Authors: Deborah Chester
“She needs help,”
Elandra said stubbornly.
“If she has gone
to the Maelites, we cannot help her.”
The rebuke was as
harsh as a slap. Elandra frowned and fell silent, while inside she wanted to
cry out denials. Bixia couldn’t be foolish enough to go into that darkness. To
follow Mael was an unthinkable blasphemy against all that was of the light and
good. Yet Aunt Hecati had been a Maelite witch, skilled enough to conceal her
evilness from all the safeguards in the Albain palace for years. It made sense
that Bixia would return to the woman who had raised her. Still, Elandra hated
to think it.
“Come,” Anas said,
with that sharpness still in her voice. “Put your mind on the future, not on
the past. There is much to do.”
She turned and
went back the way she had come. Elandra followed her in silence.
Anas took her
through a short passageway into another chamber. A small, round dais stood in the
center. Elandra was told to stand on it.
As soon as she
complied, Anas left her. Five women entered the chamber and began to undress
Elandra, beginning with her gloves and fur-lined cloak.
The paper Miles
had given her fell from her right glove and drifted to the floor.
One of the women
paused and picked it up.
“Forgive me,”
Elandra said, embarrassed. “I forgot that was there. Put it back in my glove,
please, and I’ll—”
But the woman
holding the paper suddenly hissed as though in pain and dropped it. The candles
lighting the room guttered, and several went out.
Looking alarmed,
the sisters backed up rapidly. “Anas!” one cried.
The deputy came
running into the chamber just as the paper on the floor burst into flames.
Yet it was no
ordinary fire, for the flames were a sickly green and emitted a strange odor.
Inhaling made
Elandra feel dizzy and faint.
“Protect her!”
Anas commanded.
Two of the women
ran to Elandra and pulled her off the dais away from the weird fire. She wanted
to cooperate, but her legs felt spongy and strange. She stumbled and fell to
her knees. She felt horrible, so sick she thought she might vomit.
Anas grabbed a
candle from its wall niche and hurled it at the green fire. Golden flames burst
against green. For an instant both blazed high; then the golden flames were
gone and only the unearthly fire remained, larger than ever. Ugly green smoke
spewed from it, filling the chamber.
Coughing, Elandra
tried to get to her feet. She must not breathe this. None of them must breathe
this. Across the room she thought she saw fear in Anas’s face. All the sisters
were shouting. More came, some of them carrying staffs that glowed with a
nimbus of yellow light. These women struck at the green flames with the staffs,
but the fire seemed to grow stronger from everything used to fight it.
“Silence!”
commanded a voice above the commotion. “Trust in the mother. Do not feed evil
with your fears.”
The Magria
appeared in their midst, naked and grim. Her gray tresses hung unbound down her
back, and the terrible mutilation scars looked old and white on her skin. She
was carrying a basin of dirt, and her face looked as bleak as death.
The fire blazed
very high as she approached it, belching the evil, poisonous smoke more than
ever.
Coughing and
gasping, the sisters backed away. One of them fainted. Elandra herself lay flat
on the ground, pressing her face to it in an effort to breathe air as yet
untainted.
Undaunted, the
Magria dumped the basin of dirt on the fire, shouting an ancient word that
jolted through Elandra although she did not understand its meaning.
The fire died, and
the green smoke vanished except for a few lingering wisps.
For a moment there
was only the sound of coughing and retching. The Magria glared at all of them,
especially Anas.
“Bring the serpents,”
she commanded. “Let them finish cleaning this chamber. Search for any other
traps that may await us. Use earth, not fire in this place. None of you are
novices, to fall for such obvious tricks!” Her glare raked all of them. “You
and you, bring the girl to me as soon as she is able. Anas, I will speak to you
now.”
She turned and
strode out. Anas, wearing an unreadable expression, hurried after her. The
others exchanged glances of shame and embarrassment. Most faded away until only
the two assigned to care for Elandra remained with her.
“Can you breathe
better now?” One of them asked. She had a soft, kindly face. “Are you able to
stand?”
Still nauseated,
Elandra shook her head. Her eyes were streaming, and her throat burned from the
smoke she had swallowed. She wanted to crawl into a corner and die.
Probably that was
what someone had wanted her to do.
Her near escape
had shaken her badly. Here among the Penestricans she had always felt safe.
They brought her
water, which she didn’t want, but it made her feel much better and soothed her
upset stomach. After a few minutes she could sit up. By the time the snakes
were brought in, she was able to stand unsteadily.
Flanking her on
either side, the two sisters supported her from the chamber and took her to a
room fitted with a chair, a table, and a cot. A scroll-box stood opened on the
floor beside a small chest of cedar wood.
The Magria sat
there with a fearsome expression. Anas stood near her, looking tense and
unhappy.
They brought a
stool for Elandra, who sat down feeling as though she was made of glass.
“This will be
explained,” the Magria said in a voice like iron. She turned her formidable
gaze on Elandra. “You said the paper was yours. You brought it here
deliberately concealed in your glove.”
Elandra stared at
her in surprise. Was she being accused? Indignation replaced her astonishment. “How
can you—”
“Silence!”
Elandra cut off
her sentence abruptly.
The Magria leaned
forward. “You said it was yours. You told the sister to replace it in your glove.”
There was menace
in this room, combined with considerable anger. Elandra fought back her sense
of injustice and struggled to present what she knew in a matter-of-fact voice.
If she let herself get too emotional, they would truly think her guilty.
“I thought the
paper was the oath I must learn for tomorrow,” she said in a quiet, controlled
voice. Her hands were shaking in her lap. She curled them into fists. “It was
given me as I set out. I was supposed to study it in my litter, but I didn’t
bother.”
As she spoke, a
horrified corner of her mind was refusing to believe her tutor Miles could have
done such a thing. She had always liked him, trusted him. Why should he want to
harm her?
“Who gave you this
paper?” the Magria asked.
“A man named Miles
Milgard. He is my political tutor.”
“You trust this
man?”
Elandra’s eyes
filled with tears. She fought to hold them back. “Yes. I—I thought I did. Was I
meant to die?”
“Yes. The smoke
could have killed you. Had you been closer to it, you would be gravely ill now.
Had you handled it in your litter, you would be dead.”
Elandra felt icy
cold. She shivered, hugging herself. “Why would he do this to me? I cannot
believe he would turn against me.”
“The Vindicants
have many ways of turning people. How well do you know him?”
Elandra frowned,
struggling to concentrate. She must be objective, she told herself. She must
put aside her memories of this man, must put aside her emotions. “I have spent
an hour with him daily for nearly a year,” she replied slowly. “I have found him
patient, a good teacher, always kind, and considerate. He is from good family,
if undistinguished. He has spent his life earning a living from teaching.”
“Perhaps he did
not know,” Anas said slowly. “Perhaps he was used as a tool.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps.”
The Magria brought her fist down on the arm of her chair. “This was a serious
attack. Whoever lay behind it is desperate enough to risk using magic openly.
Now, girl. It would seem you have more resourceful enemies than we thought.”
Elandra stared at
her. “Who else?”
“Don’t be a fool!
Anyone with a stake at getting the throne for themselves. The prince. The
Vindicants. The Maelites. The Madruns. Choose one or several. There could be
more.” She scowled. “You were to marry and bear children. You were not intended
to be at the center of a political storm.”
“It was Kostimon’s
decision,” Elandra said defensively. “He told me he consulted with you and—”
“Hah! A lie!” the
Magria said with a fierceness that silenced Elandra. “He would rather cut off
his right hand than consult with me on anything.” She shook her head. “The
visions did not show your sovereignty. None of them showed this. Has he learned
to confound not only the augurs, but me?”
“Excellency,” Anas
began, but was gestured to be silent.
“It is foolish to
disregard Kostimon. He has more resources than we,” the Magria said as though
to herself. “He did this for a purpose. Perhaps he has more than one strategy
in mind.”
“His time must be
drawing near,” Elandra said. “The ruby throne has broken.”
She did not know
why she blurted out what the emperor had decreed must be kept secret. It seemed
to come of its own accord. Besides, she trusted these women more than she
trusted anyone else. She needed their help.
Neither Anas nor
the Magria seemed surprised.
“It’s a terrible
omen,” Elandra said.
They nodded
without concern.
“He was furious
and a little frightened,” Elandra continued. She looked at them in growing
puzzlement. “I do not think he will crown me as more than a consort now.”
That got their
attention.
A cool, unreadable
smile appeared on Anas’s face. “What brings you to that conclusion? Did you
have something to do with the throne breaking?”
Upset, Elandra
started to deny it; then her sentence died in her throat. She looked at them in
suspicion. “No,” she said, “but you did. Yes! You did, didn’t you? How—”
“Hush,” the Magria
said quietly. “The breaking of the throne was foretold at least a century ago.
It can hardly be a surprise to him now.”
“I don’t
understand,” Elandra said.
“You are not meant
to,” Anas told her coldly.
Elandra’s temper
flared. She stood up, facing them both. “If I am to be empress, then I cannot
be ignored and I will not be toyed with. I am not your puppet, Anas, to be
manipulated as you please. You did not foresee me as having any true power, but
if the throne comes to me by the will of Kostimon, then you must deal with me
as you have dealt with him. With respect.”
Anas stared at her
with widened eyes.
The Magria smiled.
“Well spoken, girl. You are growing up a little.”
Angered by this
patronizing remark, Elandra turned on her, but the Magria raised her hand.
“Careful,” she
said in soft warning. “Your rebuke was well delivered, but do not go too far.
There is much to sort through, and in the meantime you have not begun your
purification. If you feel recovered, I suggest you commence.”
Elandra frowned. “We
are to continue, as though nothing happened? Is the emperor not to be informed?
There must be an investigation.”
“I prefer my own
investigation,” the Magria said. “And, no, I do not think the emperor should be
informed. Not yet.”
Elandra shook her
head. “I do not believe he is behind this attack on me.”
“You have failed
to make him love you; how can you be sure?” Anas said tartly.
It hurt, exactly
as she intended it to hurt.
“Anas,” the Magria
said in displeasure. “You go too far. Events have turned, and we must
reevaluate their meaning.” She turned her gaze on Elandra. “The important thing
is to let nothing deflect you from the events of tomorrow. You have done well
thus far. You must continued to be courageous. If your enemies stop you, then
they have won. Do you understand?”
Elandra nodded
slowly.
“We will be more
careful now. There must be more safeguards taken,” the Magria said sternly.
“Excellency,”
Elandra said, choosing her words with care, “in your visions, have you foreseen
the Madruns invading Imperia?”
The Magria’s eyes
widened. “What question is this?”
“Have you?”
“I have not.”
Elandra frowned
and told herself her fears were groundless. The army was strong. There could be
no invasion.
The Magria watched
her closely for a moment, then said with unexpected patience, “We have naught
to do with the wars of men. The goddess guides our attention elsewhere.”
Elandra asked no
further questions.
Finally the Magria
said, “Anas, resume the ceremony.”
Anas sighed. She
walked past Elandra. “Come, then.”
“Anas,” the Magria
said.
Both Elandra and
the deputy looked back.
The Magria’s gaze
was for Anas alone. “Be kind,” she said.
Flushing, Anas
inclined her head and walked out, stiff-backed, leaving Elandra to follow.
Whatever Elandra
expected, it was not the gentleness of the sisters as they finished undressing
her and led her to a stone cistern filled with warm, steaming water. Chanting,
they pushed her completely under, then sprinkled dried rosemary and rue on her
as she emerged, dripping. The purification chamber was small and cramped. Sand
covered the floor, and besides the cistern there was only a stone bench.
Elandra sat on it, shivering and dripping water.
The sisters
carried in braziers of red-hot rocks. Placing these around Elandra, they poured
small dippers of water on the rocks to create steam. Soon she was warm again.
Then she was sweating. They scraped her skin, wrapped her in a robe, and led
her into an adjoining room to be plunged into a cistern of fresh water.