Reign of Shadows (44 page)

Fresh
doubts crowded Elandra’s mind. For the first time some of the implications
began to sink in. The emperor was as old as time, or nearly so. The emperor was
said to consort with demons and those of the shadow world. The emperor had
murdered all his children save one, the current prince. The emperor was a
ruthless tyrant, whose word was absolute law. Invoke his displeasure, even
once, and a person’s life was forfeit. And she was to belong to him? She was to
pleasure him? Obey his every whim? Fetch and fawn for him? Wait for him to die?
And then what would happen to her?

Elandra
began to tremble. It was not what she wanted. All the glory in the world could
not make up for the risk. For Bixia, so vain and spoiled and pretty, it had
been ideal. Bixia was shallow enough to smile and flutter and flirt. She would
despise him secretly and dream of lovers. She would be ruthless and capricious
and grasping. Bixia could survive such a life, even thrive on it.

But
Elandra was not made like her sister. Elandra wanted a man she could respect
and honor. She had never asked for much in her life, and now overwhelming
bounty was being showered on her. While a part of her was dazzled by the
thought of sitting next to the most powerful man on earth—a man some claimed
was almost a god himself—the rest of her was afraid. She had not been made to
lie and pretend. He would hate her on sight, and she would die.

The
Magria gazed at her as though she could read Elandra’s mind. “No,” she said
softly. “Do not decide before you fully understand. You were prepared to enter
a marriage of convenience based on our selection and your father’s agreement.
How is this any different?”

Elandra
opened her mouth, but she had no reply.

“We
offer you a marriage of tremendous consequence. Do you really wish to refuse
this chance to be queen?”

“He
has seen Bixia’s portrait,” Elandra said, digging into hurts that lay deep. “He
chose her willingly for her beauty. I do not have any allure for men, like
Bixia does. I never have.”

“You
will be trained in the arts of pleasing a man.”

Heat
flamed in Elandra’s face. To hide her own embarrassment she grew angry. “Will I
learn to cast a spell over him?”

“Silence!”
the Magria said sharply, eyes blazing. “You fool!”

Abashed,
Elandra dropped her gaze and stood quietly, her heart pounding beneath her
breast.

“Were
not so much at stake, I would fling you out— both of you! Foolish, impertinent
girl, mouthing off beyond your limited comprehension. You have no choice here.
None!”

Glaring
at Elandra, the Magria finally seemed to pull herself back under steely
control. “Fear and emotional  upheaval have made your tongue unruly,” she said
at last. “For that I will forgive this display. But only once. Am I clear?”

“Yes,”
Elandra whispered, still looking at the floor.

“There
is opportunity for you beyond your wildest dreams. You wanted to see the world,
and you will. You wanted knowledge, and you will have it. You wanted love, and
it will come. Put your fear aside.”

She
turned away, gesturing for Elandra to come with her, but Elandra hesitated,
gazing down at her weeping sister.

“What
happens to Bixia?” she asked.

“That
remains to be seen. Come.”

“No,”
Elandra said, then tried to temper her discourtesy. “I—I mean, yes, of course I
will come, but first please let me have a moment with her, alone. There is so
much to consider.”

The
Magria’s expression revealed nothing, but after a moment’s hesitation she
acquiesced. “Very well. It will avail nothing, but you may have the time you
request. A sister will be waiting outside to conduct you to my chambers when
you are ready.”

She
glided away without a sound and vanished into the gloom.

In
the flickering candlelight, Elandra knelt beside Bixia and tried to put her
arms around her.

But
Bixia jerked away. “No!” she said, flinging back her hair. Her green eyes were
puffy with tears. Wildly she glared at Elandra. “You want me to tell you I’m
happy for you? You want me to forgive you for what you’ve stolen from me?”

Elandra
sighed. “I just want—”

“I
won’t forgive you! And someday I’ll make you regret the way you have betrayed
me.”

“But
I—”

“Don’t
play innocent with me. You’ve planned this from the first. You and your special
prophecies. How you must have laughed when you ripped apart my bridal robe. How
you must have gloated when the soldiers cheered you. How you must be enjoying
yourself now, at my expense.”

“No,
you’re wrong,” Elandra said in dismay. She had known Bixia would take
everything the wrong way. “Please listen to me.”

Bixia
scrambled to her feet. “Get away from me! It wasn’t enough that you always had
Father’s affection. It wasn’t enough that you humiliated my mother and made her
cry in secret every time she saw you. No! You couldn’t be satisfied until you
robbed me of all that was promised. Scheming and—”

“I
didn’t scheme for it. I just—”

“You’re
a liar and a thief!” Bixia screamed at her. “They’ll never let me near you
again, and that’s good because if I could I’d cut out your black heart!”

“Please
don’t be like this. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll still marry—”

“Who?
Some paltry nobleman with a backwater palace in a forgotten, underfunded
province?” Bixia laughed scornfully and tossed her golden head. “I’d sooner die
than take your leavings. You think you’re rid of me and Aunt Hecati, but you’re
not.”

“It’s
Hecati who caused the trouble in the first place,” Elandra said hotly.

“And
she’ll cause more. Plenty more!” Bixia’s eyes narrowed, and her face held only
spite. “Enjoy your pretty gowns and fancy jewels as quickly as you can. You won’t
have them long. The emperor will take one look at your long face and die of
horror.”

“Perhaps
he’ll be relieved to be married to someone with a mind for a change, instead of
another pretty slut,” Elandra retorted.

Bixia
went white.

At
once Elandra was ashamed of herself. This was no time to be petty, not when she’d
robbed Bixia of her life’s ambition.

“I’m
sorry,” she said softly, holding out her hand.

Bixia
slapped it away. Tight-lipped and trembling, she glared at Elandra like someone
possessed. “I hate you,” she whispered. “I shall always hate you. Count
yourself warned, for if there is any harm I can bring you or those you love, I
shall do it! I swear this in the name of Mael.”

Shocked,
Elandra backed away from her. She started to say something, started to plead
with Bixia to deny what she’d just uttered, but Bixia had become a
stranger—enraged and violent, nearly insane with hatred.

“Get
out!” Bixia said with loathing. “Get out! Get out! Get
out!”

Clapping
her hands over her ears to shut out Bixia’s screams, Elandra turned and ran.

Outside
in the passageway, she ran full tilt into someone in a black robe, someone
plump and motherly who held her close when Elandra would have fought free.

“No!”
Elandra said, choking on her tears. “No, I—
please.”

“Hush,”
the woman soothed her. “Hush, now. All will be well.”

And
suddenly Elandra found herself clinging to this gentle stranger, weeping as
though her heart would break.

“Greatness
is born of pain, little one,” the woman murmured, stroking her hair. “Let the
tears fall. Let the tears cleanse you, little wife of the emperor who is and
the mother of the emperor who will be. All will be well with you. All will be
well.”

After
all the
anticipation, Caelan did not fight on the first day of the season. Locked in
with the veterans, it seemed he was forgotten. No one came for him the first
day or the next. The gladiators paced about or played with dice, locked in the
gloomy quarters beneath the arena. The thunder of the crowd rolled incessantly
from noon until dusk, day after day.

On
the third rotation, guards came with a small wooden pail. Without being told,
the gladiators lined up against the wall. Caelan took his place at the far end,
watching to see what to do so he wouldn’t have to ask. Each man drew out a
small bronze tag with a number engraved on it.

The
guards swept the litter of their game off the crude wooden table and shook out
a pair of dice three times. “Numbers three, twelve, and eight. You go in
tomorrow.”

One
guard made notations on a tablet while the other collected the bronze tags and
put them back in the pail.

Caelan’s
number had been four. He loosed a sigh of relief, and the tight knot in his
stomach eased a little.

Nux
had drawn number three. He scowled at Caelan with his small beady eyes and
grunted. But Nux left him alone.

At
the end of the following day, only Nux returned. Soaked with sweat and blood
that apparently wasn’t his, he shrugged off his leather harness and stripped
down to his dirty hide to climb into a big stone tub of water in the corner.
There, by lamplight, he splashed and scrubbed and soaked out his tired muscles.

Caelan
watched him and wondered what he felt, being the victor yet again.

The
guards came in for the drawing of lots. Excluding Nux, they passed down the
line, then threw the dice seven times. Seven men were selected. Caelan’s number
was not among them.

This
time dirty looks were cast his way. When the guards left, Nux climbed out of
the tub and dripped his way across the room. Belting on a tunic, he glared at
Caelan.

“What’s
your nick?” he asked.

Caelan
put down the dice he’d been rolling idly and sat very still on his stool,
trying not to betray his tension. “My what?”

“Your
nick with the guards. What is it?”

Caelan
shook his head. “Just luck.”

“Naw.
You got put with us, you! Green as grass, you are. Now you’ve missed two draws.
What’s your nick?”

“I’m
telling you,” Caelan said warily, never letting his eyes off Nux for a moment. “Just
luck.”

“Get
off, Nux,” called one of the other men. “You saw how they pounded him in
training. It’s luck.”

“Better
be. But why’s he here with us? Don’t deserve
it.”

Grins
broke out around the room. “Why, the trainers are just giving us the privilege
of killing him instead. Right?”

They
laughed, and Nux moved away. Caelan sagged on his stool and wiped sweat from
his forehead. Another moment gained, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

The
guards didn’t return until the following week. Caelan knew they had been drawing
veterans from another room. The next draw missed him again. He began to wonder
at his luck just like the others. They muttered and glared.

“Midway
through season already, and him left,” Nux complained to the guards.

“Shut
up!” one of the guards retorted. “What’s it to you?”

They
left with a slam of the door.

Nux
stood up and came over to where Caelan was standing. His eyes glared over his
broken nose, and his teeth were bared. “You ain’t being saved, not you. I’m
going to—”

“Better
save yourself for tomorrow,” Caelan said quickly, tensing himself on the balls
of his feet in readiness for attack. “If you use up your strength on me, then
you’ll die in the arena.”

Nux
drew back with a frown, looking momentarily frightened. “Gault’s blood!” he
swore. “You putting a curse on me?”

The
other men exchanged looks. “Giant put a curse on Nux.”

“A
curse.”

They
murmured and shifted back.

“It’s
not a curse,” Caelan said, although if they wanted to think so he wasn’t going
to try too hard to talk them out of it. “Just a prediction. You jump me, and I
won’t go down easy.”