Now she was here, being delivered against her will and her prayers, and there wasn’t much she could do about it.
Her jinja came darting over to cling to her skirts. Albain pushed it away and it snapped at him, barely missing his fingers.
He swore, and Elandra pulled the jinja around to her other side, away from him.
“Stop that,” she scolded. “You must behave.”
“Danger,” the jinja insisted, tugging at her cloak. “Danger!”
“I know,” she said wearily, and walked into the villa.
The hall was cramped by Gialtan standards. Albain glanced around, his one eye bloodshot and glaring, but Elandra had no curiosity for her surroundings.
Minions in Tirhin’s blue livery scurried and bowed, offering them wine, taking dusty cloaks and gloves.
The servants were courteous and well trained. The furnishings were beautiful. A fire burned nearby, providing warmth against the chill of the night.
Elandra was oblivious to all of it. She stood in a fog, and cared not where she was.
“Welcome!” a baritone voice rang out.
Tirhin stood at the landing on the staircase, his arms outstretched in greeting. “My dear friends, I give thanks for your safe arrival.”
He came down the stairs slowly, favoring one leg, then limped over to them. His handsome face beneath its jaunty velvet cap was beaming with delight. He made it seem as though they hadn’t been brought here by force.
Pier bowed, but Tirhin came straight to Elandra. Taking her cold hands in his, he kissed her knuckles.
“My dear Elandra, the sight of you fills my heart with joy. I am relieved at your safe return. Welcome.”
Elandra focused on his face. He looked flushed and sweaty, a little tipsy from wine. She saw nothing but deceit and treachery in his eyes. Her own hardened with contempt. Drawing her hand from his grasp, she said nothing at all.
Tirhin flushed, frowning in quick anger. He glanced around self-consciously.
Albain cleared his throat. “About the conditions in the city—”
“Terrible, are they not?” Tirhin said, looking glad to change the subject. “That is why I had you brought here to my residence. For safety—”
“Where is Lord Sien?” Albain asked. “Where are the Vindicants? Why haven’t the temple fires been lit and something attempted to lift this cloud?”
Tirhin glared at him. “Is that a criticism, Lord Albain?”
Albain glared right back. “When I see chaos in all directions, people starving, hardly any organization or security to the place, and demons running amok as freely as they please, I feel I may comment, sir.”
“We’re all very tired,” Lord Pier interjected, trying to smooth over the sudden tension. “Perhaps in the morning, everyone will be in better temper.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Tirhin said, turning to him with a smile. He snapped his fingers to summon a servant. “We are cramped here, you understand. If the ladies will consent to share her Majesty’s chamber, then I am sure we will be able to find accommodations for these men.”
The servant bowed low.
Albain and Pier exchanged hostile glances.
Elandra turned her gaze upon Tirhin, noticing as she did so that some of his guests had ventured out onto the stairs and were gawking at her. She raised her chin very high.
“Your highness,” she said loudly, using his old title to annoy him, “your men have dragged me here against my will. Now I am to be kept your prisoner in our once proud city, which you have ruined. I hold you to blame for everything which has befallen Imperia, and I state now that I shall never marry you to preserve the throne which you have seized by deceit. I love another man, and he alone shall possess me, body and soul. As long as he lives, I am his. As for you, I would rather die first. Good night.”
Without another glance at Tirhin, who looked livid, she picked up her skirts and walked toward the stairs, forcing the servant to run after her.
“Show me to the quarters where I shall be imprisoned,” she said, and swept past the gawking courtiers, who had heard every defiant word. In silence they bowed to her, although she did not acknowledge their presence with even a glance.
Looking vexed, Iaris hastened after her. Elandra smiled to herself. Tirhin was a drunkard and a fool. He would make her pay for tonight’s humiliation, but right now she did not care.
Her chamber was luxurious and more spacious than she had expected. The opulent furnishings were not to her taste, but she had to admit the bed looked comfortable. Food and drink were waiting on a table, filling the air with their aromas. Flowers—if scraggly and none too fresh—stood in a small vase.
The gesture brought tears to her eyes. How pathetic to offer her flowers—and where had they possibly been gleaned from?— as though that was all it took to soften her heart. She sighed and stretched out her hands to the fire.
All she wanted now was a dab of water to wash her face, and the oblivion of sleep. Every part of her ached.
Iaris moved around briskly, peering behind drawn curtains at windows shuttered and barred, then coming back to rearrange the flowers and peek under the food covers.
“The food is hot,” she said. “Come and eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t be a fool. Do you expect to starve yourself to death? I warn you, it is easier to be defiant on a full stomach.”
Elandra turned slightly to glance at her. The fragrance of food made her feel ill. “No, please go ahead. I don’t want it.”
“You’ve barely eaten in days,” Iaris said. “Pining for your lost lover is one thing, but you must—”
“I don’t need a lecture from you,” Elandra broke in rudely. She crossed the room and sat down on the bed.
The lamps were too bright. Her eyes hurt, and her vision was blurred. She felt dizzy from the hot room and let herself sink down. The bed felt as though it were spinning. She closed her eyes.
The touch of Iaris’s hand on her brow made her open them again. She frowned, wishing Iaris would leave her alone. Her mother had been hovering near her through the entire journey, watching and criticizing, providing little comfort.
“No fever,” Iaris said. “You’ve been looking ill. Tonight you’re very pale. Did the city upset you that much?”
“Why shouldn’t I be upset?” Elandra retorted, draping her hand across her eyes to shield them from the light. “There’s nothing left.”
“Cities can be rebuilt,” Iaris said.
Elandra pushed herself up on one elbow and glared at her mother. “Stop it,” she said angrily. “Stop trying to meddle.”
“You must think positively. The empire will go on—”
“We are being swallowed by darkness, the darkness that Kostimon and Tirhin have unleashed on us,” Elandra cried. “We face our doom, and ignoring the problem does not solve it.”
“You are fretting for a man who is condemned. You are being excessively dramatic and exaggerating everything.”
“Didn’t you hear the soldiers?” Elandra asked her. “It’s dark even when the sun rises. The dark god is coming—”
“Stop it!” Iaris said, jumping up from the edge of the bed. “I will not hear such blasphemy.”
“Then stay away from me!”
“It is my duty to help you.”
“No,” Elandra said curtly. “You hope Tirhin will reward you if you persuade me to marry him. Dear Gault, the man’s arrogance knows no bounds. He acts like a bridegroom already.”
“But, Elandra, is that so awful? Yes, you’re infatuated with this Caelan. But that must end. Your rank, your lineage all forbid anything more than a mere dalliance. It’s time you thought about your future, and the future of your family.”
“Meaning you,” Elandra said in a tight voice.
“Albain and Pier will both profit from this alliance, if they negotiate carefully.”
“There will be no alliance,” Elandra said through her teeth. “I will not consent.”
“No!” Elandra stared at her in amazement. “He is not.”
“I saw him, child. He was beaming until you were rude to him. That is unwise, no matter what your feelings.”
“You forget that I know him all too well,” Elandra said. “He could barely tolerate me while Kostimon lived. This is nothing more than an act, part of his hypocrisy.”
“More drama. More exaggeration,” Iaris said with a sigh. “Look at this room which he has given you. The best in the villa, obviously. Food, flowers, and a good fire have all been provided for your comfort. He is—”
“What else could he offer me?” Elandra asked coldly. “I am the empress, and he is only my stepson. At the moment, most of his consequence lies in his imagination. Without me, he has nothing.”
“Then take care how you deal with him,” Iaris said in exasperation. “You are in an excellent position to negotiate. Few women are given this opportunity. Make the most of it.”
“I do not want to hear anything more from you,” Elandra said, averting her face. She was too tired and ill to go on arguing. The whole discussion was futile.
“You are putting all of us at risk!” Iaris told her. “If you care nothing about yourself, then think of your father at least.”
“I am. But I am not for sale.”
Iaris glared at her. “You have no choice.”
“No. I had no choice the first time my father arranged a marriage for me. This time is different. He cannot force me. You cannot force me.”
“As your mother—”
“You forfeited that status when you sent me away!” Elandra said. “Besides, I have given my vows to Caelan. I will not take them back.”
Rage spread through Iaris’s face. She slapped Elandra hard across the face. “You fool!”
The crack of her hand stung mercilessly. Elandra lifted her fingers to her cheek. Enraged and shocked, she stared at her mother.
Iaris glared right back. Her eyes were wide and furious. “Do you carry his child?”
Rising from the bed, Elandra said nothing.
“Do you?”
Elandra still did not speak. Inside, however, her mind was spinning at the thought of it. Perhaps that was why she was so prone to crying of late. Perhaps that was why she wanted no food, why she felt so tired. She suddenly wanted to clutch her stomach in fierce joy and triumph. Caelan’s child. Oh, blessed goddess mother, let it be true. Let her have some hope in this.
But she refused to show anything to Iaris. Nor would she answer.
“You will not tell me,” Iaris said, pacing back and forth in front of her. “Insolent, stupid girl. If you are breeding, then you will ruin everything. Tell me the truth!”
“I will tell you nothing,” Elandra said.
“You look green enough to be quickening,” Iaris said. “And by Gault, if you are, then you have put all of us in jeopardy.”
“No more than we already are.”
Iaris uttered a sharp, short laugh and tossed her head. “Really? Then think on this, my girl. If Tirhin entertains even the most remote suspicion that you have lain with that gladiator—”
“And what if it were Kostimon’s child?” Elandra said.
Iaris stopped in mid-stride and stared at her. Conflicting emotions chased themselves across her face. “The Penestricans ordered you to bear his child, did they not? They taught you how to seduce him. They gave you exact instructions as to—”
“If I bear Kostimon’s child,” Elandra said coolly as though she did not see the naked ambition in her mother’s face, “then the empire is his. The child would outrank Tirhin, whose mother was only a consort, and Tirhin’s claim would be futile.”
“Take care with your lies, my girl,” Iaris said suspiciously. “Everyone in your father’s palace saw how you looked at that gladiator. No mourning for Kostimon. No veil of widowhood. This wanton behavior—”
“I know exactly which man is the father,” Elandra said wickedly, “for I have lain with only one of them. But the rest of the world will have to wait until the child is born to know.”
Iaris glared at her, too angry to find a retort.
Elandra turned her back. “Leave me. I wish to be alone.”
She stood there, exhausted by the scene, but glad that for once she had left her mother speechless. laris’s footsteps crossed the room, then returned. “Forgive me, Majesty,” she said with mock courtesy, “but I cannot obey you. The door is locked. It seems we are prisoners together.”
Sighing, Elandra started to speak, but just then the floor trembled beneath her feet.
The bed hangings swayed, and a crack ran up the wall from the corner of the fireplace.
Iaris cried out in fear. “Merciful gods, what is happening?”
Elandra glanced up, saw the ceiling cracking, and dodged a piece of falling plaster. She grabbed a bedpost to keep her balance, and the motion stopped. The room was silent, except for the hiss of the fire.
Iaris stood white-faced with terror. “What was it?” she asked. “Where is your jinjaT’
The tiny creature popped out from beneath the bed and began to explore. Elandra brushed plaster dust from her hair.
“Stop shrieking, Iaris,” she said. “It was only an earthquake.” “It is the return of the gods,” Iaris said. “The world is ending. We are all going to die, consumed in—”
Elandra poured a cupful of water and threw it in her mother’s face.
Sputtering, Iaris stared at her.
“Now be quiet,” Elandra said. “I want my rest.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The public dungeons lay beneath the ruins of the old arena, converted from its underground warren of training rooms and quarters. Torches burned at the rubble-strewn entrance, and gaunt-faced soldiers in tattered cloaks huddled around a roaring bonfire for warmth.
Beyond the firelight, furtive glowing eyes watched from nearly every nook and cranny. The soldiers talked loudly and nervously, pretending to ignore the watchers. Now and then there came the abortive scream of a hapless victim out in the darkness.
Riding through the terrible streets, Caelan held himself tightly severed, fearing any contact with the darkness that now ruled Imperia. The smell of death sickened the air, along with the scorched, fetid stench of forbidden magic.
Tightly guarded by men who rode with drawn swords in their hands, Caelan soon gave up any attempt to keep his bearings. With the city destroyed, nothing looked as it should. But when they reined up at the dungeons, Caelan gasped in surprise.
How well he recognized the public square and entrance to the arena, with its stone pillars and a massive lintel carved to show a stylized border of swords laid end to end. The arena itself towered there no more. Only a single section of seats remained, the top half broken away. The rest lay in rubble that filled the ring.
“Get off,” ordered a weary voice.
Caelan dismounted, the shackles on his wrists clanking softly. He still wore the mail shirt Elandra had given him, and during the past few days he had been grateful for it. The long sleeves had protected his wrists from being rubbed sore by his chains. As his mount was led away, he stretched himself carefully, taking care to make no sudden moves that would get himself beaten. It felt good to stand on the ground again.
The soldiers exchanged information. Caelan learned he was a special prisoner of the emperor-elect, to be kept in a solitary cell until he was sent for. No visitors. No one was to talk to him, on pain of death.
The irony of it made Caelan smile without amusement. Some men walked a path of life that progressed in a straight line from birth to death. Others meandered, finding what accomplishments they could. Still others walked in a circle, ending up where they had started. Thus it was for him. He had begun life in Imperia as a slave, chained and beaten, imprisoned beneath the arena with his only future seeming to be a quick death in the ring. Now he had returned, once again in chains, once
again under the dominion of Tirhin.
His head lifted, and he gazed out into the darkness. Tirhin would not own him long this time, for indeed the world was ending. Time was running out for all of them.
The tip of a spear prodded him in the back. “Get moving.”
“Watch him!” another said in warning. “He’s a big brute.”
“Aye, Giant was always dangerous.”
Their fear made them nervous and sweaty. Caelan had fears of his own. Imperia was no place to be shackled and weaponless. If anything attacked, the guards would protect themselves, not him.
Nervously, he flexed against his chains, but they were well forged and held him.
Something that sounded suspiciously like a shyriea shrieked nearby. One of the soldiers flinched, and nearly ran his spear through Caelan’s side. The rings of his mail protected him, but Caelan turned on the man.
“Have a care, you fool!” he said angrily.
Another soldier stepped between them and rammed Caelan in the chest with the butt of his spear. “Quiet!”
Caelan drew in a painful breath, his temper hot, but he restrained himself, knowing that to argue would only bring on another beating. He’d had enough of those.
“I want to see Prince Tirhin,” he said hoarsely. “I am a member of the Crimson Guard. I demand—”
The spear shaft swung again, cracking him across the jaw and knocking him down.
Caelan lay there, stunned, his head ringing.
They kicked him. “You’re a deserter. Now get up! Get moving!”
They stripped off his mail, then kicked and pummeled him, thudding into the sore places. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, swaying as his head spun. Blackness dipped and swooped at him. By the time he drove it away, they had yanked him forward by his arms and were shoving him down a ramp into a torchlit maze of passageways. He walked past beat-up wooden doors banded with iron. The smell was even the same—musty and damp, sour with old sweat and blood.
He was shoved into a dark cell, hard enough to make him stumble into the back wall. The door slammed, and he heard the bolts shoot home. Caelan clung to the wall, fighting off his dizziness. Pain was still exploding in his jaw. He felt it gingerly, decided it wasn’t broken, and spat out a bloody tooth.
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