Authors: Deborah Chester
Pretty words, but
his tone was absentminded. She wondered if he meant any part of what he had
just said.
At the imposing palace
steps, their litter was lowered to the ground by the sweating bearers. Elandra
rose to her feet, shaking off the dried flower petals that had been flung over
her by the populace. She stood while her ladies straightened her skirts and
smoothed the heavy folds of her robes; then, with her hand on Kostimon’s arm,
she ascended the steps of the palace, where light glowed through the open doors
in warm welcome.
They parted
inside, their attendants whisking them away to private chambers for freshening
up. The coronation robes were finally lifted from Elandra’s aching shoulders.
She sighed in relief, then sat in a chair while her hair was restyled around
the crown. For the few minutes that her long tresses were brushed, she could
look at the tall crown sitting on the dressing table and know the blessed
relief of being free of its weight.
An armed guard
came in with a small man wearing the sash of a palace official. With a bow,
this individual put the crown inside a locked box and in exchange produced a
diadem radiant with diamonds and rubies.
He noticed the
magnificent necklace displayed across Elandra’s cloth-of-gold bodice, and his
eyes widened.
“Ah!” he said in
wordless admiration. “It will do very well.”
She did not know
who he was, or why he thought he could give his opinions. Gazing at him in the
mirror, she lifted her brows.
“Why do you bring
me a different crown to wear?”
He almost smiled.
Short and balding, he seemed very self-assured without being officious. “There
are several reasons, Majesty. The first is that this is a gift from the emperor
in honor of the occasion.”
Her heart
quickened, and she smiled in instant pleasure. “A gift?”
“Yes, Majesty.” He
handed it to her on a little silk pillow. “Commissioned by the emperor and of
original design.”
It was beautiful,
delicately wrought and of a design like none of the other jewelry she had
rejected earlier today. She took the narrow crown in her hands and turned it
over, marveling at the fine gold filigree and the high quality of the jewels.
The diamonds were particularly fiery, flashing against the dark bloodred
rubies.
“How lovely,” she
said. “I have never seen finer work. Who made it?”
“Ah,” he said, and
rubbed the side of his nose with his forefinger. “I believe the, um, Choven.”
She nearly dropped
it, and her widened eyes flashed to meet his in the mirror. “The Choven! Is
this spell-forged?”
He smiled. “I
think, um, not, Majesty.”
She relaxed. “Oh.
Still, it is very beautiful.”
“It is unsurpassed
in quality and workmanship, as are all things made by the Choven.”
She nodded and
handed it to the woman dressing her hair. The diadem was fitted into place atop
her head, and thick locks of her hair were twisted about it and artfully
pinned.
“And it
complements the imperial jewels of the Empress Fauvina very well,” the man
continued.
“You know these
jewels?” she asked in surprise. “They are very old.”
“They were also
Choven-made.”
“How do you know?”
His smile
broadened, and he gave a small bow. “I am the Keeper of the Imperial Jewels,
Majesty. It is my business to know.”
She drew in her
breath, but did not allow her expression to change. “And as the keeper,” she
said pleasantly, “I suppose you are aware of what transpired this morning?”
“Yes, Majesty. A
regrettable occurrence. The woman is not a member of my staff. The individuals
she bribed in order to gain access to your chambers have been dealt with.”
“Is this all your
explanation?”
He allowed himself
a very small frown. “In my defense, I will only say that I received no
instructions regarding the jewels your Majesty was to wear. Therefore, I sent
no member of my staff to await your Majesty’s pleasure. Had I known of your
Majesty’s intention to wear the Empress Fauvina’s jewels, they would have been
cleaned and presented at the appropriate hour.”
“I see.”
She spoke tersely,
aware of the meaning that lay beneath his words. Kostimon had not given his
permission for her to be arrayed in jewels. As a consequence, she had been
deliberately overlooked by this man. Anger flashed inside her, but she
restrained it. This man owed her no loyalty yet. Her supporters comprised a
very small circle right now, but she intended to change that. Time and patience
were all she required.
The Keeper of the
Imperial Jewels stood watching her with a pleasant expression belied by the
wariness in his eyes. She knew she was being judged for her reaction. It was
important that she not make an enemy of him, but neither must she appear weak.
Her gaze met his
levelly. “I will not be overlooked again,” she said.
“No, Majesty.”
“While the Empress
Fauvina’s jewels are admirable, they were suited for today’s occasion only. I
will not continue to wear them.”
He bowed. “A
prudent decision, Majesty.”
“I will acquire my
own collection, fashioned from my jewel of choice.” As she spoke, she thought
of the topaz concealed between her breasts. “As Keeper of the Imperial Jewels,
will you be my adviser, or do you serve the emperor only?”
A protocol
question was always safe. The man’s expression relaxed slightly, and he smiled.
“I should be honored to advise your Majesty. Establishing your own collection
is an eminently wise course of action. It prohibits certain interpretations.”
She frowned. Was
that a warning?
He continued. “As
for selecting designs and commissioning a maker ...”
“Yes? The jewelers
of Imperia do not seem particularly inspired.” As she spoke, her mind
considered the possibility of sending business to Gialta. The Albain family
jewels were very fine.
The keeper allowed
himself a small chuckle. “Majesty, may I say that the imperial jewels are
always fashioned by the Choven? Imperia jewelers must make do with occasional
trinkets, baubles for gifts, and the like. They principally serve the
aristocrats of the empire, but not the imperial family.”
Elandra grew very
still. Mentally she sent forth a quick prayer of gratitude that she had not
made a serious error this morning. Collecting herself, she gave the man a
gracious nod. “You have been most helpful. My jewel of choice is the topaz.”
“Ah,” he said. “The
golden hues. Splendid.”
“You will see to
this at once?”
He bowed. “Tomorrow
I will send forth a message to the Choven. They cannot be rushed or commanded,
but their craftsmanship is unsurpassed.”
She nodded,
catching a glimpse in the mirror of a gesturing attendant. It was time for her
to go. “Thank you.”
She rose to her
feet, elegant and graceful in her imposing gown. The diadem flashed brilliantly
from her auburn curls with every movement of her head.
The keeper bowed
deeply and departed with his attendant guard and the locked box containing the
larger crown of state. Elandra watched him go. She did not know if she had made
an ally of him, but at least he was not her enemy. In the maze of palace
politics, even that might be counted as a small victory.
Head high, she swept
out to go to the banquet, aware that if Kostimon did not attend there would be
talk and speculation. For a moment she felt daunted, but then she steadied
herself. One step at a time. She must remember that and not allow herself to be
overwhelmed by the challenges that still lay ahead.
At the doorway to
the banqueting hall, however, she found her path blocked by Prince Tirhin. He
bowed to her, his eyes shadowed, his expression far from welcoming.
Every eye was
watching them. Elandra swept a swift glance around at the sea of faces, then
forced herself to face him.
“Are you once
again my escort?” she asked.
Tirhin’s teeth
were clenched, but he gave her his arm with an outward show of gallantry. “If
the empress commands it.”
She did not know
if once again he was following his father’s orders, or if he had some other
intention in mind. They walked up the length of the vaulted hall together while
the guests bowed and curtsied. At the head of the table, servants seated them
with one empty chair between them— Kostimon’s.
Lord Sien
appeared, a gaunt, enigmatic figure in his saffron robes and leopardskin stole.
He bowed before taking his seat on Elandra’s other side. Having him next to her
made her profoundly uneasy, but she refused to show this. The man had always frightened
her, especially in what he stood for, and she knew he was extremely powerful.
Kostimon was said to listen to his council more than anyone else’s. The high
priest was firmly entrenched in palace politics, and seemed to know everything
almost before it occurred.
Could he read
minds? She met his yellow, deep-set eyes briefly and managed a small smile of
courtesy. He did not smile back, and his eyes seemed to glow at her, probing
deeper than she liked.
Tirhin patted the
emperor’s empty seat. “It seems his Majesty has already retired.”
She wished she
could do the same. “It has been a long day,” she said neutrally.
Tirhin emitted a
short bark of laughter and reached for his wine cup. “Gault, so it has.”
She noticed his
hands were unsteady when he put down his cup. From his continued pallor, she
guessed he was ill instead of drunk. But there was the banquet to open, and the
guests were still standing at their places, awaiting her signal.
She gave it, and
with a general scraping of chairs they settled themselves. An enormous roasted
swan was carried in on a round silver platter by four sweating footmen. This
was presented to her, and Elandra praised it.
At once a
majordomo appeared at her elbow with a bow. “If I may carve for your Majesty.”
She smiled. “Take
the most tender portion, please, and convey it to Lord Albain with my
compliments.”
The man obeyed.
Settling back in her chair, Elandra risked a quick glance at Tirhin and saw his
face set like granite. Had the emperor been seated beside her, she would have
given him the best portion; then he would have returned the favor. But since
the emperor was not present, she would honor her father as was only fitting.
Tirhin could not expect her to honor him for any reason.
When the laden
plate of succulent meat had been carried to Albain, he rose from his place
halfway down the table and raised his cup in a toast.
“To the empress!”
he said gruffly, squinting through his one eye. “May Gault preserve her.”
The guests rose to
their feet, echoing the toast as they raised their cups.
Then followed a
long succession of toasts and compliments while the meats grew cold and Elandra’s
face ached from so much smiling. She could feel fatigue around the edges of her
consciousness, and knew that without the magic of the Mahirans she would have
collapsed long ago.
At last the eating
could begin. She nibbled at the delicacies, finding most of them too rich for
her taste. Lord Sien ate in silence, ignoring everyone. Like Elandra, Tirhin
barely touched his food, but he continued to drink steadily.
She marveled at
his capacity. “You seem to have a deep thirst, sir.”
His dark head
tilted toward her. “Call me Tirhin, mama. We are a family, are we not?”
Heat touched her
face, and she bit her lip. “I do not think family is the best term for it.”
His eyes mocked
her. “Then what would you call us? A gaggle of unhappy relics?”
“You may be
unhappy. I am not.”
“Oh, ho,” he said,
sitting up straighter with a sardonic smile. “I suppose you are not. All of
Imperia lies at your feet. Or so you think.”
Again she thought
of this man’s slave, distraught and torn between loyalties. She was suddenly
tired of Tirhin’s petty jealousy, tired of his sulking face, tired of the
subtle ways in which he mocked and defied his father.
“I understand you
are a devotee of the gladiatorial games,” she said, changing the subject
without warning.
The prince
blinked, and a faint wash of color tinted his cheeks. “Why, madam,” he said,
signaling for his cup to be refilled, “do you intend to become a spectator now
that you are released from your bridal confinement? I had supposed you would
instead be busy breeding a new heir for the empire.”
Her mouth
tightened. He was skating dangerously close to insult. “This sport may begin to
fascinate me,” she replied, conscious of Lord Sien listening at her other
shoulder. “I understand you own the champion.”
This time
unmistakable color darkened Tirhin’s cheeks. He glared into the depths of his
cup, and his fingers gripped it so hard they turned white. “Yes,” he said at
last, flinging a look at her. “I do.”
“Is that not
gratifying?”
“Of course.”
“I understand also
that you often take the fellow with you to functions and parties. Is he here
tonight?”
“No.”
“What a pity.”
Tirhin gave her a
twisted smile. “Now that you have been raised to such exalted standing, do you
intend to sample—”
“Tirhin,” Lord
Sien said sharply in warning.
The prince frowned
and knocked over his cup. Wine spilled like blood across the table linens, and
a servant rushed to blot it up.
Caught between
them, Elandra looked from one man to the other. The lamplight seemed to fade
near her chair, letting the shadows crowd closer; then all was bright and merry
again. She blinked, alarmed, and wondered what had just occurred. It felt as
thought a spell had been formed and sent, but she was unaffected.
In her lap, her
hand clenched hard on her napkin. She wanted to run from this place, but she
couldn’t. Fear burned in her throat, but she held it back until her breathing
returned to normal. Swallowing hard, she looked at Tirhin, who sat as though
frozen, his face bleak with unhappiness.