Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [129]
“Yes, I said that,” he agreed. “And I do. I have ever since I was joined with Kostimon and you in the ring of Choven fire. Kostimon’s ambition touched me. It made me think there was a chance to rise from nothing.”
“It is possible,” she said. “Kostimon did it. I have done it. You can too.”
He smiled at her ruefully. “My path of life leads elsewhere.”
“Don’t say that! You’re tired, confused. You don’t—”
“No, Elandra. Don’t lie to yourself. I was created to fight. It’s all I can do. It’s all I know. Everything that has happened to me in my life was to shape me for what is to come.”
“But you’re mortal!” she cried. “You can’t go in search of Beloth! You can’t win. I have seen him. I know what he is—”
“Kostimon loosened his chains,” Caelan said grimly. “He is breaking free.”
She pressed her hand to her lips in an effort to hold back her sobs. “But what about us? Why have you let me think we were going back to Imperia to reclaim the throne? Why do you tell me now?”
“Because you must keep your throne,” he said. “And I must fight what comes. We will both return to Imperia. I promise you that. But stop persuading these warlords to support me. Don’t try to shape reality to your desires, Elandra. You will only get hurt.”
Tears streamed down her face. She was losing him, losing him to death, and she could not bear that. Was there nothing she could say that would deflect him from this course?
“They will not follow me,” she said.
“You will find a way.”
“Caelan!”
He looked down at her, and his gaze was loving, sad, and implacable.
Suddenly she hated him. Sniffing, she said, “I wish you had told me the truth before I gave my heart to you. Am I to have you, only to lose you?”
He stepped back, and something seemed to close in his face. “Do you think I will lose?”
“You think it,” she said bitterly, refusing to let him shift blame onto her. “Why should I not believe as you do?”
He had no answer.
Angrily she wiped her face. “What will this self-sacrifice accomplish? Will it stop the dark god? Or will you be as a moth, flying toward the fire, burned to death before you can even strike a blow? It is glory, I suppose, but what else? What can you do?”
He shook his head, his expression bleak. “I shouldn’t have told you. I meant to say nothing until it was time. I shouldn’t have spoken of this now.”
That hurt her more deeply than anything. She saw how little her words mattered, how little impact her feelings and opinions had. It had been the same with Kostimon and her father. Were all men like walls? Did they never consider the ones they left behind, the ones who had to cope with the aftermath?
She was not impressed. Caelan’s death would not keep her warm at night. His death would not give her comfort during her days. She could not talk to a dead man. She could not love a dead man. He would have glory, and she would be alone. He would be gone, and she would go as spoils to the victor.
Silence filled the room. Wearing his granite face, Caelan went to stare out the window. Elandra poured a ewer of water into a basin and washed her face to remove all evidence of tears. Last night she had thought him lost to her forever. She had grieved and worried. Now he stood no farther away than across the room, and it was as though he had ceased to exist. She had lost him, would lose him. Whatever days or hours remained for them were already shadowed by the future.
She had never been so angry, or hurt.
“I am ready,” she said in a small, cold voice. “Come.”
Without waiting to see if he followed, she opened the door and stepped outside, walking away rapidly with her guards at her heels.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The guards outside the council room threw open the double doors as she came striding up, her eyes snapping, her head high. She swept inside and found the men on their feet, chatting idly.
They had the air of having reached a decision. Their conversations faltered as they all turned to look at her.
Sunlight shone through the windows, rare at this time of year. She walked