Shadow War (25 page)

“The child was not
prepared for this. She has had no training. She could not protect herself.”

“But you brought
her back,” Anas said, insisting as though she wanted comfort.

But there was no
comfort to be handed out. The Magria looked at her deputy unsparingly. “Yes,”
she said. “But whether she has returned with her reason intact is something we
do not yet know. Whether she can survive the shock is another question beyond
it.”

“The coronation is
in three hours,” Anas said. “The guard of escort is already waiting outside the
temple.”

“Do not speak to
me of time!” the Magria snapped. “Do you think I can simply put my hand on her
forehead and revive her to her senses? Do you think she is likely to recover in
time to be crowned?”

“But—”

“I told you not to
do this, and you disobeyed me,” the Magria said, too angry now to soften her
tone.

“The purification
ceremony must be difficult—”

“Why? The girl did
not require it. She is no threat to us.”

“She will be if he
gives her the throne,” Anas said sharply. “You saw how much she has changed already.
She must be taught to need us.”

Disappointment
caught the Magria in the throat like a knife. She had trained Anas with such
hopes, but Anas continued to fall short. Another candidate to succeed her must
be sought, and there was no time for that now either. Not with events shaping
themselves so quickly.

“You are wrong,”
the Magria said flatly.

For the first time
Anas looked uncertain. She opened her mouth to say more, but the Magria lifted
her hand.

“You are no longer
deputy,” she said in a harsh, toneless voice. “If you cannot realize what your
mistake has cost us in terms of time and trust, then you are incapable of
judging what needs to be done to salvage this situation. We have lost this
child.”

“She still lives,”
Anas said, white-faced and shaken.

“Go.”

Anas started to
protest again, but the Magria glared at her and curled her fists. She was
angry, so angry she could barely trust herself not to strike.

As though finally
seeing this, Anas bowed her head and crept from the room.

The other two
sisters exchanged frightened glances. “Excellency,” one said, “may we assist
you in—”

“No. I must do
this myself. There can be no more mistakes.”

The Magria steeled
her heart, although already she was grieving for Anas, whom she had loved like
a daughter. I
was proud of her,
she thought wearily to herself.
I
indulged her too much, overlooked too much. I have myself to blame as much as
her.

“Go with Anas,”
the Magria said. “Do not talk of this to the others. I must guide Anas later
when this matter is back under control. For now, stay with her. Do not let her
out of your sight. Comfort her if she will permit it.”

Reluctantly, the
two sisters filed out.

Alone with the
empress, the Magria sighed and buried her face in her hands for an unguarded
moment of despair.

The sisterhood had
grown so weak, and the Vindicants seemed stronger than ever. It had been
Vindicant poison that had gotten past their safeguards to strike at this girl.
There would be other attempts, and the Magria did not know if the sisters would
be vigilant enough to thwart them.

And now this
precious child had been seriously mishandled. It was an appalling blunder, but
even worse was the vision of a released Beloth marching across the world again.
The Magria herself had not foreseen that.

In her earlier
visions she had seen that Elandra would marry the emperor but that she would
turn to the man who would succeed Kostimon. One of the choices had been Tirhin.
The other man was unknown. These men would war against each other, and Elandra
would go to the victor to help found a new dynasty. Now it seemed the Magria’s
interpretation had been wrong. Elandra had not chosen either Tirhin or the
unknown.

Gently the Magria
pried the topaz gem from Elandra’s fingers. The girl—so stubborn, so
headstrong, so surprising—had chosen herself. Just as Kostimon—in an
astonishing twist of contrariness—had chosen her.

None of this had
lain in the visions.

The girl could not
rule alone. The idea was impossible. Kostimon must know that. He must have some
ploy in mind, but what? Did he realize that this child with her long eyelashes,
mahogany hair, and Albain chin had the steel of kings in her? Did he understand
what he had unleashed? Did he care? Or was he simply planning to create as much
chaos as possible in his final days?

The Magria shook
her head. Truly she had never felt as blind and helpless as she did now, with
no inkling of how to judge the events taking place.

She took Elandra’s
cold, still hand between hers. “We are falling into darkness,” she whispered. “Kostimon
has given the shadow gods the means to unchain themselves. You have foreseen
their return. You alone have divined our way of escape. What is it, little one?
What is it?”

But Elandra lay
still and wan, lost as yet to all of them.

In Agel's study, Caelan
stood a moment longer after the woman left, his mind awash with her beauty. He
had never seen anyone like her before. She was exotic, unusual. Slanting
cheekbones, almond eyes fringed with incredibly long lashes, a voluptuous
mouth, hair like darkened copper. She smelled of sandalwood and cinnabar, clean
and inviting. Tall and slender, richly gowned beneath her cloak, she came from
another world far from his, a forbidden world he would never enter. He felt a
little stunned by her, like a man who had stood too long in the sun.

She had been quick
and clever, too slippery to convince. He did not believe she was truly the
empress as she had claimed. Despite Agel’s collaboration, Caelan thought she
was probably an attendant, a lady highborn and very adept at deception. But she
was too young to be empress; she was younger than he. Besides, for all her
cleverness, she had not acted like a wife. She seemed confused whenever the
emperor was mentioned. She had stammered stupid things about rules that kept
her from seeing the man.

Wives were not
kept from their husbands. That was nonsense.

But if she was
only a lady of the court, then no matter what she had said or half promised,
she could not really help him.

Hopelessness swept
over Caelan. He sighed and felt weariness sink through his bones.

“Run,” the woman
had advised him.

He could barely
walk, and yet he knew her suggestion came from genuine concern. He had no
future here. Even if the prince still lay deeply unconscious and knew nothing
of Caelan’s attempt to betray him, Caelan could not return. He had taken the
prince home, but that ended his service. Already he had torn the prince’s coat
of arms from his sleeve and hurled it into a roadside ditch.

Where, then, did
he go? Did he slip out again through the side gate of the palace, winked on his
way by the sentry who had won such a fortune on him? Did he hide himself in the
city, waiting for the bounty hunters to sniff him out? Did he set out along a
road? Did he take passage on a ship? No sea captain would allow him aboard as a
passenger, looking like he did.

Could he admit
defeat and give up when he was this close to the emperor? Or should he try
again?

Aching and tired,
he limped to the door and eased it open a crack.

The passageway
seemed clear. He stepped out, holding his breath, and headed down it. There had
to be a way to reach the emperor. He would find it.

As he passed the
door to the infirmary, however, it swung open and Agel stepped out.

Astonished, Caelan
stopped in his tracks. “You! What are you doing here? I thought you left.”

Agel shook his
head and pointed to the bulging pouch he carried over one shoulder. “I had
preparations to make. And I could not leave you here in such terrible
condition.”

Caelan was not
ready to forgive him. Kinsmen should stand together, no matter what their
private differences were. He had seen behavior in Agel today that shamed him.

“All I need is a
meal,” Caelan said, knowing that what he really wanted was a soaking bath, a
massage, and several hours of sleep.

Agel nodded. “Let
me tend you first. It won’t take a moment, and then I will go to the prince.”

Agel walked back
into the study, and Caelan followed. His mind was too blurred with fatigue for
him to wonder much why Agel had delayed leaving. In a way, Caelan found himself
relieved. He needed his cousin’s help. Perhaps Agel had finally calmed down
enough to offer it.

“Sit there,” Agel
said, pointing at the stool.

Caelan obeyed and
Agel took a small vial from his pouch. He handed it to Caelan.

“Drink this,” he
ordered.

Caelan sniffed it
but detected nothing repulsive. “What is it?”

“Who is the healer
here?” Agel said, as prickly as ever. Then he smiled. “A restorative, you
idiot. Drink it, and you will feel strong enough to eat the meal I have sent
for.”

Caelan swallowed
the liquid in a swift gulp. It had no bitter aftertaste. Relieved, he handed
over the empty vial.

“Thank you for
waiting,” he said. “I got nowhere with the woman.”

“Can’t you speak
of her respectfully?” Agel said with irritation. “You are fortunate to still have
your tongue. She was too lenient with you.”

“Oh, come, I know
she isn’t the real empress, but only a handmaid,” Caelan replied. “Enough
pretense. I must have your help, if only to—”

An involuntary
shudder passed through him. He broke off his sentence and passed his hand
across his brow. It felt clammy.

Agel stepped
closer to him, staring down at him as though from a very great height.

Alarmed, Caelan
wondered why Agel was suddenly so tall and he was suddenly so very short, so
very tiny, shrinking and shrinking, until he was only a speck, and then nothing
at all.

When he awakened,
he was lying on a braided run in the antechamber of Prince Tirhin’s personal
suite of rooms. Puzzled, Caelan took a while to sort through it. He did not
understand what he was doing here, or why he was lying on the floor.

When he tried to
sit up, every muscle in his body protested with a level of soreness that made
him groan.

At once Agel
appeared in the doorway that led to the bedchamber. “So you’re finally awake,”
he said coldly. “It’s about time. Get up and come in here.”

Caelan opened his
mouth to ask questions, but Agel had already vanished.

Frowning, Caelan
slowly sat up, finding his wits by slow degrees, then levered himself to his
feet. He had slept deeply, but he still felt muddled and groggy. A glance at
the small window told him night had fallen outside, but how many hours had
passed? And how did he come to be back here in the prince’s house?

Memories sifted
back to him in pieces. He realized he had been drugged.

Agel’s meddling
angered him, but he wasn’t ready to face the implications yet.

Limping with one
hand pressed to his aching side, Caelan went first to the door that led
outside. It was locked, and he could not budge the latch. Grimly he turned
around and walked to the bedchamber.

He paused in the
doorway, looking inside.

A single lamp
burned near the bed, leaving most of the room in shadow.

Within the circle
of light, the prince lay beneath a blanket, asleep or unconscious Caelan did
not know. His face had a waxy sheen, far too pale. Agel stood beside him,
holding the prince’s wrist in his long fingers.

Disappointed and
worried, Caelan drew in a sharp breath and walked on into the room.

Agel released his
grip on Tirhin’s wrist and turned to face Caelan.

“Is he better?”
Caelan asked.

“Not much,” Agel
said bluntly. “His physical hurts are minor. Those I have dealt with. But it is
his reason that concerns me.”

Caelan frowned at
the man who was now his master in name only. “Yes,” he said very softly.

Agel’s gaze narrowed.
“It is time that you told me exactly what happened. I can do nothing if I do
not have information.”

Caelan’s frown
deepened. “Why did you bring me back here to him? Why drug me? What is your
intention?”

“It should be
obvious,” Agel said coldly. “You are intent on self-destruction, as usual. But
this time I will stop you.”

“Why?”

“Because we are
kinsmen,” Agel said sharply. “What happens to you will affect me. If you betray
this great man who is your master, will I not also be looked on with suspicion?
Treachery is said to run in families.”

Caelan stared at
him in amazement tinged with disgust. “You are thinking only of yourself.”

“I am being
prudent.”

“You hypocrite—”

Agel lifted his
hand. “I will not argue further with you. You are the property of his highness.
If you do not stay where you belong, you will be branded a runaway. It is
shameful enough to have a cousin who is a slave. Worse to have a cousin who
kills for sport. But to have a cousin who attacks his master and then runs from
his crime is—”

“Wait!” Caelan
said in bewilderment. “What twisting of truth is this? I didn’t attack him.”

“Didn’t you?” Agel
said, his gaze never wavering. “Didn’t he reprimand you, and didn’t you turn on
him violently? Your temper has always been unreliable. And now you are afraid,
too afraid to confess what you have done.”

Caelan was
horrified. He realized immediately what the implications would be if Agel
spread this lie. “You can’t do this,” he said, his voice choked. “You mustn’t.”

“Then cease this
stupid insistence that the prince is a traitor,” Agel said.

Caelan stared at
him, his mind whirling. He felt stunned with disgust at what his cousin was
attempting to do.