Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [126]
“That was Kostimon’s doing. When the empress fled Imperia, to whom did she come to raise an army? Us! Not the—”
A knock on the door interrupted him.
“Yes?” Albain called, glowering. He took advantage of the interruption, however, to press his hand to his side and lean forward carefully to pick up his wine cup.
Elandra watched him in concern and said nothing. She had promised him she would stay silent, and she was trying to keep her word despite that one slip. More than once her fists had clenched in her lap, and her anger had nearly driven her to reprimand those who were foolish, ignorant, or wrongly informed. She had been in Imperia. She was a direct witness to the events and the terror. She had been the last person present to see Kostimon alive. Yet these men would not question her. They ignored the information she could have provided.
She sat there, seething, and hated them all.
A guard entered the room and saluted smartly. “The man has been found, my lord.”
“What?” Albain asked. “What man?”
But Elandra was already on her feet, her heart in her mouth. She rushed around the table and went out the door, leaving the guard to follow her.
Out in the corridor, she looked around wildly.
The guard bowed and pointed. “This way, Majesty.”
She followed him, with Alti and Sumal trotting at her heels. They were not permitted in the council room, but after last night they had come to her with deep shame and apologies, vowing they would not leave her side again.
Outside, the rains had stopped. Puddles steamed in the humid courtyard. A laborer, muddy and practically naked, stood there ringed by soldiers. His elephant held an unconscious man in its mouth.
Elandra recognized Caelan at once. She stopped in her tracks with a gasp.
The captain of the guard took one look at her face and issued orders. The elephant slowly lowered Caelan to the ground.
“They pulled him from the river, Majesty,” the captain said.
Elandra kept her distance. Her heart was pounding. She felt as though she might faint, but stiffened her knees and held on.
A voice, too strange and hollow to be her own, asked, “Is he dead or alive?”
Someone knelt and touched Caelan’s throat. “Alive, Majesty.”
Her ears were roaring. She felt as though ground and sky were trying to turn upside down. Somehow, however, she fought off her dizziness. She dared not move, dared not kneel beside him to wipe the mud and slimy weeds from his face. She feared if she did anything, the bands of her self-control would burst and she would fling herself, howling, across his chest.
She made a small gesture. “Take him inside quickly. See that he is cared for. And reward this man well.”
The laborer bent double in his gratitude. Elandra turned away, following the men who struggled to carry Caelan up the steps into the palace. She felt as though she were floating, as though her head had sailed far above the rest of her body. With every step, a corner of her mind chanted, He is alive. He is alive.
What he had been doing in the river was something to determine later, if it mattered. He was alive. He had come back. The pain in her heart could leave her now, and she lived again.
Inside the palace, she summoned servants and issued orders. Her father’s own valet, understanding exactly what his master owed Caelan, came and washed him personally, dressed him in a sleeping shirt, and tried to revive him with various remedies that Elandra inspected herself.
He seemed unharmed. No bruises or cuts marred his skin. His breathing was even. No fever raged in his body.
But he would not awaken, no matter what they did. Finally, Elandra sent everyone away and settled herself at his side. She held his strong hand in hers, tracing her fingertips over his knuckles and the taut veins in the back of his hand, needing the contact of her skin against his, her flesh to his.
“Please come back to me,” she whispered to him. “I need you so. Please come back.”
Eventually a soft argument outside the door caught her attention. She straightened just as the door eased open.
Alti looked inside. “Your pardon, Majesty.