her. “Yes, I talked to you about ruling for me. I have trained
you, raised your expectations. I admit that.” He sighed. “But when you seized
the reins just now, I—” He broke off and frowned. “I did not like it.”

She remained with
her back to him, unable to face him now. It was impossible to keep her broken
illusions from her face, and she did not want him to see how deeply he had hurt
her. “Of course you did not like it,” she agreed softly.

Silence fell
between them. She understood. He had clawed his way to power, then fought
fiercely to maintain it. For a thousand years he had fended off every foe, and
there had been many. He could not relinquish his throne now, not even to a
regent. Not even to her. She had known it in her heart all along, had known it
was too incredible to be true.

What she had not
known, had not suspected, was how much she wanted it.

It was as though
only in the loss did she see the truth of her own ambitions. She was shocked,
and as angry at herself as at him.

“Will you have me
moved back to the women’s wing, Majesty?” she asked finally to break the
silence. She even forced herself to turn around as she said it. “Will you send
me into exile?”

He frowned in
instant scorn. “Don’t be stupid,” he said sharply. “There will be a coronation,
even if it’s only to name you consort. The imperial family always moves
forward. We never step back.” He eyed her long and hard, his mouth set in a
thin line. “Go and get your rest. You have a long and arduous day ahead of you.”

Her mouth was
equally set. Formally, she gave him a deep curtsy, then collected her lamp and
dagger. Clinging to the tatters of her dignity, she stepped back behind the
curtains and took her private passageway back to her chambers. Just before she
went in, she left her weapon on the table and extinguished her lamp.

Inside her rooms,
she found her ladies in waiting awake now and flustered in their nightrobes.

“My lady!” one of
them cried. “What has come about? We could not find you. We have heard such
terrible rumors. We were afraid and nearly sent the guardsmen to search for
you.”

Elandra eyed them
coldly. “I was with his Imperial Majesty,” she said in a voice like ice.

“Oh.”

Her attendants
faltered. Some of them exchanged glances. She saw all of it in an instant, read
their minds as clearly as though they spoke their thoughts aloud. A fresh sense
of failure twisted in Elandra’s heart. If they wanted to think she had been in
her husband’s bed, so be it. That would at least start other rumors that might
distract them from the truth.

After dismissing
her ladies, she did not return to bed. Instead, she paced back and forth in
front of her window, shivering and clutching her robes around her. Visions of
the shattered throne haunted her. It and the dark cloud on the horizon were
clear omens. The gods had spoken plainly. The end was near. At least for
Kostimon, if not for them all. Swallowing hard, she kept telling herself she
should be grateful she wasn’t dead or cast out. But she wasn’t grateful. She
found herself growing angrier with every step.

What was her place
now? Kostimon had admitted that he could not support his own intentions. At the
first crisis, his kindness had fallen away to reveal the true man beneath. A
cruel, manipulative man, with a mind from the dark ages, who asked her to help
him yet would not let her try. He had humiliated her, and believed to do so was
his right.

There could be no
apology from the emperor. Probably he believed that letting her live was amends
enough.

Be grateful, she
told herself.

But she could not
be grateful. She would rather choke.

Be humble, she
told herself.

Her pride was
thundering out of control. Humility could not even be approached.

Go through with it
and wait for another chance.

But that thought
appalled her. She was no schemer. She was not like Tirhin, with his plots and
intrigues.

She thought of her
oaths to be spoken tomorrow. Hot tears sprang to her eyes. How could she go
through with any of it? A vow had to be honest and heartfelt, if it was to mean
anything. Her integrity would not let her mumble empty words, simply for
personal gain.

She could defy
him. She could refuse to proceed further. She could ruin her father, destroy
the long-range plans of the Penestricians, walk away from an empire teetering
on the edge of civil war and chaos. She could retreat to a Penestrican
stronghold and live out her days in silence.

And wasn’t that
what the Vindicants were praying for? Wouldn’t that hand everything to Tirhin
on a platter?

She frowned,
feeling more confused than ever. She did not know the prince, did not know if
he was a good man or a bad one. He was handsome, certainly, but that did not
mark a man’s worth. How could she judge his merits, or decide the course of his
future? Who had given her the right to decide anything? She was alone, with no
one to advise her. At least no one she trusted.

She went on
pacing, feeling pinned under the direct scrutiny of the gods, and could not
determine what she should do.

All during the
morning her entourage surrounded her like magpies, coming and going in
excitement, chattering constantly. There was an atmosphere of great expectancy
among her ladies, who knew nothing of the truth. Rumors flew in all directions,
but the throne room had been locked—even her private passage was now
barred—with guards at the door. The people who had witnessed the scene in the
throne room had all vanished, including Chancellor Wilst, without explanation.

Elandra knew what
had happened to them. Or at least she guessed.

It angered her
that her husband would silence people, even good, useful people like the
chancellor, with such untoward finality. While she would have commanded their
promise to not speak of what they had witnessed, Kostimon simply used execution
to silence them. Like a barbarian, he treated death and mutilation casually.
People were completely expendable, in his view. It was the side of his
personality that terrified her.

She said little
while her ladies chattered. She had a headache, and she felt nervous and tired.
Then her tutor came in, with yet another version of her coronation oath.

“At last!” he said
in excitement, waving the sheaf of papers. “There has been an agreement within
the priesthood. Lord Sien has graciously conceded one point which the emperor
wanted most particularly. All can proceed now.”

Elandra looked at
Milgard coldly. It was tempting to tell him that his efforts were for naught.
She was only to be a consort after all. Everything would have to be changed
back to the original ceremonies and protocol. She wondered when the emperor
would deign to inform his chancellors. Probably at the last moment, just to
watch them sweat and bustle.

Then her own
bitterness dismayed her anew. She tried to shake herself into a better frame of
mind.

“Now, Majesty,”
Milgard said eagerly. He pulled over a footstool and stood on it beside her.
She stood on her cushion like a statue, arms extended while the seamstresses
made finite adjustments to the fitting gown she wore over her clothing. “Let us
begin. It will occupy your mind while you stand here being stuck with pins.
Repeat after me—”

“No,” Elandra said
suddenly.

Her head was
splitting. The room was too hot and too full of people. She could bear no more
of this.

Gesturing the
seamstresses aside, she stepped down off her cushion and shrugged off the
fitting gown.

“I wish my cloak
and veil,” she said.

Looks of
consternation flashed about her. “Majesty,” Milgard stammered, “there is little
time to learn what you must say. Tomorrow the eyes of the empire will be upon
you. It is important that you speak well. Rehearsal is—”

Elandra snapped
her fingers, and one of the ladies hastened to throw her fur-lined cloak about
her shoulders. Elandra pulled up the hood and fastened her veil into place.

“Majesty, please,”
Milgard said, looking distraught. He ran his long, ink-stained fingers through
his graying hair.

“Not now,” she
said tonelessly. “I wish to go for a walk.”

The ladies put
down needlework and other activities in immediate compliance. They went to get
their cloaks, but Elandra raised her hand.

“Stop. I will walk
alone. I wish no accompaniment.”

They protested,
but she left her chambers and walked rapidly outside into the frosty air of
midday. The winter  sunshine looked pale and blighted today. Even inside the
protected walls of her garden, her flowers had been nipped by frost. They
drooped, the edges of their leaves rimmed in black. Two guardsmen trailed after
her, keeping a respectful distance.

Elandra glanced
over her shoulder at them once, and quickened her step. Her garden walls loomed
high, and she felt enclosed inside a topless box. This was a prison, no matter
how comfortable. She felt confined and frustrated. Why must she be watched over
constantly? What harm could befall her here within the palace? Why, for once,
could she not be alone?

Her head ached
more fiercely. Stopping a moment to rub her temples with her gloved fingers,
she drew in several breaths of frosty air. Nothing helped. The tension knotting
her neck did not slacken. And it was too cold for her to linger out here.

Yet she did not
want to return to her chambers to be fussed over endlessly, suffocated with
attention. Abruptly she made a decision and veered from her garden. Indoors,
she headed toward another section of the palace, walking with swift
determination. Her guards moved closer. Unobtrusive, yet there in her wake. She
reminded herself they followed to protect her, yet she did not feel safe.