Authors: Deborah Chester
She could not
resist saying “But the prince has not sent for you.”
Agel’s eager
expression faltered.
Did he not realize
the mistake he made before her? Suddenly she was weary of the man.
She made a gesture
of dismissal. “Go. Do what you feel is necessary. Certainly the prince must
stand in need of your skill at this time.”
The healer smiled.
“Majesty, forgive my haste,” he said. “Is there any other way in which I can
serve you?”
“No.”
“May I have leave
to attend you later, Majesty? To inquire about your headache?”
“Yes.”
He bowed to her,
frowned dreadfully at Caelan, and vanished, closing the door with a Firm snap.
She found herself
alone with the gladiator. He eyed her like a predator, wary and dangerous. For
a moment she felt afraid again, but she refused to show it.
“As for you—”
“My lady, let me
speak,” he said urgently. “What I have asked from my cousin, now do I ask you.
Have mercy and help me reach the emperor. This is important.”
“I’m sure you
think it is, but I cannot do as you ask.”
His face hardened.
“You mean you will not.”
“Do not censure
me!” she snapped. “There are protocols and procedures. I cannot rush up to the
emperor and demand he give you audience.”
“Not even when the
safety of the empire is at stake?”
She refused to be
flustered and eyed him coolly. “How would a slave know whether the empire is in
jeopardy?”
He went pale, and
for the first time his eyes seemed to show realization of what he faced.
“You have pushed
your way into the palace in a clandestine manner, like a thief. That is a grave
offense,” she said, making her voice curt and harsh. “You have come here
without the permission of your master. That is another offense. You have dared
attack my person. Now you make demands that cannot be met. How do you answer
for yourself?”
“My lady—”
“Address me as
Majesty,” she snapped.
He bowed his head,
chastened. “Majesty,” he said in a low voice.
She did not like
his deplorable manners. He had been too much indulged. It often happened to
slaves who acquired fame. They found it difficult to remember how unimportant
they really were. Yet he was an uncommon man, with uncommon qualities. It must
be hard for him to mute that with deference and humility.
“What was your master
doing on the Forbidden Mountain?” she asked.
Caelan’s head
snapped up, his eyes wary once again.
“Answer me!” she
commanded. “What was he doing there?”
“Indeed, my
lady—Majesty”—he corrected himself— “I cannot say without betraying him.”
“Is that not your
purpose? Haven’t you come seeking audience with the emperor in order to betray
and denounce your master?”
Again his eyes
widened. She felt her irritation rise. Did he think her incapable of guessing
the truth?”
“Majesty, I stand
before you a condemned man,” he said finally, his voice low with pleading. “I
have attacked you, insulted you, acted in all ways wrong. I will die for it. I
have no defense to offer, save these circumstances.”
She stared at him.
This was a man of rare courage, far more pragmatic than she’d expected. His
qualities had held her from calling her guards. They intrigued her enough now
to give him a nod.
“Speak,” she said.
“And tell me the truth of this matter.”
His blue eyes were
grave. He hesitated.
“If I judge it sufficiently
serious, then perhaps I will go to the emperor on your behalf,” she said. “Mind,
I make no promise. But in the interests of the empire, I will listen to what
you know.”
“No,” he said
wearily and turned away.
She stared at him
in disbelief, unable to comprehend that he was refusing the opportunity she had
just granted him. Was he mad?
“Will you die in
silence?” she asked him in open exasperation.
In return he shot
her a look that made her flush. “Majesty, if I may speak freely, to denounce
the prince is a punishable offense. Why should I confide my knowledge in you,
expecting you to then denounce him for me? Why should I request that you
endanger yourself on my behalf? Can a slave ask this of his ... queen?”
She felt both hot
and cold. Her feet were rooted in place. Her heart was suddenly pounding in
embarrassment. She had completely misjudged this man, from his first appearance
at her throat, to the brutal accusations Agel had hurled at him, to his
stubbornness in not obeying her commands.
Only now did she
understand that he was trying to protect her. Not to gain her favor, but
because doing so was natural to him. What kind of man was this, to think of
others beyond his own terrible predicament? It was obvious that Tirhin had been
plotting treason, and that this man, this gladiator champion in his possession,
had witnessed everything. Was Caelan so honorable that he could not withdraw
into the blindness and deafness that every slave acquired for self-protection?
Was he truly willing to risk his life in order to carry a warning to the
emperor?
She saw that he
was, and understood his frustration all too well. Here was a man trying to
help, and hindered at every turn.
“I am sorry,” he
said now, spreading out his hands. “I am a man of action and the sword, not of
polished words. I cannot go back to my master’s service, even if he orders me
killed for my disobedience. I cannot take back what I have done and said in
this room. I can only ask for pardon, and your help.”
His appeal moved
her deeply. She believed his sincerity now.
“If you truly want
my help, you must be forthright in your answers,” she said. “Speak to me about
your master. Is he badly hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Is he dying?”
“He could be. I do
not know.” Caelan hesitated. “The
shyrieas
got to him.”
“Shyrieas?”
she echoed amazed and fearful. “In the city?”
“No. Beyond.” He
gestured vaguely.
“Ah, on
Sidraigh-hal”
she said, remembering what he had said earlier. “What were
you doing there? Plotting treason against the emperor? Was that how the two of
you were caught by the demons which protect the mountain?”
Caelan’s mouth
opened.
She went on. “The
mountain was active last night. We felt tremors, even here in the city.”
As she spoke, she
thought,
Yes, even a tremor that broke the ruby throne. Did Beloth plan that?
Can the shadow god reach so far now into our world?
Driving such
thoughts away, she continued.
“Yes, you were
there by your own admission. That is how you got your burns. And you carried
his highness back?
All that way? That
indicates deep devotion to your master. Why are you now so eager to denounce
him?”
He frowned. “I—”
“Are you guilty as
his accomplice? Have you also committed treasonous acts? By his order or by
your own free will? Have you listened to treasonous talk and not reported it?
Today is not the first time surely that Prince Tirhin has acted against his
emperor, yet why haven’t you spoken up before now? Why wait? Is it for revenge
against your master that you speak now? Why did you not come forward at the
first incident? Do you understand that if you speak, you will come under blame?”
His chin lifted. “I
am prepared for that.”
“How proudly you
say it. Have you realized that if you lay such a charge, you must be
questioned? Do you understand that slaves are questioned by torture, and must
make confessions in order for their evidence to be admissible in court?”
Her scorn was
coming out into her words. How big and foolish he was, standing there with his
mouth open. He looked at her as though he could not imagine a woman would know
about such matters, much less understand them. He was like an ox, too big and
docile to comprehend that he was being led to slaughter. She wished she could
tell him that Kostimon knew his son was plotting, but that was privileged
information, not for disclosure.
Caelan sighed. “I
would not be risking this if I did not believe the emperor should be warned
without delay. Will you now keep your promise, Majesty, and tell him?”
“I made no
promise.”
He scowled. “You—”
Her hand flashed
up to silence him. “I said I would judge your message and then decide whether I
could help you. It is quite impossible.”
His shoulders
sagged, and despair filled his face. It was as though he was too weary to be
angry anymore.
“The emperor
grants few audiences,” she found herself explaining out of pity. “Those are set
weeks in advance. He will see no one on whim or demand.”
“But for this—”
“No. It is by his
will,” she said. “It cannot be changed.”
“But how—”
“There is another
way,” she said.
Hope dawned in his
face. Eagerly he nodded. “Tell me, and I shall do it.”
“You offered to
write your message. Do that, and I will see that it reaches the hands of Lord
Sien.”
Everything in his
face crashed. He drew back, shaking his head. “No.”
“Why?”
“It is impossible.”
Elandra’s patience
crumbled. She had made more explanations and offers of assistance than he had
any right to expect. Suggesting Lord Sien’s help was the only avenue of seeing
that his message got to the emperor, for the high priest alone had unlimited
access to the emperor’s ear. But this man was indeed an ignorant knave. If he
did not understand how far she had been willing to go on his behalf, then she
would not explain further.
“Very well,” she
said coldly, and walked to the door.
Caelan came after
her. “Majesty, please!”
“I must go.”
He reached around
her and held the door shut with his palm when she would have opened it.
Outraged, she
whirled to face him and found him far too close. “How dare you keep me here
against my will!”
“What is one more
offense among so many?” he retorted. “Will you help me if I tell you the
Madruns are coming?”
“The Madruns are
always coming,” she said, unimpressed. “It is a threat spoken to frighten
children. They cannot break through our defenses.”
His face was
intense. “But if they could?”
“They cannot!”
“But if they
could!”
She stared at him,
wondering for a moment if it could be true. The very idea chilled her. “Is this
the terrible warning you bring?” she asked, putting a slight hint of laughter
in her voice.
He met her gaze,
emotions at war in his face. Finally he took his hand from the door and stepped
back.
“It is impossible
for them to reach Imperia,” she went on derisively. “Our defenses are very
strong.”
He said nothing.
His eyes held defeat, and it was as though he refused to plead or argue
further.
She watched him a
moment, wanting to believe him, but unable to. With a sigh, she replaced her
veil and straightened her cloak. Her obligations could not be put off any
longer. She had tarried here too long already. Elandra’s curiosity was stronger
than ever regarding what Tirhin had been up to. But if the slave would not talk
openly, she could waste no more time trying to draw it from him.
“My advice for you
is that you run,” she said. “The healer will tell Prince Tirhin what you have
done here. You are lost. No one at the palace will grant you sanctuary, and you
cannot return to your master with any hope of his mercy now that you have
attempted to denounce him. Run. It is your only hope.”
“I can’t live with
bounty hunters on my trail,” he said quietly.
It was not the
answer she expected from him. She cast him one final look of amazement, then
gathered her potion from the table and left the small study, taking care to
close the door after her.
In the passageway
the guards snapped to attention and fell into step behind her. Elandra walked
quickly, moving with purpose but not unseemly haste. She was late; she had been
gone too long. There would be an uproar to face in her chamber.
It did not matter.
She had much to think about regarding this chance encounter.
Was it chance
or fate
? whispered a voice in the back of her mind. The Penestrican
sisterhood did not believe in chance, only in connections.
What had Tirhin
done?
He had plotted
treason unsuccessfully in the past, and Kostimon had overlooked his
transgression. Lately the prince had been surly and rebellious, but more toward
her than toward his father.
But now he had
done something wrong enough to shock a slave still loyal enough to carry his
master bodily all the way back from
Sidraigh-hal.
As for how the slave
had escaped the
shyrieas
himself, that had not been explained. She was
inclined to think there had been no encounter with demons.
What, then, had
Tirhin done? What was this wild talk of Madruns overtaking the city? It was
unthinkable that Tirhin would join in some unholy alliance with the enemy, and
yet it made sense. It explained what had made this slave claw his way through
an unguarded palace window, risking everything for a chance to warn the
emperor.
She had barely
managed to pretend that she didn’t believe the slave’s hint about the Madruns.
But inside, her heart raced at the possibility. Yet they couldn’t take the
city. They couldn’t.
Even with help?
She dismissed the
thought, telling herself not to become fearful and foolish. Her own father considered
fear a contagion. He despised anyone who was governed by it. Elandra told
herself she must think on this matter with her coolest reason.
But what if the
slave was right? What if there was little time? What if her indecision and
delay cost the city dearly?
What if she broke
protocol and risked demanding an audience with the emperor? Even she had not
the right to go to him unbidden. What if Kostimon heard her secondhand tale of
supposition and hearsay and disbelieved it?