Shadow War (34 page)

“You were saying?”
she prompted.

He blinked and
seemed to rouse himself. His eyes, dark with resentment, gazed past her at
Sien. “I only meant to ask if you intend to sample the many public events and
amusements of the city, now that you are released from your bridal confinement.”

She replied with
inconsequential chatter, but in her mind she was turning over the true meaning
of what he had been about to say before Lord Sien interrupted him. It had been
meant as an insult, she was certain.

Elandra sighed. If
only she could talk in private with this man and convince him she was not his
rival, but such an opportunity had not yet presented itself. She was not
certain how to arrange it without causing trouble and talk. She did not want
Kostimon to get the idea that she and Tirhin were conspiring against him.

“Your highness
looks tired,” Lord Sien now said to the prince across her. “Perhaps you wish to
retire.”

Tirhin’s fingers
tightened around his wine cup; then he nodded without meeting the priest’s
gaze. “Yes. If I may have the permission of the empress to withdraw early? I am
a little fatigued.”

“You look unwell,”
she said in sympathy, aware that his pallor had intensified. He looked like a
ghost above the vibrant hue of his tunic. “Of course you may withdraw.”

Tirhin stood up
immediately, swaying against the table as he did so. He bowed to her, graceful,
debonair, and tense. With one final glance of resentment, he exited the hall.

Now there was only
Lord Sien to talk to. Elandra accepted a pastry filled with almond-flavored
cream and toyed with the flaky layers, wishing she also could withdraw.

“Take care,
Majesty,” Lord Sien said in a low voice.

She glanced at him
in startlement. “In what way?” she asked more sharply than she intended.

Her nervousness
made him smile toothily. She felt pinned by his gaze, like a little animal
frozen before a predator.

“Do not underestimate
the prince.”

Elandra swallowed.
“I do not,” she said carefully.

“He has not
behaved ... wisely of late. But chagrin can lead to darker motivations if it is
not checked.”

This cat-and-mouse
conversation annoyed her. She took a chance on being direct. “You mean, it can
lead to treason?”

Lord Sien blinked;
then amusement glimmered in his hooded eyes. “So you know of that, do you?” he
asked.

She glanced
around, but the servants had momentarily retreated out of earshot. Although in
the full view of hundreds of people, she was effectively alone with this man.
He spoke softly beneath the general noise of the banquet, and they were in
little danger of being overheard.

A cold chill ran
through her, but she sat erect in her chair and faced him without flinching. “I
do know of a plot,” she said. “Has the emperor also been informed?”

A snort of
laughter, quickly checked, came from the priest. “Did you not run to him with
the news?”

She went on
looking at him, although inside she found herself shaking with nerves. “Did
you?”

He smiled without
amusement. “It seems, Majesty, that we both have a strong degree of caution.”

“Meanwhile, Tirhin
makes his mischief unchecked.”

“Oh, not exactly,”
Lord Sien assured her. “The prince is learning the price of certain actions.”

She did not like
the satisfied way in which he said that. She thought of the tremor in the
prince’s hands, and felt more afraid. Tirhin had never struck her before as a
man easily subdued. What had happened to him on the Forbidden Mountain? What
had he done? What had he seen?

The priest
selected a pear from a dish and began to cut it into small pieces, spearing
each with the tip of his dagger, and eating them with relish.

“Might I ask your
Majesty’s sources?” he asked between bites. “You are better informed than I
expected.”

“My sources should
remain unidentified at present,” she replied. “I will only say that my father
taught me that information always plays a vital role in any situation.”

“Ah, Lord Albain.”
Lord Sien turned his gaze down the long table, where her father sat shoved back
from the table, picking his teeth and making jests with the man beside him. “A
formidable warrior.”

“Yes.”

“And your mother.
Majesty? What did she teach you?”

Elandra’s teeth
gritted together. How smoothly and subtly he reminded her of her own
illegitimacy. Temper enabled her to lift her eyes and meet his proudly. “My
mother taught me how to survive, Lord Sien.”

Again he blinked,
as though he had not expected that sort of answer from her. He considered her a
long moment, then slowly nodded. “I see.”

She frowned,
longing to terminate this conversation. But with him, she did not quite dare.

At the other end
of the hall, the musicians were tuning up. There was to be dancing after the
feast, but Elandra did not feel up to that. She sat there, willing this man to
go away.

Instead, he cut up
a second pear, his hands quick and deft with the knife. “You have had fair
warning,” he said now. “Your own informants can supply the rest. Take heed of
it, Majesty.”

“Yes.” She knew
not what else to say.

“Your guardsmen
are wearing their new colors tonight,” he went on. “I advise you to choose a
protector as soon as possible. It is your right as sovereign.”

She nodded. “Yes,
I have considered it.”

“And will you do
more than consider it?”

“Tell me, Lord
Sien. In the matter of a protector, must he be from my guard?”

Sien’s deep-set
eyes quickened with interest. “No. While customary, it is not required.”

“Then I could
choose a warrior from, say, Gialta.”

“You could,
although it is inadvisable.”

“Why?”

“It points a
direction.”

“I do not
understand you.”

He laid down his
knife. “It indicates a favoritism to your home province. The empire, Majesty,
consists of many provinces all joined together under Kostimon’s banner. That
union took a long time to form. It can be broken apart much more easily.”

Again, she had the
feeling he was warning her, obliquely, and watching to see if she had the
intelligence to understand. Her dislike of him grew.

Sien continued, “That
is why the protector is generally chosen from among the guardsmen. Politically
neutral.”

“But if I wanted
to make my selection elsewhere, I could.”

Sien’s brows
lifted. “Yes.”

“If, perhaps, I
wanted to choose a Traulander, I could.”

Sudden
comprehension leaped in his eyes. “That is unwise, Majesty.”

She had surprised
him. She liked that. “Is it? Why?”

“Trau has its own
brand of mysticism apart from the rest of the empire. The people are clannish.
They seldom venture beyond their own borders. They abhor violence. Few, if any,
of them are trained in the high weapons skills required for this position.”

“But if there
should be an exception—”

“You mean the
games champion, the one who belongs to his highness.”

There it was, out
in the open, like a glove of challenge between them. Elandra did not truly
intend to select another man’s slave for her protector. The idea was absurd,
and would cause unnecessary trouble, yet she wanted to see how far she could
push the matter.

“I have heard this
man has incredible fighting skills.”

“Have you seen him
fight?”

She lowered her
gaze modestly. “I am sure you realize, Lord Sien, that I have not been
permitted to attend the games.”

“Of course.
Naturally his reputation as a swordsman is formidable. But he is only a—”

“Is it not true
that he defeated a Madrun savage in combat this week?” she asked.

“I—yes.”

“Is it not true
that he is said to fight like a trained member of the Imperial Guard?”

“Yes.”

She shrugged as if
to say, Why not?

Lord Sien frowned
at her. “The man is a slave, a gladiator, a ruffian. He could not be trusted in
the palace. Certainly he could not be trusted with the life of the empress
sovereign.”

She thought of
Caelan, with his intense blue eyes. She thought of his steely fingers closed
about her throat. She thought of his rudeness, his impatience, his
stubbornness. No, he was not suitable at all.

“Still,” she
persisted, enjoying her game, “he is said to have an unnaturally strong loyalty
to his master. Is that his quality, or perhaps it is the prince himself who
inspires such dedication in his men.”

Sien studied her a
moment, then allowed himself a very faint smile. “Interesting,” he said softly.
“I think the empress will make her choice with great prudence according to
precedent. The slave is, after all, a condemned man, and not available for the
position, even if Prince Tirhin could be persuaded to sell him.”

She was not
certain she heard him correctly. “Condemned?” she echoed.

“Yes, Majesty. In
the dungeon at this very moment, being tortured for his confession.”

She was appalled.
Had the fool tried to denounce Tirhin after all? Was this his reward? “Why?”
she asked. “Only a day or so ago, he was being praised by everyone. Half my
guardsmen won money on him. What has happened?”

“Have you not
heard?”

She was suddenly
impatient with the slyness in Sien’s voice. “Obviously I have not heard.”

“Then your
informants need better training.”

She made an
impatient gesture. “What has happened?”

“You saw how
unwell the prince looks.”

“Yes.”

“He was attacked
by this slave. Beaten grievously before the attack was stopped by the other
servants.”

Her mouth opened.
She tried to imagine such an event, and remembered again the brutal crushing of
her throat by those strong fingers.

“Yes, Majesty,”
Sien said. “His highness has been much shaken. He trusted this slave, dispensed
favors to him, granted him much more freedom than he should have. Only to be
turned on viciously, like a mad dog.”

Sien was almost
smiling as he spoke. Satisfaction radiated from him. She could not understand
how he could derive so much pleasure from a horror like this.

“Therefore,” the
priest continued, leaning toward her, “do not toy with the idea of acquiring
the brute. His head will be adorning the spikes over the city gates soon
enough. Look among your own loyal guardsmen for your protector, and do not
delay. Kostimon has lived a long time thanks in part to the diligence of his
Hovet. If you value survival, on the advice of your esteemed mother, you will
heed my counsel in this matter.”

She bowed her
head. “Thank you. Lord Sien, for your trouble and for your wisdom. I shall pay
great heed to your advice.”

He left her soon
afterward, and Elandra stood up to dance with her father. Her head was
spinning. She did not know whether to believe Sien or not. Perhaps the
Traulander slave was mad. Perhaps he had invented the story of his master’s
treason, planning this attack all along. Or perhaps none of it was true.

She felt too
confused to sort it out.

Lord Albain was
not a good dancer. He stumbled through the intricate steps, red-faced and
swearing under his breath.

She would have
laughed, but she knew he would misunderstand her amusement and be hurt by it.

“Father, please,”
she said at last, out of pity. “Let us step out of the line and watch.”

“By Murdeth, I won’t!”
he replied stubbornly, hopping against the beat of the song. “If my daughter
wants to dance, I’ll be hanged if I don’t see that she gets to.”

He was endearing,
but so miserable she shook her head. “But I am too tired to dance, Father.
Truly. Let us stand aside and talk.”

Grumbling and
mopping perspiration from his face, he followed her from the dance floor. The
music faltered and died, and everyone stopped.

Mortified, Elandra
signaled hastily for a chancellor. “Please instruct the musicians to play on,”
she said. “I am too fatigued to dance and shall retire soon, but the
festivities must continue as long as the guests wish. That is my command.”

The man bowed
deeply. “Yes, Majesty.”

He hastened away
to confer with the musicians. The tune struck up again, and slowly the couples
resumed the reel.

Elandra took her
father’s arm and walked with him toward a shadowy alcove, where they might have
a small amount of privacy.

“I have longed to
talk to you all day,” she said.

He gripped her
hand in his large, calloused ones. Now he raised it to his lips and kissed her
knuckles. “My little Elandra,” he said gruffly. “Empress of the land. I am
proud, very proud.”

“Thank you.
Father, about—”

“You must take
care, Elandra. Guard yourself well, and do not form alliances within the court
too hastily. Consider situations from all sides before you become involved.”

“Yes, Father. But—”

“Intrigues are a
nasty business. But they can’t be avoided, not here. The place is rife with
them.”

“I have learned.”

“Have you? Good.
You were always a clever girl. You will show good judgment now.”

“Yes, but, Father,”
she said, gripping his sleeve. “I need to ask your advice—”

He shook his head.
“No, child.”

“But—”

“No. I am not the
man to advise you. I am just an old warmonger. Fighting is all I know about.
The ways and wherefores I leave to others.”

Exasperation rose
in her. If he would just listen for a moment, but then he never had. “I need a
jinja
,” she said hastily before he could cut her off again.

That got his
attention. His single eye narrowed at her. “A
jinja
? Why?”

“There are strange
portents,” she said wearily. “You’ve seen the cloud on the horizon.”