The Pearls (21 page)

Gods, he'd far rather wade into a battlefield with a blade in his fist than sit through these long afternoons of sword rattling from old fools who were more theory than practicality.

Standing behind his chair, Elandra rubbed his tight shoulders. “You're thinking of the mutiny.”

Surprised, he caught one of her hands and kissed it. He loved the shape and scent of her fingers. “So you know.”

“Of course. I pay my informants well.”

Tipping back his head, he gazed up at her. “It could spread rapidly.”

“But it won't. You can count on General Turmikian's loyalty. There are bound to be traitors who escaped the initial reforms. They'll be cleaned out, given time and patience.”

“But if these shadow lovers infect the rest of the army—”

She bent and kissed him. “Have faith, Light Bringer.”

A squeal came from the opposite end of the room, accompanied by a ferocious spitting snarl and an explosion of cushions in all directions. The
jinja
clawed its way up a tapestry and leaped atop a cabinet of intricately carved fyr wood, hissing down at Jarel, who patted the base of the cabinet and laughed.

The maid pounced, swathing His Imperial Highness in the towel and lifting him despite his struggles. His laughter became a howl, and then wails of rage filled the air. The maid brought him back to his parents to be kissed and petted despite his red face and huge tears of fury. Still howling, he was carried away to bed, and peace settled over the room.

Elandra smiled in that special way she reserved for Caelan alone. “I must go and dress for this evening. We want to make a good impression, don't we?”

“What sort of man is this ambassador?” Caelan asked.

“I'm not sure. I've never met him, but my reports say he's very proud, very haughty.”

Her expression had not changed, but Caelan knew her well enough to discern a fleeting shadow in her eyes.

“Too proud to bow to a former slave and the illegitimate daughter of his warlord?” he asked.

She uttered a rueful laugh, her eyes wise as they met Caelan's. “How do you always know what I'm thinking? He's a Pareve. That family has always thought itself very superior, even to the House of Albain. He'll be a snob.”

Caelan shrugged. He no longer worried about the past, and experience had taught him that snobbery could not break down the unassailable fact that he was emperor and everyone else was not. “Are you going to wear cloth of gold and all your topazes?”

Elandra shook her head. “That would be trying too hard. He doesn't rate that much ceremony.”

Kissing his cheek, she vanished into her bedchamber, where he heard the babble of women's voices as the mysteries of his wife dressing for dinner began. Caelan had to smile at her tactics, for she'd deliberately neglected to tell him what she was wearing. He'd learned that it was a woman's way to weave mystery and little surprises through a marriage. If that's what she wanted, if that's how she thought she kept her allure vital, then he was content to let her do so. In fact, he cared not what she wore or how she fastened up her hair. She was his, and together they were happy. That was all that mattered.

Yet as he accepted a fresh cup from the servants, a sudden sense of uneasiness crawled through him. Frowning, he put the cup down untasted. Such feelings had come to him with increasing frequency this week. He could not trace them, had at first dismissed them as political worries.

Now, feeling less sure, he beckoned to his protector.

The man strode over, alert and calm. “Yes, Majesty?”

“As we leave for the banquet,” Caelan said quietly, his gaze resting on Elandra's closed door, “inform the Imperial Guards that I want extra men posted for the protection of the empress and my son.”

The protector frowned. “Is there a problem, Majesty?”

Caelan looked at him. “Let's just say I want to avoid one.”

L
ea
crouched in the bushes near a trickling stream, uneasily aware of the guard watching her from atop a rock a short distance away. Bandy-legged and so covered in tattoos that his skin looked blue, he was the one she liked the least, the one who had a habit of staring at her while licking his mouth and sniggering. His gaze gave her the chills, but she tried very hard to ignore him. She did not want him to realize how much they frightened her, especially with the commander gone from camp.

Warily she put a garment in the water to soak, weighting it down with stones while she scrubbed another. She had positioned herself in a way to block the guard from seeing what she was cleaning, but doing so made it difficult to keep an eye on him.

“Spirits, come to me,” she murmured.

Thus far, she'd sensed neither water nor earth spirits nearby. She tried to clear her mind and center herself, but each time the guard snickered, fresh alarm shot through her, scattering her concentration.

During the past seven days, they'd left snow country for a warmer, rockier clime. The land lay dry and golden under an autumn sun. Sparse grasses were turning brown, and slender trees shivered yellow-tipped leaves in the wind while birds flitted among their branches. In the rocks across the stream, a beady-eyed chippaqui stared at her, too wild and shy to come entirely into the open. Had it not been for the guard, Lea would have enticed the small animal with acorns and pine nuts, but she did not try. The guard was likely to kill it for fun.

This was the first day they'd camped in idleness. Some of the men had gone hunting while the rest lay sprawled about, dicing with low-pitched laughter and much wagering, or just snoring on their backs. It was the first day the commander had let Lea out of his sight, and she was determined to seize the opportunity.

“Spirits,” she whispered again, calling harder with her mind. “Spirits, come!”

They did as they pleased, of course. She could not be sure they would answer at all, and indeed it was risky to call element spirits in strange country, for she did not know whether they would prove to be benign or malevolent. After Rinthella's death she'd been leery of trying, but now she felt desperate. There had been plenty of night marches lately when she wished with all her heart that the dreadful wind spirits of Trau would appear and scour these brutes to mere heaps of bone.

“Tylik!” a voice shouted.

Startled, Lea dropped the dainty scrap of underlinen she was washing and had to lunge quickly to keep it from floating down the stream.

“Yo,” her guard replied lazily.

“Got anything to bet? Cleef wants to play Serpent's Tongue.”

From the corner of her eye, Lea saw Tylik stand up on his rock to talk to the man who'd joined him.

“What? He find a snake's nest?”

“Pretty little striped ones, all wrapped up in a cozy knot. You in?”

Tylik licked his mouth and glanced at Lea. “On duty.”

“You can still bet, can't you?”

“Dunno.” Tylik glanced at Lea again while she kept at her washing, pretending not to listen. “Cleef's got a hide like a beetle. What would bite him?”

“Said he'd put his hand in the nest and pull one out. Challenged Brofy to do the same.”

“Brofy?” Tylik howled with laughter, slapping his leg. “I want to see
him
holding a snake's tail. Bet you fifty he'll squeal and dance around like a Penestrican witch.”

“Done!” the other man said. “Come on.”

“Can't. Got duty.”

“Watching her? That ain't duty. That's a pleasure.”

The way he said the last word made both men snigger. An icy chill prickled along Lea's spine. She tensed, her fingers tight around a stone.

“Got sentries posted, Tylik. She can't get away. Hurry and let's see this. With any luck, the commander will never know you took your eye off her.”

“Wish I had more of me on her than that,” Tylik said, as he followed the other man away.

As they left, Lea eased out her breath and ducked her head in an effort to master her anger. She slammed the stone once, very hard, against the ground. “Earth spirits!”

One came, as though it had been waiting for Tylik to leave her. She felt, then saw, the ripple in the ground, and the soft dirt at the stream's edge bulged slightly next to her.

At once she pressed her palm to the soil, feeling the sun-warmed surface, then the coolness beneath that. Rough and gritty to her touch, the earth spirit trembled like something half-wild.

With her mind, she soothed it, even as she calmed herself. With her
quai
gathered around her, she saw the spirit's brown face peering up at her.

“You are Lea,”
it said into her mind.

“I am,” she whispered.

“Lea, queen of us, welcome. Many treasures have we to share.”

“Thank you, but not now, please,” she whispered urgently, knowing she had little time. “I accept your tribute with thanks, but do not bring it to me now.”

“It is brought already.”

And she saw the soil's surface sparkle, as though diamonds were catching the sunlight. Disappointment caught at her throat, but she made herself say, “How lovely.”

“You do not like,”
the spirit said flatly.
“This tribute offends you.”

“No, I accept it with thanks.” Anxious to make amends, she scooped up the diamonds and held them cupped in her palm. They were all very small and rough-edged, but their centers held fire. She only wished they were
gli
-diamonds, but these possessed no magic to help her.

“I need
gli
-stones.” She knew it was wrong to ask for a gift, for anything specific. The earth spirits bestowed on her whatever they wished, and could not be directed. “Forgive me, but I am in trouble. That is why I ask.
Gli
-stones could help me.”

“There is no
gli
here. You ask for what cannot be given.”

Disappointment unbalanced her
quai
, and she struggled to maintain it. “Can you take me from here? Can I ride your back
between
?”

Tiny nuggets of gold gleamed in the soil before her. She picked them up, one by one, mixing them with the diamonds.

“You ask for what cannot be given,”
the earth spirit said.
“Our tribute is small.”

“I accept your tribute with gratitude,” she replied formally. “I am in trouble. Will you tell the Choven I am here?”

The spirit stared at her, brown and impassive, but it did not speak.

She felt her heart beating faster, and tried to stay calm. “Please tell the Choven I am here.”

“What is Choven?”

“Wanderers. People of the—”

“No.”
Another diamond appeared, larger than the others and yellow in hue.
“You ask for what cannot be given. There are no wanderers.”

In the distance, the men whooped with laughter, and wild oaths rose above the noise. Lea lost her concentration, and the earth spirit vanished with a faint rumble of disturbed soil.

Dismayed, she curbed her impulse to call after it, for she knew it would not return. Had she been wearing her
gli
-emeralds, it might have obeyed her. Without them, she was lucky it had come to her at all. She knelt there, fighting back tears, and wished she could summon a dozen spirits to shake the very ground, destroying the camp and her captors with it.

They roared with fresh laughter.

“What are you doing?”

She jumped, her heart in her throat, and saw the commander in his black armor looming over her. Refusing to remain kneeling before him, she scrambled to her feet. Her face burned, and she would not look at him.

His dark gaze swept her, the meager amount of washing, and the setting itself. Without his helmet, he looked younger but no less formidable.

Clean-shaven, his black hair cropped extremely close to his skull, he stood before her now with bleak eyes, thinned mouth, and a jaw of granite. For a guilty moment she wondered if he'd seen her communicating with the earth spirit. But then he always looked at her with suspicion. Laughter rarely lit his face. No gentle manner ever softened him. His force of will was a hammer that beat his ruffians into submission day after day, so that they marched where he led them, made do with short rations when he gave them no time to hunt, and obeyed him without question.

Bending over her, he took her clenched hand and forced her fingers to uncurl. The diamonds and nuggets were revealed, bright in the sunshine.

His gaze sharpened. “Where did you get these?”

Haughtily she lifted her palm to him, offering him the jewels and gold without answering his question.

He did not take them. “Where did you get these?”

“Does it matter? You want them. Have them.”

Still he did not move. His dark eyes narrowed on her. “You are generous with your wealth today. Why?”

“Would it matter if I wanted to keep my belongings?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, telling her the insult had registered. Slowly he took the diamonds and gold from her hand and pocketed them, his eyes daring her to protest.

She dusted off her hands, despising his arrogance, and transferred her disappointment with the earth spirit into anger at him.

“Where is your guard?” he asked.

Shrugging, she gathered up her small amount of washing.

He dashed it from her hand. “I asked you a question!”

Furiously, she picked up the two pieces of damp white linen and snapped them to shake off the dirt and mud. “I'm not responsible for your men.”

“You are, if you've spirited one into thin air.”

“Is that what you think I can do? Why haven't I spirited myself away, then?”

“You will,” he said grimly. “Given the chance, that's exactly what you'll do.”

Fresh guilt crawled through her. She felt as though her thoughts were branded on her face for him to read.

“What have you been up to?” he asked.

“Nothing!” She shook her head. “My washing. That is all.”

“Liar. If you've harmed—”

“I wish I
could
harm him! And you!” she said, losing her temper. “I wish I had these magical powers you think I possess. Then I would show you. I would teach you—”

Realizing what she was about to say, horrified by her loss of inner harmony, she choked back the words and bent to immerse her garments in the stream.

He remained silent behind her for a few moments, then strode away. Shortly afterward, she heard the men's laughter cut off and his voice, as cold and level as a frozen pond, speaking to them.

Tylik came scurrying back through the trees, scowling as he took up his position on the rock. He clutched his money purse in one blue-tattooed hand and was mumbling and cursing to himself. Catching her looking at him, he shouted an insult that burned her ears.

Trembling, she gathered up her things quickly. As she left, heading back to camp, Tylik followed her, his eyes insolent and insulting.

There had to be a way to escape these brutes, she thought. If only she could get her necklace away from the commander. If only she could just run. However, she dared try nothing foolish, for if ever opportunity came to her it would do so only once.

In camp, a man lay sprawled on the ground among their makeshift tents and rickety shelters made from cut tree branches. He was twitching and moaning, clutching his hand that had swelled to twice its normal size. The others stood around him, watching him suffer. No one went to his aid.

Appalled by the sight, Lea stumbled to a halt.

She saw an enormous, thick-shouldered brute with a shaved head kneel beside the snakebit man and grasp the front of his tunic.

“Pay up, Brofy,” he said. “Where's your stash?”

The injured man moaned and thrashed. Lifting his head, he tried to speak, but could not utter any coherent words.

“Come on! You owe me good. Pay up before you die.”

Unable to bear more of this, Lea hurried forward. “Help him!” she cried. “Give him water. Cut the wound and let the poison out. Don't—”

A rough hand caught her shoulder and pulled her back just before she could shove her way into their midst. It was the commander, grim-faced, who held her. His dark eyes glittered with an expression she did not understand. Despite her efforts to twist free, he would not let her go.