They gave her gloves of the same material to match, and perfectly fitted to her hands. Drawing one on, she flexed and turned her hand, marveling at how strong she felt. When she pulled the glove off, the illusion of strength faded. Her skin tingled lightly, and she frowned. Magic gloves. A magic cloak.
She put the lace scarf on her head, wrapping the ends beneath her chin, and at once her vague headache cleared. She felt alert, brilliant, decisive. When she took it off, she could tell a difference. Would wearing the undergarments make her feel invigorated and tireless?
The women from Mahira watched her, their dark eyes wise and patient.
“I give you my thanks,” Elandra said slowly. “These are precious gifts indeed. I am honored by your kindness.”
The spokeswoman bowed. “They will never wear. They will never soil, although they may be washed,” she said. “They are to assist thee in thy hour of need.”
During the ordeal of the coronation? Or during something else? Elandra wondered, but she did not ask.
“We ask thee to accept our gifts of protection,” the woman continued. “We are but women. Our weapons are only needle and thread, but what we have we give to thee. To help thee in all that is to come.”
“What is to come?” Elandra asked, feeling suddenly cold.
“The emperor wears his armor, spell-forged by the Choven. The empress wears her armor, sewn by the Mahirans. Alike, and yet not.”
Gratitude flooded Elandra. She smiled. “Your concern honors me. I shall not forget the kindness of the women of Mahira. Thank you.”
The women bowed; then the spokeswoman brought forth a small box of cedar and proffered it. “Then, if we have pleased thee, may it also please thee to accept this final token of our respect.”
The topaz grew suddenly hot, too hot to hold. With a gasp, Elandra dropped it, and the gem went tumbling across the bedclothes like a nugget of fire, flashing brightly in the sunlight.
At the foot of her bed, the Mahiran stood holding the small box and ignored the topaz winking brilliantly atop the coverlet.
Nursing her scorched hand, Elandra took the box and broke its seal. As she opened the wooden lid, a heady fragrance of cedar mingled with roses filled her nostrils. The touch of magic drifted against her face, caressing her cheekbones. With wonder, Elandra took out a small pouch sewn of dark green moire silk, lined with velvet the same color. It had a drawstring top and a long cord of braided silk. Her coat of arms had been embroidered on the side with gold thread.
She knew at once what it was for, and drew in her breath sharply. Forgetting dignity, she crawled forward until she could reach the topaz, then slipped it inside the pouch. It was a perfect fit. Delighted, she closed the top, and slipped the looped cord over her head.
She smiled warmly at the Mahirans, feeling more than a little astonished. “How did you know?”
They smiled back.
“Chiara kula na,” the spokeswoman said softly, with reverence. “You were foretold in our legends. Woman of fire.”
Elandra stared at her, thinking of her destiny and wondering why it had not mentioned any of this. “I was foretold?” she echoed in puzzlement. “But—”
The women bowed, putting their fingertips to their foreheads in obeisance. They retreated, backing away from her with a series of deep bows.
“Wait!” Elandra said, scattering gifts in all directions as she scooted out of the tall bed. “I have questions. Please wait.”
“Chiara kula na,” they said in unison, still bowing.
The double doors opened behind them, and they left.
Elandra stood there in her nightgown, her hair flowing down her back, the green jewel pouch hanging from her neck. She felt she stood at the window of some great understanding, only to have a curtain drawn closed, shutting her out.
Frustrated, she tried to make sense of it even as the Mistress of the Bedchamber peeked inside.
“Majesty?” she said hesitantly. “It is time for the preparations.”
The ladies in waiting poured back into the room, and in moments Elandra was surrounded by eager hands pulling and pushing at her in all directions.
“I shall wear those,” she said sharply as some of them examined the gifts. “The cloak, scarf, and gloves should be put away carefully.”
Her attendants curtsied. “Yes, Majesty.”
Already the hairdresser was knocking for admittance, a woman and her assistants had arrived with jewel cases, and the head seamstress rushed in, wringing her hands with an anxiety that cleared from her face as soon she saw that the Mahirans had not brought a coronation gown that would rival hers.
In an hour, Elandra had bathed and nibbled at a breakfast she found tasteless. She was powdered and dressed. Her fingertips and the soles of her feet were anointed with oil of myrrh. The Mahiran underthings were so light and filmy she almost felt as though she were wearing nothing, yet new energy flowed through her. She felt refreshed and calmer. After her ordeal last night, she was grateful indeed for this assistance.
Her hair was smoothed down and coiled in a heavy, intricate knot at the base of her neck. Curly tendrils escaped to frame her face. The simple styling was to complement the crown that she would wear later.
Thinking of it, Elandra found her mouth dry and her heart suddenly pounding. She tried to think of something else, anything else in order to quell her rising anxiety.
They made her stand while they carefully lowered the gown over her head. It was made high to the throat, and she could wear her jewel pouch concealed without difficulty. She wished there was time to have the topaz secured to a chain so she could wear it as a pendant, but instinct told her this was a jewel to hide, not to flaunt.
The dress, made of cloth of gold, had always been extremely heavy, especially with its train that swept the floor. But today its weight did not seem so great. She stood patiently while the seamstress pulled at the long sleeves, making sure the wrist points reached Elandra’s knuckles and were not twisted. Then the full sweep of skirts had to be smoothed and the hem checked once again to be sure she could walk without tripping, yet would show no unseemly expanse of ankle.
Next came the jewels she was to wear. A new necklace of rubies had been created in her honor. Elandra examined it without much favor. It looked gaudy and overdone.
“Did the emperor order this made?” she asked.
The woman in charge of the jewels looked suddenly nervous. “Not exactly, Majesty.”
Elandra’s brows lifted. “What exactly do you mean?”
“It is a very fine piece of work,” the woman said, staring at the floor. “The jewels are beautifully matched.”
“Perhaps,” Elandra replied. “Answer my question. Did the emperor order this to be made for me?”
“No, not this necklace. The jeweler thought your Majesty would admire it.”
“I don’t,” Elandra said curtly. She had seen this trick pulled before at her father’s court. A jeweler would fashion something extra and send it in among the rest of the order. If it was accepted, he would then pad the bill accordingly. And he would use its acceptance to solicit more orders. “I do not like it at all,” she said. “I do not wish to wear it. If the emperor did not order it for me, then it may be returned to its maker.”
“But—but, Majesty!” the woman protested nervously. “It’s design was chosen by the emperor.”
“What do you mean?” Elandra demanded. “You speak in riddles. Either he ordered it, or he did not. Are you saying he chose this design, then changed his mind and did not request it to be made?”
“No. It was made to his order. I mean, another was made to his order.”
Elandra looked at the woman in silence. By now, the woman was perspiring and knotting her fingers together.
She looked as though she wished to be swallowed by the floor.
When Elandra said nothing, she gulped and began wringing her hands.
“I’m sorry, Majesty. We thought it would please you. It was made up in garnet
s first, simple, inexpensive stones, but see how much finer it is with rubies?”
Elandra refused to look at it when the woman held it up. “For whom was the garnet necklace made?” she asked coldly, although already she guessed.
The woman’s face looked bloodless. “The emperor wished to give it as a gift. He often—”
“I see,” Elandra said, her voice like ice. The ladies in waiting watched in bright anticipation. “He often gives baubles such as this to his concubines.”
The woman licked her lips and nodded. “Well, not exactly like it. I mean, the rubies are very fine stones. The jeweler thought that since the emperor had commissioned the design, it could be used—”
“This jeweler thought that her Imperial Majesty the Empress Elandra would be happy wearing the same necklace as a mere concubine,” Elandra said stonily. “This jeweler is a fool.”
“Majesty, forgive—”
“No. Why should I forgive what is a blatant insult?” Elandra said. “Who is this jeweler? What is his name?”
The woman’s eyes darted this way and that, but there was no escape for her. “P-Pelton, of Fountain Street. He does very fine work. He always pleases the—”
“He does not please me. How much did he bribe you to bring this to me?”
The woman gasped, but Elandra held her pinned with a stony gaze.
“No more than the others—” The woman broke off what she was saying and began to cry.”
“Get out,” Elandra said, and turned her back.
Guards took the woman away. Elandra refused to look at her or listen to her pleas for mercy. She stood, opening the other jewel cases and picking through the offerings. Everything was new. She realized they were all from jewelers like Pelton, eager to establish custom with her by making these gifts.
Elandra knew that any or all of them could have pitfalls such as the one she’d just avoided. How was she to know whether these designs were submitted in honor to please her or to trick her or to insult her? The wisest course was to avoid all of them, yet she could not go forth without jewelry. Although she preferred simple adornment, she must not look like anything less than an empress today. She was still on trial. There were still innumerable mistakes she could make.
“Is this all?” she asked finally.
One of the assistants crept forward, eyes down, standing hunched as though in a permanent half-bow. “Yes, Majesty.”
“But all of this is new.”
“All the jewelers in the city have sent their wares for your selection.”
“I don’t want these,” Elandra said.
Everyone gaped at her, but her mind was already shooting over the possibilities. There was only one way to be safe.
“Bring me Fauvina’s jewels,” she said.
Someone gasped; she could not tell who it was. Consternation broke out.
The Mistress of the Bedchamber approached Elandra worriedly. “Majesty, there is not time to send to the vaults for them, even if they could be found.”
Elandra’s head came up. She glared. “There is time, if you do not dally making objections.”
The woman curtsied. “Majesty, forgive me. I do not object. But what if they cannot be found?”
“Why shouldn’t they be found?” Elandra retorted. “The jewels of the first empress? Are they not honored? Are they not revered? Are they not kept in a special place by the order of the emperor, as all of Fauvina’s things have been preserved? Have them brought at once.”
“Yes, Majesty. But the emperor must give permission—”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I—I—”
“Do as I command,” Elandra said, looking the woman in the eye. The mistress curtsied again, giving way, and turned to snap her fingers.
A half-hour ground slowly by before hastening footsteps could be heard outside. Everyone looked up, but it was only a messenger who came to inform the empress that her presence was awaited.
Elandra met everyone’s anxious eyes, and her stubbornness kicked in. When she wanted, she could be as obstinate as her father, who had once stood alone and undaunted against an entire war council’s wishes to attempt a peace treaty. Albain had refused to cooperate, had refused to withdraw his troops, and had single-handedly driven back the invaders without the support of the allied forces. It was this action that had earned him his reputation of loyalty and valor and brought him to the attention of a grateful emperor.
“Majesty,” the Mistress of the Bedchamber said, “your presence is required.”
Elandra’s chin lifted higher. She sat regally in her chair, unable to do much else in her formidable gown. “The empress is not yet ready.”
The messenger left, and everyone sighed. Elandra sat there, refusing to budge no matter how nervous they got, and waited.
Finally they heard footsteps again outside the door. This time it was a chancellor who came to inquire how much longer the empress might be.
Murmurs at the door; nervous explanations. The mistress glanced over her shoulder at Elandra and murmured further.
Then she came to Elandra’s side and curtsied. “Majesty, the chancellor would like to know—”
“Tell him the empress is not yet ready.”
“But, Majesty, any of these pieces would be most handsome and most suitable. If we had known earlier, we could have had the old jewelry ready. It may be tarnished or too brittle. If it needs a repair, that will surely not please—”
Elandra raised her hand, and the woman fell silent.
No one dared speak after that. They waited, the minutes dragging by. The coronation robes, heavily embroidered and trimmed in white sable, waited on their stand. She might never wear them.
“No one has ever done this,” someone whispered. “To keep him waiting ... who would dare?”
Elandra knew the risk she was taking. The emperor’s temper was always uncertain. He was displeased enough with her already. By now his irritation must be explosive. He could call the whole thing off. She would be dismissed in disgrace, set aside as an abandoned wife, her reputation ruined, no prospect of future marriage to someone else possible.
Her nerve almost failed her. She found herself looking at some of the jewelry spilling from the opened cases. There were some very fine emeralds glowing richly at her. They were of a pleasing cut. The earrings would flatter her. How easy to give in. Why had she started this in the first place? A little fit of pique could cost her everything.
But she had started it, and she would finish it. If she did anything less, she would be branded as weak. Her authority, what little she possessed now, would crumble entirely. She would never be taken seriously again. She had been insulted, whether through some scheme of the jeweler or whether through someone at the palace or whether through the desires of Kostimon himself she did not know, but she would not let an insult go unchallenged. No one of Albain blood could.
Again, footsteps came to the door. This time it was one of her guardsmen, a trifle breathless as though he had been running. He handed the Mistress of the Bedchamber a leather box, bowed, and retreated.
The mistress, looking stern with disapproval, carried the box to Elandra. It was dusty and spotted with age. The leather had rotted away in places. Elandra was shocked, for she had truly expected Fauvina’s things to be better cared for than this.
As the box was unlocked and opened, Elandra swallowed hard. She supposed the mistress was right about the jewels being brittle and tarnished. She would look tawdry wearing them. She didn’t even know if they were beautiful or horrid. She should have never backed herself into a corner like this.
In silence the mistress turned the box around so that Elandra might see the contents for herself.
A muted glitter came from the depths of the box.
“Draw back the curtains,” Elandra commanded.
The ladies did so, letting more sunlight into the room. Elandra reached in and pulled out a bracelet. It was heavy and dark.
As she turned it over, the sun
light filled the gems with life so that they blazed in her hand. Elandra gasped.
Rows and rows of small, square-cut gemstones filled the wide bracelet. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, diamonds, topazes, amethysts, spinels, citrines, and peridots all flashed together in a radiance of color. Dropping the bracelet in her lap, she drew out the heavy necklace with both hands. It was a large collar, studded with the same array of stones as the bracelet, that stretched from shoulder to shoulder and dropped to a wide V in the center. The settings were gold and very ancient, but nothing had broken. Normally she would never have chosen pieces with so many colors, but they did not clash, and they would look magnificent against her cloth-of-gold dress.
These, she knew without being told, were the true imperial jewels. No empress since Fauvina had worn them. But their diversity clearly symbolized the many provinces that had forged the empire. Elandra felt a shiver pass through her, as though she felt the dead woman’s approval pass through the jewelry to her. She had been right to insist on this. She knew it in her bones.
There was silence around her. Elandra stopped admiring the jewelry long enough to glance at her ladies with an open challenge in her eyes.
“I am late,” she said. “Attend me with these final touches.”
Her command galvanized them into action. The necklace was fastened for her, as was the bracelet. She found rings to match. They were slightly too large for her tapering fingers, but she slipped them on anyway. The long earrings swayed heavily against her neck.
Elandra rose to her feet, and they brought her a mirror. She saw herself, pale-faced, a little shadowed beneath the eyes, but a glittering, magnificent stranger. She had feared the clothes and the jewelry would overwhelm her, but instead for the first time she saw her own beauty, saw how perfectly these colors and the richness of these clothes brought her looks to life. Even her hair subdued much more than usual, and coiled at her neck so that the crown would fit easily on her head, made her look different—more mature, more intelligent, more lovely than she could have ever guessed.
Shadow War Page 23
