Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [128]
Fighting for breath, she said, “Do you feel well enough to face him?”
“Albain?”
“Yes.”
An insolent grin slowly spread across his face. He knew what she had been thinking, and that knowledge in his eyes made her blush.
“Caelan, no,” she said shyly. “Not now.”
“Come here.”
She went to him, loving the circle of his arms. If only they were free, if only they had just themselves, then she could stay in his arms all she wanted.
He kissed her long and deeply, robbing her of breath and thought, melting her to her very bones. When she finally came up for air, her mind was buzzing and foolish. She clung to him and barely managed to say, “Stop. My father is waiting.”
“Your father,” Caelan said with regret.
She pulled free of his grasp, and he sighed. “It’s time we met, I suppose.”
“Yes, it is.”
He shrugged. “Send our regrets, and let us think only of ourselves.”
“Certainly not,” she said primly, although an inner spirit of rebellion longed to do exactly as Caelan urged. “Here is clothing. Please hurry.”
He groaned and stood up. “The efficient woman.”
“Hurry,” she told him, refusing to relent.
When she bent over to pick up a garment, Caelan grabbed her from behind and spun her around. “You could say I have a raging fever.”
Laughing, she had to fight her way free. She pushed the tunic into his hands to keep them occupied and backed out of reach. “I will not,” she said, still battling to keep a smile off her face. “They are waiting—”
“Who is waiting?”
“The entire war council.”
He pulled on the linen tunic and held up the mail shirt. “What is this?”
“Armor.”
“Not likely.”
“Now who is more closed-minded, the Gialtans or you?” she teased him. “You can wear protection without looking like a turtle.”
He frowned. “A what?”
“A turtle. A creature that lives in a shell. This gives you more freedom of movement. It is more modern.”
Caelan pulled it on and moved his arms experimentally. “It’s too tight.”
“On you, everything is too tight,” she said, handing him a sur-coat of dark green. “It will do for today. You can discuss a better fit with the armorer later.”
The leggings and boots fit him well enough. The surcoat hung to his knees, and made him look even taller and more imposing than before. He buckled on his sword belt, swept back his hair with both hands, and faced her.
“Will you do the inspection, Majesty?”
“You are beautiful.”
Amusement lit his face. “Exactly the quality most likely to impress a room filled with hostile warlords.”
Her eyes grew troubled. “Oh, they are very hostile indeed. You must take great care. I have told them you are a king, but—”
“A king!” he said in consternation. “No, Elandra, why?”
“So they will accept you.”
“Do they?” There was a world of bitterness in his voice.
She gripped his hand. “But it’s true. You wear the sword of a king. Your destiny—”
“No, Elandra,” he said with more firmness than before. “These are not things to speak of.”
“But—”
He lifted his hand to silence her. He was frowning now, all the fun erased from his face. “You must understand this,” he said seriously. “I am not a king. The sword does not make me a king.”
“But only kings can carry such—”
“Choven steel is the only metal that can fight darkness.”
“That isn’t true!” she protested. “I have seen you attack shyrieas with ordinary metal. You destroyed General Paz when he—”
“Demons and those who are possessed are one thing,” he said, shaking his head. “But I am speaking of the darkness itself.”
She spoke the syllable “Bel...” and Caelan held up his hand to silence her, then nodded. She drew back, drenched in fear. “No,” she said. “No, Caelan!”
“Elandra—”
“No!” she shouted. “You’re telling me that you went to the Choven for that sword, that you need it so you can fight— In the name of Gault, don’t seek the dark god!”
“Please—”
“No, I refuse to listen to this. I won’t allow it.”
“You can’t stop it.”
“You said you wanted to rule. You