Startled, she stared at herself in wonder. While she was still gazing, the ladies brought forth the coronation robes and settled them on her slim shoulders. The heavy gold embroidery on the robes glittered in the sunlight. The fur trim looked regal.
She saw all the power and privilege of her position represented tangibly for her. Elandra felt stunned, light-headed, almost foolish. Then she rallied, thinking of her father, thinking of her mother, whom she had never known, yet who had somehow reached out through the visions of last night to help her.
Mother, give me strength this day, she prayed. Guide my steps. Help me to act and live with honor, as befits this responsibility I have been awarded.
A rustle around her brought her from her thoughts. She saw the ladies-in-waiting dropping one by one into deep curtsies around her. Elandra’s heart quickened, and her eyes suddenly blurred with tears. She wanted to tell them of her gratitude; she wanted to promise them that she would strive never to abuse her position. She wanted to say so many things, yet she could say nothing.
She was an empress. She must get used to people kneeling before her.
Turning with a slow, perfect sweep as she had been taught to manage the tremendous weight of her garments, Elandra accepted her gloves and a small parchment scroll containing the blessings of Gault. She started forward, walking against the drag of her train and robes behind her.
The double doors were thrown open, and a herald’s cry went before her into the passageway, echoed again and again by each herald on station within the palace. In the distance, she heard a long drumroll begin.
Chancellors in their fur-trimmed robes, carrying their staffs of office, hovered about, bowing deeply to her, then gesturing which direction for her to turn. Looking neither right nor left, her unveiled face solemn as she met the stares, Elandra walked through another set of open doors into a small chamber containing two gilded chairs and nothing else.
The doors were closed behind her, and she stood there in unexpected solitude.
She recalled that Miles Milgard was supposed to wait here with her. He had promised to give her some final coaching with her vows. Now he was gone forever. She frowned, thinking of his unexpected treachery. Never would she have suspected him capable of such villainy. She had trusted him, admired his mind, appreciated his patience. How could he have tried to kill her?
She told herself she must be wary of everyone. Trust was a precious commodity, to be handed out sparingly. Whether she wished it or not, she had enemies. She must always be on her guard, and she must never take anyone for granted again.
A piece of paper lay folded on one of the chairs. Elandra stared at it a moment, wondering if it was another trap. Finally she picked it up and unfolded it.
The writing was Kostimon’s:
Ela,
Have courage this day, little one. Remember always that you are a queen. You must believe it in your heart before others will believe it. You must set the example if they are to follow.
I await you in the temple.
Kostimon
Reading the brief note, Elandra felt her eyes fill with tears. Even now, he was kind. Even if he was displeased with her for being late, he had taken the trouble to leave her a few words of encouragement. She smiled to herself, folding the little note away as though it were precious. In that moment she loved him.
The doors ahead of her swung open without warning, making her start.
“Majesty?” a chancellor said, peering in.
At that moment she could not recall his name.
“All is well?” he asked.
She found herself consumed with nervousness. Wordlessly she nodded her head.
He smiled and bowed to her. “It is time.”
Before her, standing over near the head of the stairs, a small herald filled his lungs and bawled, “Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress Elandra!”
Trumpets flourished, and Elandra walked forward to the head of the stairs.
The dignitaries stood below her, arranged in order of rank at the foot of the white marble stairs and beyond. A crimson carpet ran down the exact center of the stairs, like a stain of blood. It blurred before her, and Elandra wondered how she would ever walk down so many steps in these cumbersome robes without losing her balance.
Then to her left came a slight commotion. Elandra turned her head and saw Kostimon walking toward her.
He was resplendent in gold armor, embossed with a scene from his most famous battle. His long-sleeved tunic worn under the breastplate was of cloth of gold, and he wore a ruby earring in his left ear. A ruby and gold diadem glittered from among his white curls, and his rings flashed as he stretched out his hand to her.
Breathless at this honor, especially when she thought she would have to walk alone to the temple like a mere consort, Elandra reached out and let him grip her hand hard in his. She was trembling as she sank into a deep curtsy at his feet.
“Rise, little one,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
She gazed up at him through her tears and wanted to fling her arms around his neck in joy and relief. He was treating her as a wife. In this, her first public appearance, Kostimon had chosen to honor her in full standing. She was forgiven.
“Rise,” he said, sounding amused. “This is your day. You cannot spend it at my feet.”
But her emotional reaction had pleased him. She heard it in his voice.
Gracefully she rose to her feet, her hand still clasped in his, and watched his eyes widen as he took in the sight of her. She saw admiration and—for the first time—a stirring of desire.
He smiled. “Magnificent.”
There was no time for her to answer, even if she could have spoken.
The emperor tucked her hand inside his arm and led her down the staircase with the ease of a man who had done this countless times before. The trumpets resounded around them. The drums rolled on and on. Sunlight was shining down fully on the staircase through a window in the domed roof. Elandra felt as though she was descending through music and light, a magical creature without a body.
She had never been so happy.
The courtiers and dignitaries, resplendent in native dress from every province, bowed and curtsied as they passed. Elandra wished desperately to see her father’s craggy face among the throng, but the sea of faces blurred together. She could not concentrate, could not focus. Her only solid piece of reality was Kostimon’s shoulder brushing against hers and the firm grip of his hand.
Outside, the frosty air struck her face, and she found it exhilarating. Kostimon frowned and suddenly looked like an old man as he waited for an attendant to fit a cloak around his shoulders and fuss with the folds.
“It’s a damnably long walk,” he grumbled.
She gazed out across the endless parade ground where the lines of soldiers and cavalry stood at perfect attention. The crimson carpet stretched the entire distance across it, leading all the way to the Temple of Gault at the far end. She could have floated the distance, but Kostimon was an old man.
Concern touched her. She turned to him, but he was frowning and paid her no attention.
A chariot of gold festooned with flowers and drawn by four white horses rolled up at the foot of the palace steps. It looked old-fashioned and quaint. Seeing it, Elandra had to smile.
Kostimon glared at her, and just in time she managed not to laugh.
“How delightful,” she said, and he relaxed.
“Come,” he said, and led her to it.
Every time the restive horses shifted, the chariot rolled.
Moreover, it was supported by only two wheels and looked very unstable. Elandra did not think she could climb onto it with what she was wearing. If she fell flat on her face, it would be a poor omen indeed.
Grooms struggled to hold the horses still. The officials and dignitaries stood solemnly nearby, and the very woodenness of their faces told Elandra that they considered this as poor an idea as she did. The emperor stepped aboard, making the chariot dip and roll
slightly. He spoke to the driver, then waved to her.
Elandra’s heart sank. She still did not understand how she was to get on, much less where she was supposed to stand with her voluminous skirts. The driver and the emperor filled the chariot.
But then another one rolled up before her, and she understood that she was to ride by herself.
“If it please your Majesty,” a man said to her.
Elandra turned and saw a young man with dark hair and beautiful eyes bowing to her. He was dressed in dark blue velvet, with a jaunty cap atop his head. She recognized him at once.
“Prince Tirhin,” she said in acknowledgement, wary of him. She curtsied very slightly, and her mind flashed back to that tall, bedraggled slave who belonged to this man. What had become of his attempts to lay charges of treason against his highness?
Nothing, apparently, for the prince was here and the slave was not to be seen.
“I am glad to see you looking well,” she said politely.
But the prince looked far from well. He was terribly pale, with a strained, exhausted cast to his features. His eyes were haunted, bearing a burden that made her glance away. He moved stiffly, as though his body ached, but with extreme courtesy he held the chariot steady and handed her into it.
She managed, barely avoiding losing her balance by grabbing onto the side. The prince stepped up beside her, his legs crushing her full skirts as he took the reins.
They drove forward, following the emperor’s chariot at a slow trot, flowered garlands swinging from the sides and trailing out behind them. The prince concentrated on his driving, and said nothing to her at all.
Glancing at his grim profile, Elandra felt pity for him. What must he feel, this man who had spent his life expecting to inherit the throne and who now was forced to attend her, the unexpected usurper?
Kostimon had dropped hints that she might marry Tirhin some day. Elandra glanced at him again, wondering. He was older than she by several years, but not too old. He was very handsome, giving her an idea of what Kostimon had looked like when he was young. Tirhin dressed better than his father, had more polished manners, seemed more broadly educated. He was a modern man, while Kostimon clung to so many strange and old-fashioned ideas. When Kostimon was gone, a marriage between her and Tirhin would make a good alliance, would seal the throne and the empire for both of them.
But there was a coldness about Tirhin, something hidden or lacking, that she could not define.
She tried to imagine herself in his arms, and could not.
The next time she glanced at the prince, she caught him eyeing her in return. She looked away at once and thereafter gazed only at the long rows of soldiers saluting her with flashing swords.
When they reached the temple steps, she stepped off the chariot with a graceful ease that was due more to luck than her own agility, and rejoined the emperor.
Kostimon glanced past her at the prince with steel in his eyes. For an instant his expression indicated displeasure with Tirhin, and Elandra caught her breath. So he did know about the plot.
She wondered if she dared mention the slave, but this was not the time.
To the fanfare of trumpets, she set her hand on Kostimon’s arm, and both of them turned their backs on Prince Tirhin to climb the steps into the sanctum for her holy vows and investiture.
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 res
tyled 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.”
Shadow War Page 24
