Authors: Deborah Chester
After the events
of this morning, her ground had become very shaky. She did not think Kostimon
would receive her at all, much less listen.
Besides, if she
took the risk and Kostimon did believe her, that would mean Tirhin’s arrest. An
investigation would be carried out. Possibly he would be tortured. If the
charges were proved true, Tirhin might be executed.
Elandra frowned to
herself as she hurried along. She held a man’s future in her hand, and she was
not certain she liked it.
But if she kept
quiet, deliberately suppressing the knowledge she had been given. How could she
live with her own conscience? Would her silence not make her a coconspirator
against her husband?
What was she to
do? What was the wise course? The right course? They did not seem to be the
same.
Did not Kostimon
genuinely want his son to succeed him? Had he not hinted as much to her
earlier? If she accused his son, would that not enrage him? The relationship
between father and son was clearly a troubled and complex one. She would be
foolish to step between them in any way. Besides, Kostimon had been laying many
secret plans lately. His network of spies informed him of everything, and he
had Tirhin watched constantly. Was he not already informed of where his son had
been last night?
The easiest course
would be to consult with Lord Sien. He would know how to handle this news and
whether it should be mentioned to the emperor.
Such thoughts
brought her no relief. She did not like Sien, or his priesthood. Something
about the man chilled her. In his presence she always longed for the protection
of a
jinja,
and until now she had avoided him as much as possible. He
did not approve of her, nor did he approve of the emperor’s recent decision to
make her a sovereign.
To approach him
for his advice might be the avenue toward making peace. However much she
disliked him, it would be better to have him for an ally than an enemy.
Her chin lifted,
and by the time she reached her chambers her difficult decision had been made.
Her ladies
clustered around her, fussing and scolding, and hastening to remove her cloak
and veil. She was terribly late. Where had she lingered so long? Was she not
frozen from being outdoors for nearly an hour? The delegation of Penestricans
had arrived. She had kept them waiting. No, there was no time now for anything
except her preparations. No, she was very late, too late to think of writing
notes to people. She had no time for discussions with priests and chancellors.
Everything must now wait.
Resignedly,
Elandra allowed herself to be led into her bedroom, where she was undressed and
bathed in warm water scented with rose petals and fine oils. Then the
preparations began, with each lady in waiting standing in line with the one
article of clothing she was responsible for. Each lady walked up to Elandra in
turn, curtsied low, handed over the item of clothing to Elandra’s dresser, and
curtsied again before retreating. It took an inordinate amount of time, but it
was the customary ceremony of dressing the empress and it occurred several
times a day, for every separate function. Late or not, protocol must be
maintained.
Today, she was not
impatient with it. Her mind busily turned over every aspect of what she
intended to do. And she decided against putting herself under an obligation to
the high priest. It was too risky. Elandra stilled her uneasy conscience. If
Tirhin had done serious wrong, the emperor’s own spies would bring word to him
soon enough.
“Keep your place,”
Kostimon had shouted at her this morning.
Elandra’s eyes
narrowed as her gown was slowly lowered over her head and fastened at the back.
Her place was remaining the empress, remaining alive. She would do whatever was
necessary to keep that. Even if it meant not passing on a warning to her
husband.
Drums rolled like
thunder across the vast expanse of parade ground; then the beat became a steady
cadence, like the fast throbbing of her heart.
Borne in a swaying
litter whose leather curtains were tightly closed, and surrounded by a solid
phalanx of armored soldiers, Elandra was carried down the lengthy steps of the
palace and across the parade ground past endless rows of men and horses, all at
perfect attention. Swathed in furs and heavily veiled, Elandra peered out
through a crack in the curtains, curious to see the army turned out so smartly
in her honor.
Divisions from
every province in the empire had arrived. She knew the barracks were crowded to
bursting, that the city was swollen with citizens pouring in from the
countryside, that every inn was full and people were camping illegally in the streets,
hoping to see her tomorrow. Ambassadors and delegations from outside the empire
had even sent gifts of all kinds, some of them said to be truly magnificent,
although it was considered bad luck for her to see them yet.
So much attention
and tribute was overwhelming, yet she felt isolated from most of it by the
restrictions surrounding her. In a way, it almost seemed to be happening to
someone else.
She wished she
could see her father. Homesickness filled her suddenly, and she found herself
missing the river and humid jungles of Gialta. If only she could talk to her
father, tell him of the events that were happening, and ask his advice. But
when he had given her hand in marriage, she had been cut off from him. Until
her bridal year was finished, she could seek no one outside the palace without
the emperor’s express permission. And to ask Kostimon’s permission meant she
would have to explain.
Elandra sighed.
There were no easy answers or solutions. She must find strength inside herself,
somehow.
Tucked in her
glove was a folded paper that Miles Milgard had slipped to her at the last
moment. She was supposed to be studying her oath right now while she was being
taken to the temple. But how could she concentrate when her nerves were keyed
up? All she could do was wonder what the purification rites entailed.
They were part of
the mysteries ... no one would tell her more.
Although the
Penestricans had been banished from court for centuries, due to some ancient
feud between them and the Vindicants, the sisterhood had been permitted to
return for this occasion. They were to conduct the final rites tonight.
And although
Elandra feared the Vindicants and their strange ceremonies, she could not feel
relieved to be in the hands of the sisterhood either. She had endured their
lessons before. They were always unpleasant experiences.
Elandra had been
dreading the purification more than anything else. Gripping her hands together
in her lap, she tried to shore up her faltering courage. But her nervousness
kept growing. She drew in deep breaths, telling herself she must stay calm.
If only there was
something to distract her. But there came no cheering from the silent ranks of
the cavalry and foot soldiers lined up at attention. They did not move. They
did not salute. They did not shout her name. All she could hear was the ominous
beating of the drums and the rapid thump of her own heartbeat. It was alarming,
this great silence.
Then, with a
slight bump, her litter stopped and was lowered to the ground. She heard
stamping and the thud of fists against armored chests in salute.
Hastily Elandra
secured her veil just as the curtains of the litter parted.
A very stern
officer wearing armor polished to a blinding sheen reached in and took her hand
to assist her out. Still holding her hand in a ceremonial clasp, he led her up
a crimson strip of carpet laid over the steps of the small temple. A man in the
black mask of an executioner followed them with an axe.
On either side of
the crimson carpet stood an unmoving line of veiled women robed in black. Each
woman held a burning candle in her hands. Seeing this, Elandra shivered.
Once before she
had entered the Penestrican stronghold between rows of women holding candles.
That time, she had been attacked by a Maelite witch and blinded. It had been
weeks before she regained her sight, and then she had been told her true
destiny.
With a sinking
feeling, Elandra could not help wondering if yet more surprises awaited her
inside this small, shabby temple.
It was the ancient
Penestrican temple, a place closed and deconsecrated centuries before during
the purge. The Vindicants had wanted it torn down, but Kostimon refused because
Fauvina’s remains were buried there.
At the top of the
steps, Elandra’s escort halted before the small, plain altar fashioned of
stone. A wreath of flowers lay on it, along with a clod of earth and a simple
clay vessel of water. The sisters began to chant, and with deep bows both the
officer and the executioner backed away, moving down the steps with care.
Elandra was left
alone.
She stood facing
the altar, gripping her cloak to her throat with both hands to conceal their
trembling.
The chanting grew
louder. It was an elemental, primitive sound that sent shivers up her spine.
Beyond the altar
hung a curtain the color of the sky. It was drawn open by an unseen hand.
Dry-mouthed,
Elandra walked around the altar and ducked beneath the fold of curtain. She
passed into the gloom beyond.
She found herself
in a tiny room, very dark after the daylight outside. Candles burned in numerous
niches around the walls. The air was dry, musty, and cold, overlaid with
incense.
Before her a hole
yawned in the floor. Steps of crumbling stone led down into a shadowy unknown.
Removing her veil, Elandra pushed back the fur-lined hood of her cloak and
gathered up her long skirts. Slowly and cautiously she descended the steps, her
hem dragging behind her with a soft rustle.
Candles burned at
the foot of the steps. Thus, she descended into light, blinking as the
illumination grew stronger.
At the bottom of
the steps, she found herself in a circular chamber lined with stone. The tamped
earthen floor was decorated with a five-sided star drawn with red sand. The
serpent box stood in the center of the star, its lid firmly closed.
The chamber was
very warm, although she saw no fires burning. Only the candle flames,
flickering steadily, reflected in the somber eyes of the sisterhood gathered
around her.
Elandra swallowed,
but her mouth remained dry. The silence was daunting, and she lacked
instructions in how to proceed. Yet the time she had spent with the
Penestricans had taught her to exhibit patience and calm in the face of
uncertainty. She tried to do so now, waiting without speaking or moving, gazing
back at this group of impassive women with an assurance she did not feel.
After what seemed
like an eternity, the women parted before her to reveal a doorway. Elandra
walked toward it.
When she stepped
through, she found herself in total darkness. Startled, she turned around, but
it was as though a door had been closed behind her. She had heard nothing, but
she could not retreat. Nor could she go forward. When she turned about again,
she bumped into a wall. She was enclosed in a tiny cylindrical prison that was
barely big enough for her to turn around in, nothing more.
The darkness was
the most frightening aspect. She tried to stay calm and not panic. She did not
want to be blind again. It was cruel of them to do this to her, knowing what
had happened to her in the past. They could have at least given her a candle to
hold for illumination and comfort.
But already she
guessed that comfort was hardly a factor in what was about to befall her.
The floor moved
beneath her. To her surprise, she realized she was being lowered yet deeper
into the bowels of the earth. By what means she did not understand, but when
she stretched out her hands to the walls she could feel them scraping against
her gloves as she went down.
Then her progress
stopped with an abruptness that made her stagger. Without warning, she was
flooded with light.
Dazzled by it, she
shielded her eyes with her hands and came stumbling out into a sand pit.
It was very hot,
so hot her clothes were suddenly stifling her. The sand burned through the thin
soles of her slippers, making it difficult to stand still.
She hurried across
the sand to the other side, and went up three shallow steps to a stone landing.
This chamber lay
in a natural cavern of rough walls and a ceiling hung with strange formations
of translucent stone. On the far side a niche had been carved high in the wall
for the goddess.
“Elandra,” said a
woman’s voice.
Elandra turned and
saw Anas walking toward her.
The deputy had not
changed in the past year. Slim and straight, her long hair hanging unbound down
her back, she approached Elandra with her hands outstretched in welcome.
They clasped hands
quickly, then stood apart.
“The Magria is
well?” Elandra asked.
“She is well,”
Anas replied.
“And you?”
A remote glimmer
of a smile touched Anas’s lips for a moment. “I also am well.”
“My sister?”
Anas shook her
head. “Bixia left us. She was ... unwilling to accept our training.”
Old guilt rose in
Elandra. She knew she was not to blame, yet she still felt responsible for
having ruined Bixia’s hopes. Her half-sister had been raised from the cradle to
think herself betrothed to the emperor, yet destiny had decreed that Elandra
should marry him instead.
“Where has she
gone? Back to Gialta?”
“No. We do not
know.”
Elandra bit her
lip. “She cannot wander the countryside. What will befall her? Someone must inform
my father—”
“Lord Albain
knows,” Anas said coldly.
“But—”
“Our purpose today
is not to discuss your sister, but you.”