Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [1]
They strode on, Baiter with his chin jutting at the military angle and his hand correctly on his sword hilt, she with her gown a mess and her hair a tangle down her back. Her eyes were burning. Fatigue lapped at her, a natural reaction after the stress and exertion she’d undergone, but she wondered if the shadow that had attacked her and rendered her unconscious for a time had done her more harm than she suspected. She still felt strangely unwell and shaken from the encounter. If Caelan had not been with her to protect her...
With a fresh shiver of alarm, she drove away thoughts of the Traulander. There was no time to think of him now, no time to wonder. He was no ordinary man, of that she was certain. Just remembering his confrontation with the evil priest Sien sent chills through her. Lord Sien had used dark magic. That alone was terrifying. But Caelan had countered with something else, something indescribable. For an instant, he had even vanished before her eyes, as though he was never there.
And when he reappeared a moment later, it had been as though he had come back from a far, far place. Ice crystals had glittered in his hair and eyebrows. His blue eyes had been stony, merciless, implacable. In his eyes, she had looked for the man she knew and had not found him. Until then, she had trusted him completely, believing in his loyalty and devotion without question. He had risked his own life to save hers. He had brought her here to safety against all odds. Yet in the blink of an eye, he had unleashed powers of the unknown, becoming a stranger who frightened her. The wrath in his face as he turned on Lord Sien had been terrible to see, yet Sien was already defeated, already cowering.
If nothing else this horrible night, she was glad to see Sien the traitor slapped down. He deserved far worse, but his punishment would be by Kostimon’s order, no one else’s. When that order came, she would rejoice.
Ahead, Kostimon’s voice rose in fierce argument. She looked past the sergeant and could not see her husband clearly for the officers surrounding him. Kostimon’s voice rose and cracked in anger.
Sergeant Baiter stopped a short distance behind the officers— one wearing gold and one crimson—and cleared his throat. “Er, Captain—”
“Get the men ready,” the captain said without glancing around.
Baiter cleared his throat again. “Captain, the empress is here.”
The officer whirled around, his mouth dropping open in astonishment.
Elandra recognized Captain Vysal despite the dirty bandage that swathed half his face. His breastplate was splattered with dried blood, and his cloak hung in tatters. A long weal ran down his left forearm, and he was covered with dust and grime.
Glad relief filled his face. He saluted her. “Majesty! Thank Gault you are safe.”
At his words, the officer in red and the emperor broke off their shouting match. The officer, a general with gold stripes creating a magnificent chevron across the back of his crimson cloak, spun around. Beyond him, Kostimon was sitting on top of a box, wearing armor also splattered with dried blood, and a cloak of imperial purple lined with red silk. One side of his face was smudged with dirt, and his white curls were standing on end as though he’d been jerking his hands through them.
Staring at her, Kostimon rose to his feet. His yellow eyes widened in confusion. “Fauvina,” he whispered hoarsely. “You are safe.”
Elandra’s heart broke at the slip, and she glanced quickly at the officers to see if they heard it. Of course they had. Their faces were impassive; their eyes held nothing.
Worriedly she walked forward to her husband and took his gnarled, dirty hands in hers.
“Fauvina,” he said, smiling at her in pathetic gratitude, “you have come.”
“I am here,” she said unsteadily. Fear made her cold. If the shock of tonight’s attack had broken Kostimon’s mind, what was to become of them? “Come and sit down.”
But Kostimon had his purple boots well planted, and he refused to move. “You have brought the army from Gialta?” he asked eagerly. “A counterforce, to smash the enemy?