Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [138]
The horses slowed down, their shod hooves clattering loud on the paving stones. Up ahead, Elandra again saw something lurking in the shadows. Something that looked almost human, yet was grotesquely bent at the shoulders. It did not run, but watched them from the darkness as they hurried by.
“Blessed Gault,” Albain breathed aloud. “We are surely at the end of the world.”
Shortly thereafter, they arrived at a villa, its three stories miraculously intact within its garden walls. The gardens were trampled and ruined, but only a jagged diagonal crack across the front wall of the house showed any damage. Welcoming squares of gold light shone from the windows. Torches burned at the entrance. Elandra could hear sounds of music and laughter from inside.
She frowned. How could anyone feast and make merry when the city was like this? She was so appalled she could not comment on it.
A soldier’s strong hands lifted her from the saddle and supported her a moment when her weary, cramping legs could not quite hold her.
Albain came and put his arm around her. “Can you walk, my dear?” he asked gently. “Try a few steps and see if your muscles don’t loosen.”
The journey had been long and brutal. They had spent hours in the saddle, riding at a hard pace that spared neither horse nor rider. In camp at night, she had wept with weariness, unable to eat, too frightened to care. Iaris had tried to care for her, but Elandra did not want her mother. She wanted only Caelan, but he was shackled and kept elsewhere where she could not see him. Every day she struggled for a glimpse of him, if only to know he was still alive, but they kept him hidden. He had been brought into the city by a different route from hers. Now his whereabouts were a secret. She grieved for him already, knowing Tirhin would grant him no mercy.
Elandra burned with resentment. She had tried to enlist the aid of the Lord Commander, but he refused to even grant her an audience.
Now she was here, being delivered against her will and her prayers, and there wasn’t much she could do about it.
Her jinja came darting over to cling to her skirts. Albain pushed it away and it snapped at him, barely missing his fingers.
He swore, and Elandra pulled the jinja around to her other side, away from him.
“Stop that,” she scolded. “You must behave.”
“Danger,” the jinja insisted, tugging at her cloak. “Danger!”
“I know,” she said wearily, and walked into the villa.
The hall was cramped by Gialtan standards. Albain glanced around, his one eye bloodshot and glaring, but Elandra had no curiosity for her surroundings.
Minions in Tirhin’s blue livery scurried and bowed, offering them wine, taking dusty cloaks and gloves.
The servants were courteous and well trained. The furnishings were beautiful. A fire burned nearby, providing warmth against the chill of the night.
Elandra was oblivious to all of it. She stood in a fog, and cared not where she was.
“Welcome!” a baritone voice rang out.
Tirhin stood at the landing on the staircase, his arms outstretched in greeting. “My dear friends, I give thanks for your safe arrival.”
He came down the stairs slowly, favoring one leg, then limped over to them. His handsome face beneath its jaunty velvet cap was beaming with delight. He made it seem as though they hadn’t been brought here by force.
Pier bowed, but Tirhin came straight to Elandra. Taking her cold hands in his, he kissed her knuckles.
“My dear Elandra, the sight of you fills my heart with joy. I am relieved at your safe return. Welcome.”
Elandra focused on his face. He looked flushed and sweaty, a little tipsy from wine. She saw nothing but deceit and treachery in his eyes. Her own hardened with contempt. Drawing her hand from his grasp, she said nothing at all.
Tirhin flushed, frowning in quick anger. He glanced around self-consciously.
Albain cleared his throat. “About the conditions in the city—”
“Terrible, are they not?” Tirhin said, looking