Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [141]
“I will tell you nothing,” Elandra said.
“You look green enough to be quickening,” Iaris said. “And by Gault, if you are, then you have put all of us in jeopardy.”
“No more than we already are.”
Iaris uttered a sharp, short laugh and tossed her head. “Really? Then think on this, my girl. If Tirhin entertains even the most remote suspicion that you have lain with that gladiator—”
“And what if it were Kostimon’s child?” Elandra said.
Iaris stopped in mid-stride and stared at her. Conflicting emotions chased themselves across her face. “The Penestricans ordered you to bear his child, did they not? They taught you how to seduce him. They gave you exact instructions as to—”
“If I bear Kostimon’s child,” Elandra said coolly as though she did not see the naked ambition in her mother’s face, “then the empire is his. The child would outrank Tirhin, whose mother was only a consort, and Tirhin’s claim would be futile.”
“Take care with your lies, my girl,” Iaris said suspiciously. “Everyone in your father’s palace saw how you looked at that gladiator. No mourning for Kostimon. No veil of widowhood. This wanton behavior—”
“I know exactly which man is the father,” Elandra said wickedly, “for I have lain with only one of them. But the rest of the world will have to wait until the child is born to know.”
Iaris glared at her, too angry to find a retort.
Elandra turned her back. “Leave me. I wish to be alone.”
She stood there, exhausted by the scene, but glad that for once she had left her mother speechless. laris’s footsteps crossed the room, then returned. “Forgive me, Majesty,” she said with mock courtesy, “but I cannot obey you. The door is locked. It seems we are prisoners together.”
Sighing, Elandra started to speak, but just then the floor trembled beneath her feet.
The bed hangings swayed, and a crack ran up the wall from the corner of the fireplace.
Iaris cried out in fear. “Merciful gods, what is happening?”
Elandra glanced up, saw the ceiling cracking, and dodged a piece of falling plaster. She grabbed a bedpost to keep her balance, and the motion stopped. The room was silent, except for the hiss of the fire.
Iaris stood white-faced with terror. “What was it?” she asked. “Where is your jinjaT’
The tiny creature popped out from beneath the bed and began to explore. Elandra brushed plaster dust from her hair.
“Stop shrieking, Iaris,” she said. “It was only an earthquake.” “It is the return of the gods,” Iaris said. “The world is ending. We are all going to die, consumed in—”
Elandra poured a cupful of water and threw it in her mother’s face.
Sputtering, Iaris stared at her.
“Now be quiet,” Elandra said. “I want my rest.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The public dungeons lay beneath the ruins of the old arena, converted from its underground warren of training rooms and quarters. Torches burned at the rubble-strewn entrance, and gaunt-faced soldiers in tattered cloaks huddled around a roaring bonfire for warmth.
Beyond the firelight, furtive glowing eyes watched from nearly every nook and cranny. The soldiers talked loudly and nervously, pretending to ignore the watchers. Now and then there came the abortive scream of a hapless victim out in the darkness.
Riding through the terrible streets, Caelan held himself tightly severed, fearing any contact with the darkness that now ruled Imperia. The smell of death sickened the air, along with the scorched, fetid stench of forbidden magic.
Tightly guarded by men who rode with drawn swords in their hands, Caelan soon gave up any attempt to keep his bearings. With the city destroyed, nothing looked as it should. But when they reined up at the dungeons, Caelan gasped in surprise.
How well he recognized the public square and entrance to the arena, with its stone pillars and a massive lintel carved to show a stylized border of swords laid end to end. The arena itself towered there no more. Only a single section of seats remained, the top half broken away. The rest lay in rubble that filled the ring.