Reign of Shadows (27 page)

Why
indeed? Elandra thought bitterly. Bixia was certainly capable of lying when it
was to her advantage.

“Fool!”
Hecati paced back and forth, fuming. “You have ruined it. Where is it? Give it
to me at once.”

Guilt
sprinkled over Elandra. Now it would be inspected. Hecati would find where it
had been spot-cleaned. She would find the wrinkles. She would see the
unfinished hemming. She would notice the practice stitches that Elandra had
botched before she caught the knack of the difficult embroidery.

“I
didn’t know it was that special,” Elandra said, trying to defend herself. “Lady
Bixia tried it on and was angry that it was too long. She threw it on the floor
and I—”

“Be
silent. You have always tried to cause all the trouble you could, but this
action is unpardonable. Even Albain cannot forgive this.” Hecati threw Elandra
a look that was almost triumphant. “This time, you have ruined yourself.”

Turning
away, Hecati clapped her hands sharply until Magan peered in through the
doorway.

“Yes,
mistress?” Magan asked warily.

Elandra
had no doubt the servants had heard every word.

“The
dressing robe for the bridal night. Bring it,” Hecati commanded.

Magan
cast Elandra an unreadable glance. Elandra looked back and quickly shook her
head, but the maid was already gone. Elandra sighed. If Magan was smart, she
would flee while she had the chance.

Freedom
had been so close, just an hour away. Elandra felt fresh tears well up in her
eyes, but she fought them back. It was no good feeling sorry for herself.
Finding out Hecati practiced the forbidden arts was enough of a shock. Elandra
warned herself not to breathe, not to move. She must take care.

But
why couldn’t it be enough that Hecati had accomplished her life’s work? Why
couldn’t she be generous and forgiving just once? Bixia was going to be the new
bride of the emperor, living in honor and unimaginable glory for the rest of
her days. Hecati would have a place at court. Anyone else would be merciful for
a small transgression, but not Hecati.

The
old witch got too much satisfaction from hurling out this last punishment.

Elandra
stole a quick glance at her, beginning to feel fresh resentment now that her
shock was fading.

“You’re
a fool,” Hecati said scornfully. “You’ve let your jealousy go too far this
time. But you won’t get away with it. I promise you that.”

Elandra
started to plead with her once again, but choked on the words. She couldn’t go
on begging. Not when this wasn’t her fault. “If you would only hear my side,”
she said instead. “I’ve done only what I was asked to do. I—”

The
door to Bixia’s bedchamber wrenched open, and the bride came out.

Sunshine
blazed over her, highlighting the masses of golden curls tumbling down her
back. Her nightgown had slipped down off one plump shoulder, revealing skin that
was pale and rosy. She yawned hugely, lifting her arms in a stretch that let
the sunshine strike transparently through her gown, revealing the buxom curves
beneath it.

Hecati
pinned on a bright smile in an abrupt change of mood and rushed to her. “Good
morning, my lady!” she said, her voice like honey. “The weather has dawned
perfect today. Most auspicious for our journey.”

Bixia
yawned again and frowned at her. “It’s already hot. Where’s my fan bearer? Why
isn’t she stirring the air for my comfort? And why are you two caterwauling
outside my door at this ungodly hour? Be quiet. I’m going back to bed.”

“But,
my lady, you must allow your attendants to dress you. We leave in a few
minutes. Even now your father is downstairs, ready to bid you farewell.”

Bixia’s
shrewd, cat-green eyes darted around. “I’m sure Father is eager to see the last
of me. And eager to start counting his new wealth.” Tossing her head, she
strolled back into her bedchamber.

“My
lady, do not, I beg you, crawl back into bed.” Looking frustrated, Hecati
started in after her, but turned back at the doorway and glared at Elandra.

“You
are not dismissed,” she said in a low, vicious voice. “We are not finished with
this matter.”

Elandra
drew an unsteady breath and climbed to her feet. Her gaze went to the door.
This time when she got the chance, she would run. She could find a place to
hide, and she wasn’t going to come out until Hecati was gone.

Hecati’s
eyes narrowed suspiciously. She lifted her hand, and the willow switch
reappeared magically. It whistled through the air, and Elandra jumped back to
dodge it.

“Lady
Hecati,” interrupted one of the attendants timidly.

Hecati
whirled around. “Yes?”

The
girl came forward, holding the crumpled white dressing robe in her hands.

With
a cry, Hecati yanked it from her and held it up. The luxurious folds tumbled to
the floor. In the clear light, all the wrinkles could be seen. The soil marks
showed also, as well as the water rings where Elandra had tried to clean them
away.

Hecati’s
horror mottled her neck and face with color. She threw the robe on the floor. “What
did you do with this? Dust the furniture with it? It’s ruined.”

Elandra
gathered it up. “It can be cleaned and pressed. I’ll—”

“Take
your filthy hands off it. You’re not worthy to touch it.”

Hecati
seized one side of the robe and tried to yank it away from Elandra. The cloth
ripped, and both of them stopped their struggle, equally aghast.

Elandra
was the first to recover. She dropped the robe and backed away. Fear tasted sour
in her mouth. She wasn’t going to be blamed for this. She refused to be blamed
for this.

She
looked around for the attendant, but the girl had vanished. None of the
servants were in sight, and even the background chatter in the dressing room
had fallen silent, as though they were all listening ... or hiding.

Hecati
flung the robe down and turned on Elandra. Her mouth drew back in a grimace,
and her eyes held such anger Elandra backed up yet farther.

“You
have defiled this, the symbol of a sacred union. It took the woman of Mahira
ten months to sew it. Every thread, every stitch was blessed. It was pressed in
sacred steam and scented with rosemary and hyssop. It was locked in a box for
safekeeping, not to be seen or handled until the wedding night. This is what
you have destroyed.”

Elandra’s
pulse pounded in her throat and temples. Dismay filled her with every word
Hecati uttered. She had not known, for she wasn’t allowed to participate in the
trousseau preparations. She had seen none of the fabulous court gowns made for
Bixia. Whenever something new was delivered from the dressmaker’s, Elandra had
been dismissed from the room by Hecati. Last night, when Bixia offered to model
some of her new things for Elandra, it had seemed at last as though they were
sisters. Elandra had been pleased by Bixia’s generosity, at least until Bixia
had one of her temper fits and ordered Elandra to re-hem the robe.

Had
she known of its significance, Elandra would never have touched it. And indeed,
she had done her best to save the ruin that Bixia had started and Hecati had
finished.

Now
Bixia appeared a second time. Her nightgown hung even lower off her shoulder,
revealing the heavy top of one breast. She was still yawning. ‘What are you
yelling about?”

Mutely
Hecati pointed at the robe lying on the floor.

Bixia
stared at it and nudged its folds with her toe. “That’s my bridal robe.”

“Yes,
my lady,” Hecati said in a hollow voice.

“It’s
ruined.”

“Yes,
my lady.” Hecati’s eyes stabbed into Elandra like pins. “Your half-sister is to
blame.”

“No!”
Elandra said. She looked at Bixia in desperation. “Tell her that you asked me
to shorten it for you. Tell her!”

Bixia’s
green eyes didn’t even waver. “It’s been torn to pieces. Why did you do such a
thing? Don’t you care that it’s sacred?”

Her
accusation left Elandra stunned. “But I—you tried it on and didn’t like it.
You—”

Flatly
Bixia said. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never play with my sacred bridal
robe. It’s evil of you to lie.”

Hecati’s
head lifted and she seemed to grow taller and larger, filled with vindication.
A gleam of satisfaction entered her eyes.

I
luri punctured Elandra. She tried to fight it off, tried to deny all feeling.
Bixia never told the truth when a lie served her better. Elandra should have
known Bixia wouldn’t risk getting into trouble.

Hecati
rubbed her thin hands together. “Now,” she whispered, glaring intently at
Elandra. “The time has come to finish you.”

Elandra
drew back, desperately looking around the room for something to fight back
with. But how could she fight the forbidden ways? Refusing to give up, she
shoved off her growing despair. If she could circle around and reach the
door...

“Girls!”
Lord Albain bellowed from outside the suite. “Enough dallying. Everything is
loaded. The beasts aren’t going to be kept standing while you primp and fool
about.”

The
three women stood silent, frozen in place.

Elandra
gasped aloud in relief and pressed her hands to her mouth. “Father,” she
whispered.

The
door to the suite swung open, and a slim, green-skinned
jinja
slid inside. No taller than
Elandra’s waist, the creature wore a sleeveless vest and wide trousers
embroidered richly with gold thread and tiny jewels. It had a triangular face,
huge eyes, tiny vicious teeth, and pointed ears. It made the motions of
walking, although most of the time its small feet did not really touch the
floor. As Elandra stared at it, it paused just inside the door and sniffed the
air. Then, quicker than the eye could follow, it darted about the room—here,
there, and back again, before pausing at the open window. Where the sunshine
hit it, the
jinja’s
green skin shimmered translucently, like colored glass.

“All
is safe to enter, master,” the
jinja
called. “No poison. No assassin. No spells.”

Elandra
whipped her head around to look at it in amazement. Couldn’t it smell the magic
that had been used in the room? But her own nostrils no longer detected the
faint scorched scent of Hecati’s spell. She realized Hecati had been fooling
the
jinja
for years. Elandra’s fear grew. Hecati must be powerful indeed. But even she
would not dare act openly in front of Lord Albain, who could have her put to
death.

“You
stupid creature!” Hecati said sharply to the
jinja.
“Who would offer his
lordship danger here?”

Ignoring
her, the
jinja
licked the tips of its little fingers and began to clean its ears with them.

Gihaud
Albain strode inside with his customary impatience, spurs jingling with every
step.

He
was a tall, broad man. Not fat but square, with massive shoulders and thick
arms. His hair had once been fiery red, but had now faded to a rich gold. It
was shaved off the front half of his skull and worn in a long warrior’s
ponytail. He was dressed in his ceremonial mail leggings and embossed armored
breastplate. He carried his embroidered gauntlets in one hand, and his dress
sword clanked at his side. With his scarred cheek and missing eye, he looked
tough and gnarled even in his fancy regalia. Lord Albain was responsible for
holding the south border of the empire against the barbarians, and he did his
job very well. At present, there was peace, and he had been bored and restless
all spring from the inactivity. But today he looked content, even proud, and he
strode in with a vigor that seemed startling in the secluded surroundings of
this womanly apartment.

The
sight of Bixia in her nightgown made him frown. “Girl! You idle lazybones, get
dressed! Are you daft, to be dawdling on a day like this? We can’t keep the
Penestricans waiting. Nor the imperial escort waiting down in the courtyard.
They’re already mounted.”

Bixia
tossed her head, oblivious to his shouting. “Let them wait,” she said
haughtily. “I am to be the next empress. I can take as much time as I want.”