The third man had curly hair and a square, open face. His eyes twinkled, although he kept his demeanor impassive according to regulations. He was built strong and straight. He might do very well.
The fourth man was still sweating, although the others were beginning to dry out after their exertions. His gaze shifted warily when she stopped to stare at him. He seemed nervous.
The fifth man towered over her, blond, deeply tanned, and blue-eyed. It was Caelan E’non, the slave who had tried to choke her, who had insulted her, who had pleaded with her. His fancy gold slavery chain no longer hung around his neck. Clean-shaven, his face free of soot and dried mud, his hair sleeked back from his face, he looked handsome today ... too handsome.
She glanced away, biting her lip in consternation. She must not permit herself thoughts like that.
Steeling herself, she met his eyes. They were wary but unafraid. A predator’s eyes, she reminded herself, and shivered.
She wanted to ask him how he had changed fortunes so quickly, but she could not without giving away the fact that she had previously met him. That she was not prepared to do. Her questions had to remain unspoken.
She struggled to think of something else. “Sergeant, please have this man walk for me.”
Caelan moved obediently, his long limbs graceful and quick, like a panther’s. If he felt shamed by her examination, he did not show it. He seemed indifferent, as though long ago he had reconciled himself to certain indignities. Or perhaps as a champion gladiator, he was used to being stared at and judged.
His face was lean and chiseled of feature. She found herself studying the straight line of his brows, the slant of his cheekbones, the firmness of his chin. How fair he was, yet how completely masculine.
Again she had to look away, annoyed with herself.
She turned abruptly and walked away from them, then remembered she had Hovet with her.
Flustered, she started over, picking out the three men who had caught her eye and dismissing the two she disliked. “Hovet?” she asked.
With a respectful nod, he moved past her and walked up to the cold, resentful man. Hovet looked old and a little stooped in comparison to these young soldiers, but he was still tough, still a warrior with more experience under his belt than they would ever know.
“Name?” Hovet asked.
The cold man answered, “Thal Brintel.”
“Lord Blintel’s son?”
The man’s eyes flickered with another muted flash of resentment. “A younger son, sir.”
Hovet pursed his lips and moved to the curly-headed man with the twinkling eyes. “Name?”
“Rander Malk,” the man replied. His voice was sunny and assured. He almost smiled as he answered.
“Coastal-born, are you?”
Rander blinked, then did smile. “Aye, I am.”
Hovet grunted and moved to the Traulander. He squinted up at the man. “Name?”
“Caelan E’non.”
It was said evenly, but with a touch of pride. She saw the unconscious lift of his chin, the squaring of his shoulders, the quirk of defiance at the corner of his mouth. He was probably used to hearing cheers every time his name was mentioned.
Elandra sniffed to herself. She would not compete with her protector for attention.
“Traulander?” Hovet barked.
“Yes.”
“What made you leave the games for the service?”
Caelan’s attention focused hard on the man. Warily he replied, “A chance to fight for honor rather than entertainment.”
The other men stirred slightly, and even Elandra was impressed by the honesty of Caelan’s answer. This was a complex man, not easy to handle, and far too good-looking.
She did not trust her own interest, or the way her pulse quickened when she merely stood within a short distance of him. He reminded her of the mysterious lover in her dreams, and she liked that least of all.
“Majesty?” Hovet asked. “Will you have them spar again?”
She hesitated, her gaze sweeping the three candidates. Then she shook her head. “No. Have them cleaned up and brought to the gallery in a few minutes.”
Turning her back on them, she left the arena and found she was walking a little too fast, breathing a little too rapidly. Her hands were sweating inside her gloves.
She hurried up the spiral of steps, although there was no need to go so fast, and rejoined her husband with a sense of having returned to refuge.
“Well?” he asked her. “What do you think? You were quick in making the initial cut.”
“I must consider.”
Kostimon smiled at her indulgently and patted her clenched hand. “Take your time, my dear.”
She looked away. She did not want to be patted and patronized. But this was no time to indulge in bad temper.
“Hovet?” the emperor asked. “What did you think of them?”
The protector shrugged. “I could take any of them in a fight.”
“Of course,” Kostimon agreed, suppressing a smile. “That’s not the point, is it?”
Hovet shrugged. “She’ll make a good decision.”
He stalked away, and Kostimon smiled at Elandra. “Cold weather makes him grouchy. His bones ache, as do mine.”
She was immediately concerned. “Are you chilled? Am I taking too long?”
“Hush, my child. Hush,” he said, waving away her questions. “It is of no importance. I am in a tolerant mood. We have driven back our enemies, and all is well.”
She looked at him, dying to shower him with questions, but he held up his finger.
“No, I will not discuss it. All is well. That is sufficient for you to know.”
She settled back in her chair, trying not to be petulant. So the invasion had failed. She could not help glancing at Tirhin, but he was toying morosely with his dagger and did not look up.
Captain Vysal cleared his throat to gain her attention. “The men are here, Majesty.”
Kostimon gestured, and Hovet immediately went on the alert, hovering discreetly a short distance away. Led by their stern-faced sergeant, the three candidates filed into the gallery and stood at attention in the same order as before. They now wore crimson tunics and plain breastplates. Their helmets were tucked under their right elbows, with their hands resting on their empty sword scabbards. They had not been permitted to come armed into the presence of the emperor. Their chins jutted at the correct angle, and their eyes were focused on the distance. They looked well trained and ready to serve.
“Your decision, my dear,” Kostimon said.
Lord Sien walked forward to hover directly behind her. She felt a chill touch her spine and wished he would move where she could see him.
“Majesty, shall I use the truth-light now?” the priest asked.
Of the three, only Caelan E’non showed the slightest reaction.
She noticed and wondered why he should care.
Tirhin had risen to his feet. He glared at Caelan, who returned his gaze impassively, without shame, without appeasement.
Elandra remembered the Traulander’s anguish only a few days ago, when he had been torn between duty and a personal sense of loyalty to the prince.
She needed loyalty. Above all things, she needed that.
Her father had told her to confound the others with her choice, to do the unexpected.
Lord Sien had urged her to pick from any province save that of Gialta.
Prince Tirhin was standing rigidly, his fists clenched at his sides while his father smiled benignly at the entire situation.
Elandra sensed dangerous crosscurrents around her. Angers and resentments smoldering beneath the surface.
She wanted the Traulander. He was the best fighter because he was arena trained. That alone made him more ruthless, more dangerous than the others. He was loyal, perhaps to extremes. He was fierce, as fierce as Hovet any day. He was strong, with incredible stamina, and he healed quickly. He had been a champion, which meant he was a survivor, yet he p
ossessed integrity and honesty. He was intelligent and perhaps sensitive. There was nothing of the brute in him, although his manners needed work.
He was ideal for her purposes, but she dared not select him. For one thing, he had belonged to Tirhin only a few days ago. She did not understand whether the prince had sold him or freed him or why, but she suspected from the look on Tirhin’s face that it had not been by choice. Tirhin already considered her his enemy and direct rival. She did not wish to fuel the flames of his resentment.
Besides, she was extremely disconcerted by her personal reaction to Caelan E’non today. Disconcerted and angry. Passion was not a quality she expected to find in herself. She would not permit it to exist if she could not feel it for her husband.
No, Caelan was too dangerous, in too many ways.
Without further hesitation, she looked at the curly-headed man. “I choose Rander Malk.”
Rander’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, only to spread wide in a grin.
Thai Brintel sneered, hooding his eyes but not before she saw contempt in their depths, mingled with a dose of self-pity. She was glad to be rid of him.
Caelan E’non was looking at Tirhin; then his gaze brushed against hers and again she felt oddly breathless. He nodded to her very slightly, and it was like a tiny salute of respect and acceptance.
That, more than anything else, reassured her that she had done the right thing.
Then all was confusion. The sergeant hustled the others away, leaving Rander Malk with only his captain for support. Rander looked overwhelmed and delighted. He could not stop grinning.
When she rose to her feet and walked over to speak to him, he bowed deeply to her.
“My lady—Majesty,” he stammered. “I am honored. I will serve you till death. I swear it.”
She returned his smile, gratified by his eagerness, but held up her hand. “The truth-light first. Lord Sien?”
The priest gathered a shimmering ball of unearthly light in his palm, then tossed it at the suddenly serious Rander. The light shimmered down over the soldier and spilled in a radiant glow at his feet.
“He is true, Majesty,” Sien said.
She nodded and held out her hand to Rander, who knelt and kissed her fingers clumsily. But all the while, she was thinking of a tall, kingly man with blue eyes who was walking away from her at this moment, a man who would have served her beyond duty and ordinary courage, a man who might have given her his heart and his soul.
She wanted to change her mind and call him back, but she couldn’t, not with Rander kneeling at her feet and humbly swearing his oath of allegiance. Not with her aged husband standing beside her with a benign smile of approval.
Chapter Eighteen
A strange noise awakened Elandra from the depths of sleep. It was a soft susurration of sound, like the rubbing of cloth across a hard surface, almost inaudible, yet unusual enough to have pricked through the layers of her sleep. At the same time she also became conscious of a disturbing warmth against her chest.
She stirred, burrowing her face deeper against her pillow, and slitted one eye open.
A strange golden glow shone from beneath her, reflecting off the pale surfaces of her pillow and bedclothes.
Puzzled and only semiawake, she groped for the jewel pouch hanging around her neck. When her fingers closed on it, she was startled by its warmth. It was as though the jewel had taken on a life of its own. The light glowing from it spilled through the drawn top of the pouch and grew increasingly brighter.
Elandra raised her head and yawned, wondering what magic was working on the jewel.
Just then, she heard a slight scrape of the bed curtain rings upon the brass rod fitted to the canopy of her bed.
Elandra rolled over and saw a shadow looming over her.
It was like nothing she had ever seen before. In that split second of frozen time, she saw it clearly in the unearthly light cast by the topaz. It was the shadow of a man, yet only the shadow. There was no man standing there to cast it. Dark and opaque, it was thin enough to look almost invisible when viewed from the side.
Elandra opened her mouth, but with impossible quickness it surged closer, engulfing her.
Its ghostly fingers reached for the cord around her neck.
Elandra screamed and flailed against it, trying to drive it back. But her hands passed through it as though it was made of air.
She screamed again, rolling away from its unearthly touch, but it snagged the cord in its fingers and held fast.
She did not know how it could do so, but this was not a time to question what she was witnessing. The tug of the cord around her throat frightened her, and she suddenly feared this creature meant to strangle her.
She screamed a third time, but its dark fingers dug instead inside the pouch for the topaz.
“No!” Elandra shouted, but a burst of light shot forth from the jewel, filling the interior of her bed and almost blinding her.
She heard a scream inside her head, scree-thin and horrifying.
The shadow dropped the pouch. The topaz was blazing now, and Elandra cupped her hand protectively over it as she scrambled back.
She seized pillows and flung them at the shadow, only to see them pass harmlessly through it. Then she was tumbling off the opposite side of the bed, landing in an awkward tangle on the floor, as frightened as she was furious.
Where was her protector?
“Majesty!” Rander cried, crashing into the room. Holding a lamp aloft with one hand, he ripped open the bed curtains just as she picked herself up and came around to the foot of the bed.
“Rander, take care!” she tried to warn him.
The lamp fell from his hands, shattering on the floor and spilling burning oil across the carpets. Little flames danced up like imps, reaching for the floor-length bed curtains. One blazed with a sudden whoosh of fire up to the canopy.
Rander went stumbling back from the bed with the shadow on top of him. It had him by the throat, and he grunted in increasing desperation, hurling himself about in an effort to throw it off.
Chairs went crashing as he flailed and fought.
“Rander!” she called in horror.
The protector staggered and dropped to his knees, gasping and wheezing. Elandra ran for the door, wondering where her ladies were, wondering where the guards were; then she ran back toward him, her long hair flying.
Rander had drawn his dagger, but the weapon had no effect on the shadow that perched on his chest. His body convulsed violently, then went slack. The dagger fell from his fingers.
“No!” Elandra cried.
She dodged the flames that were now roaring in the middle of a fine carpet and knelt at his side. Taking the jewel pouch in both hands, she pulled open the top and touched the topaz to the shadow.
Again she heard that thin scream in her mind. It flew off Rander and went sliding across the floor, flowing up one wall with liquid rapidity.
Elandra bent over Rander, gripping his sleeve. But his protruding tongue and staring eyes told her she had not been quick enough to save him. Protector less than a day, dead already in her service.
“No!” she cried, shaking him although she knew it was futile. “Please, no!”
The shadow leaped onto her back, clinging cold and surprisingly heavy. She nearly fell across Rander from the impact of its landing and caught herself just in time.
The cord around her neck drew tight, and in a panic she twisted around to thrust the topaz at it.
The shadow sprang off her and flowed away.
An eerie sound from behind her made her spin around, crouching low even as she picked up Rander’s dagger.
More shadows spread into the room through the open doorway, sliding across the floor, half-seen against the leaping flames and thickening smoke.
Coughing, Elandra crept backward until her back bumped against the wall. The shadows converged on her, driving her down one side of the room toward the doorway leading to the secret passageway. She thought abou
t plunging into it, realized how easily these things could trap her in the narrow, unlit space, and shuddered in fear. Better to stay here in the smoke and the fire, where she could at least see these things.
One leaped at her, but she fended it off by holding the topaz aloft. The jewel’s fierce glow spread around her like a golden nimbus, protecting her. Its heat nearly burned her hand, but she dared not drop it.
She worked her way back across the room, dodging the fire as best she could, until she reached her clothes chest. Throwing open the lid with one hand, she rummaged swiftly for a gown, shoes, and the golden cloak given her by the Mahirans.
As she pulled it forth, the shadows shrank back, fleeing to the corners of the room.
Elandra tossed the cloak swiftly about her shoulders, ducked her head against the stinging smoke, and fled.
They pursued her, silent and terrifying, moving quicker than thought. Yet the next time one leaped at her, it bounced off the cloak and shriveled to nothing.
Heart pounding in satisfaction, Elandra whirled around defiantly to face the remainder. “Get back from me, things of hell!” she cried, brandishing the glowing topaz. “I am not your prey.”
The shadows fell back as though they understood her threat, and Elandra turned and ran again.
None of her ladies-in-waiting were to be found anywhere in her chambers. And when she burst out into the main passageway, she found her guards slumped on the floor. Dead or unconscious, she had no time to find out.
She stepped over them and looked both ways. In the distance she heard shouts. Her heart leaped with hope, but then she realized they were not sounds of imminent rescue but instead sounds of battle.
Smoke poured from the doorway behind her, reminding her she must not linger.
She brandished her topaz at the shadows following her, and they seemed reluctant to venture forth into the lit passageway. Seizing her opportunity to escape, Elandra ran full tilt past the throne room, where flames were licking around the edges of the doors as though a fire had been started inside it also.
The lamps were not lit in the passageway ahead of her, and she slowed down, renewed fear making her cautious.
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