Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [125]
One of the laborers who was pulling logs from the water with grappling hooks and the help of an elephant found him floating unconscious in the water.
This man, streaked with mud and clad in nothing but a loincloth and turban, came running to the gates of the palace and shouted for admittance.
In the council room, Lord Albain, wearing mail and a face as grim as war itself, presided at the head of the table. Elandra, gowned regally, sat erect and silent at his side like the queen she was. She had said nothing all morning while the men argued, hurling accusations and denials. Now and then her gaze moved to the face of Lord Pier, looking pale and drawn after his adventures the day before.
Agreeing to speak under truth-light, Pier had explained his actions to Albain. He made no excuses, no justifications. His report spared neither himself nor the others. It was as though his encounter with dark magic had shaken him. But while he had sought to make trouble yesterday against Caelan, whom he still considered an upstart piece of arena trash, he was not behind the plot to kill Albain in his bed.
The four assassins had confessed at dawn and were already hanged. They were employed by the governor, Lord Demahaud, who was now sitting in the dungeons, an agent of the empire no longer.
Albain had scant interest in what he considered a minor attempt on his life. Once more he pulled the discussion back to the emperor’s successor.
Lord Pier rose to his feet. “I support crowning Tirhin. Despite the initial chaos, he succeeded in pulling together a fighting force, and he has driven the Madruns from Imperia.”
“Yes, to set them loose on the other provinces,” a man piped up on Elandra’s left. “My lands border Ulinia, you know. I am responsible for protecting half that province. And the Madruns will cross my personal estates before they get this far.”
“They will not get here,” Albain said with a growl. “My dispatches say that the Lord Commander has deployed three legions to cut them off.”
Men pounded the table in approval, and several shouted in satisfaction.
Pier, however, was still standing. “All the more reason to send our delegation to Tirhin and proclaim him emperor quickly. The empire needs order restored. This will do it before we have more invaders on our hands.”
“Don’t forget who brought the Madruns here in the first place,” the small man who had spoken before said. “He let them sack Imperia.”
“Renar, hold your tongue,” Pier said sharply. “You don’t know that is true—”
“I know it is true,” Elandra said.
Pier scowled fiercely at her, and several more men jumped to their feet.
“These interruptions cannot be permitted, Albain!” one roared. “The council room is no place for a woman.”
“Silence!” Albain shouted, his voice louder than any of the others. “Whether yob like it or not, she has the right to speak.”
“A woman—”
“In her official capacity, she is not a woman. She is sovereign crowned, and she remains so until Tirhin’s coronation. If that should even come to pass.”
“It must!” Pier said.
“Why?” Albain retorted. “Because you have been promised new lands if you will join his cause?”
Red darkened Pier’s cheeks. “Have you not annexed property since your daughter went to the imperial palace? It is to your personal advantage to keep her there.”
Silence fell over the room. Elandra’s face was burning. She gripped her hands together in her lap and forced herself not to move. It took all her strength to keep her face impassive.
Albain did not rise to his feet. From his chair he glared at Pier, who did not back down. The men watched intently to see what Albain might do. He had been known to issue a combat challenge on less provocation.
“Yes,” Albain said at last, his voice heavy. “It is to my advantage that my daughter keep her throne. It is to the advantage of all Gialta. Is she not more likely to favor her home province than Tirhin? Blood ties are stronger than promises.”
“We have seen no advantage thus far,” Renar piped up.