Authors: Deborah Chester
She sent him a wild
look. “Am I permitted to leave my apartments?”
His frown
deepened, and he exchanged a wary look with the other guard. Neither of them
were known to her. Alti and Sumal were off duty, and she realized how truly
alone she was right now.
“Answer me!” she
said sharply. “Am I permitted to leave?”
“Of course,
Majesty,” the guard said with a bow. “But if you are unwell, perhaps it is
better if you do not wander the corridors.”
The answer hidden
in his unctuous words was clear. She felt her face go smooth and blank.
“Thank you,” she
said. “I will retire now. See that there are no more disturbances. I may wish
to sleep late into the morning.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
He bowed low, and
she slammed the door. Whirling around, she felt frantic and unable to think for
a moment.
It would be so
easy to put a pillow over Albain’s face and finish him.
Fear gripped her,
making her gasp for breath. She donned clothing and slippers hastily, then took
her knife and the lamp and slipped through the servant’s door.
Here, in the cobwebbed
passageways known only to those who scrubbed, fetched, and carried, Elandra
sped on her way. She knew these passages as well as anyone in the palace. She
had grown up in them, working hard to avoid whippings, wearing rags whenever
her father was away. She knew all the shortcuts.
As she ran she
berated herself for having left her father. Why had she not realized the
danger? She was not thinking, not being sharp enough. Kostimon would have
scolded her for her mistakes.
“Strategy,” she
seemed to hear his voice saying in her ears as she hurried faster. “Always know
your enemy and where he will jump next. Always know where you will go after
that. Be ready. Outsmart your opponent.”
She climbed a
tight spiral of stairs, hoping that Iaris’s visit had been to gloat, to
anticipate what was to come and not what had already happened.
Let me get
there first,
Elandra prayed.
More stairs,
another long passageway. She passed an alcove where servants on night duty
dozed on stools beneath bells attached to various bedchambers. There was no
time to be cautious, but her slippers made little sound, and no one woke up.
She hesitated at a
fork, then took the right passage, climbing up an uneven series of steps to a
short hallway. There was the valet’s nook. He lay asleep on his cot, his tunic
folded neatly on its stool. She slipped past and eased open the door into her
father’s bedchamber.
Her lamp sent a
feeble ray of light into the room, pushing back the shadows that surrounded the
bed. The
jinja
raised up on its silk cushion and stared at her, but did
not protest.
Albain slept,
undisturbed.
Elandra’s relief
was intense, rolling over her in a wave that nearly pushed her to her knees.
She closed the narrow door behind her without a sound, breathing hard through
her mouth, and felt herself tremble with delayed reaction.
Only now was she
aware of how much her side ached from running. Her hands were shaking. She put
down the lamp, afraid she might drop it.
All was well. Her
fears had been groundless. How foolish she was, dreaming up night terrors.
Then the
jinja
glanced at the door. Elandra looked that way too, listening.
She heard the soft
murmurs of hushed voices in the antechamber, furtive footsteps, and the
incautious sound of a dagger drawn too hastily.
Fear clamped
around her throat, and she longed intensely for Caelan. Why had he deserted her
like this? What was the good of saving her father, if he was not going to stand
and protect him?
She knew she was
being harsh and irrational, but she needed something to build up her courage.
In a moment they would be coming through the door.
Crossing the room,
she took down a sword. It was incredibly heavy, and she nearly dropped it.
Lugging it with both hands, she carried it over to the bed and slid the hilt
next to her father’s hand.
She shook his
shoulder, hating to wake him but knowing she had no choice. “Father,” she said,
her voice soft but insistent. “Father, wake up.”
He frowned and
snorted, his eyes dragging half open. “Wha—”
A rattle of the
door latch brought the
jinja
off its cushion. Ears erect and spitting,
it jumped onto Albain’s bed. “Danger,” it said. “Danger!”
Elandra ran back
to the weapons display and dragged down another sword. It was of a different
era from the first, not as heavy. She returned to her father’s side and shook
him again.
“Wake up!” she
whispered. “Assassins come for you.”
He coughed and
rubbed his face, making groggy sounds. She gripped his shoulder hard in
warning, and his good eye snapped open. He looked first at Elandra, standing at
his side with a sword in her hand, then at his
jinja
crouched on the
foot of his bed with teeth bared.
Sitting up with a
wince, he gripped the sword lying beside him just as the door flew open and
four men came rushing inside.
In a glance,
Elandra saw that none were warlords. Their insignias had been torn from their
surcoats to conceal the identity of their cowardly masters.
Rage swelled
inside her. “Stop there!” she commanded.
The men faltered
within two steps, for whatever they had expected, it obviously was not Elandra and
her father side by side, armed with swords and ready for them.
The
jinja
squealed loudly and began to jump up and down on the bed. “Danger! Danger!
Danger!”
Albain’s face
turned scarlet with rage. Brandishing his sword, he yelled, “What in Murdeth’s name
are you doing in my chamber? Bandits and thieves, the lot of you!”
His free hand
swept past Elandra and seized one of the fist-sized stones rowed up on the
bedside table. He hurled it up at the large bronze bell hanging over his bed. A
mighty gong reverberated through the chamber.
Panic filled the
men’s faces. They turned as one and battled at the door, all of them trying to
go through it at the same time.
“Damned
assassins!” Puffing, Albain flung off the bedcovers and went staggering after
them in his sleeping shirt.
“Father, wait!”
Elandra said in alarm. “Don’t chase them. Father!”
Albain ignored
her, busy jabbing one of the men in the buttocks with the tip of his sword.
The valet came
running in, his hair askew and his eyes bugging out. He set up a shout while
the
jinja
went on shrieking at the top of its lungs. Elandra followed
her father, terrified that the assassins might yet turn on him.
The guards lay
slumped on the floor, drugged or dead. Albain stumbled over them and stood
roaring in the corridor while more guards came running.
“Catch those men!
Stop them!” he shouted.
The guards ran in
pursuit, their feet pounding over the carpets. Courtiers in night clothes
appeared, only to stare in astonishment. An alarm bell began ringing belatedly,
rousing the entire palace.
Albain wheezed for
breath and swayed.
Alarmed, Elandra
threw down her sword and steadied him. “Careful, Father. No more shouting.
Catch your breath first.”
His arm went
around her and he leaned hard against her, his weight making her stagger.
“Damnation,” he swore softly. “Don’t squeeze me so hard. My ribs feel like
they’ve been kicked by a mule.”
She had the sudden
urge to laugh. He was alive, as ill-tempered and loud as ever, and everyone was
staring at him as though he were a ghost.
Albain seemed to
finally notice the stares and frozen stances of the courtiers. He glared at
them and hefted his sword with an angry growl in his throat. “What in blazes
are you staring at?” he demanded. “Where’s the officer on duty? Where’s my own
squire? Who the devil chose the guard roster tonight?”
Chaos broke out
anew as everyone started talking to each other and pointing. More guards came
running up, along with a pale-faced young captain. A moment later General
Handar himself appeared.
He stepped forward
and saluted, his eyes round and astonished. “My lord!” he said, sounding out of
breath.
“Handar, report!
Were those men captured, or are they out setting fire to the stables by now?”
Albain’s acerbic
tone darkened Handar’s cheeks. He stood stiffly at attention, looking like a
subaltern getting his first dressing down. “Captured, my lord.”
“Hmpf.” Albain
coughed and glared with his one eye. Without warning he turned on his squire.
“Be useful! Bring me that chair.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The young man
dragged over the chair, and Albain lowered himself heavily into it with a
grunt. Only then did he seem to be aware of his thin linen sleeping shirt and
bare feet.
His face turned
scarlet, and he gestured with his sword. “Captain!”
“My lord?”
“Clear the hall of
these women! I’m not a spectacle for them to gawk at!”
One of the women
tittered loudly, and there was a sudden flurry as people retreated.
Albain’s face
stayed red. “What in blazes is the matter with this household, letting
everything fall to ruin the moment my attention is elsewhere?”
Handar swallowed.
He was still staring at Albain as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. “My
lord,” he said respectfully, “you were dying.”
“Yes, I was, damn
it!” Albain shouted at him. He paused to catch his breath, then continued. “And
someone came tonight to help me along, since I was obviously taking too long.
Heads will roll for this, I promise you.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Question those
men. Use any torture you like, but get answers. I want to know who paid them,
the blackguard.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And get some
order established. Who the devil are all these people? Am I housing the entire
population of Gialta?”
“Mostly, my lord.”
“Vultures,” Albain
muttered.
But at least two
of the warlords were venturing closer now. Neither of them was Lord Pier,
Elandra noticed with scorn.
“Albain,” one of
them said. “This is truly a miracle. You’re alive.”
“Eh? Of course I’m
alive. Why shouldn’t I be?” He scowled at the man. “What are you doing in my
house, Humaul?”
The warlord opened
his eyes very wide. “I came for a council of war. There was your successor to
choose, and a decision has to be made about the new emperor.”
“Emperor?” Albain
barked, turning red again. “The emperor’s dead, man.”
“Prince Tirhin is
ready to take his place.”
“Father,” Elandra
said in quiet warning, observing the sheen of perspiration on her father’s
brow. He was doing too much, growing too tired.
Albain shifted in
his chair, grunting at her without looking around. “Tirhin is a fop, a puppy,”
he said, then grimaced. “All right, a council of war. But not tonight. A man
should be able to sleep in his own bed without fear of cutthroats bursting in.
Handar, I want this place in order come morning. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And I’m going
back to bed. I’m too old for such excitement in the middle of the night. I need
my rest. My ribs hurt like the very hell. You, help me get up.”
The captain of the
guard obliged, and supported Albain back down the hall into his apartments. As
Albain sank onto his bed, wheezing and grunting, the captain saluted smartly,
wheeled around, and marched out.
Elandra heard the
man issuing a string of orders before he reached the outer doors, and footsteps
thundered up and down the corridor.
There was the
jinja
to be soothed, the swords to be put away, the bedclothes smoothed,
pillows plumped, the valet to be reassured, her father to be quieted.
“I’m hungry,”
Albain complained as Elandra pulled the coverlet over him and tucked in the
edges. “My stomach’s flapping against my backbone. Have the kitchen send up a
haunch of roasted gazelle. Cold meat will do.”
“Hush,” Elandra
said, mopping perspiration from his face. She nodded at the valet, who left to
fetch some food. “You must lie quiet and rest now. You’ve done enough.”
Albain grunted,
clearly enjoying the fuss.
Servants kept
peeking in at him, only to whisk out of sight the moment he or Elandra looked
their way.
“Will they stop
doing that?” Albain complained. “Throw my boot at the next one who—”
A fit of coughing
interrupted him. When it was over, he lay spent on his pillows.
Worriedly, Elandra
listened to his lungs. They sounded clear, but he needed to conserve his
strength.
“Be still,” she
said in growing exasperation. “I’ll get you some broth—”
“Broth! Gault’s breath,
I don’t want broth!”
“Then you won’t
have anything,” she shot back at him while the valet nervously brought in a
tray containing soft bread, a bowl of steaming soup, and boiled eggs. “Be
reasonable, sir, and let me take proper care of you.”
He scowled. “I
won’t be coddled and unmanned by a bunch of women and servants. I want meat,
not broth. Do you hear?”
“I imagine the
whole palace can hear,” she said dryly. “When you’re done shouting, perhaps
you’ll remember that a few hours ago you were trying to breathe your last. You
might also realize that your ribs wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d just calm
down.”
He snapped his
mouth shut and glared at her so ferociously she was tempted to kiss his cheek.
Instead, however, she gestured for the valet to put the food tray on the table.
She began cutting up one of the eggs.
It wasn’t until
she popped a piece into her mouth that Albain blinked.
“Elandra!” he said
in consternation. “You aren’t going to eat my dinner right in front of me, are
you?”
“You don’t want
it.”