Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [153]
“Elandra,” he said, his voice soft and velvety despite an underlying note of strain. “Thank you for coming. I thought we might begin anew in private, where we have no need to act as our rank demands in public.”
His face was as white as his undertunic, throwing his black brows and hair into dramatic contrast. His eyes caught the firelight and shimmered for a moment, paler in color than she remembered, almost yellow.
Despite herself, she shivered.
“Come,” he said, reaching out his hand to her with a smile. “Let us sit and talk.”
Elandra did not move. Her fear was unreasonable, for she could see no threat in his face or manner. Yet she remained afraid.
“Please,” he said.
She heard fatigue and pain in his voice and realized he was waiting for her to sit down before he did the same. His knuckles were white where they gripped the top of the cane.
Compassion touched her then, and she took one of the chairs, sitting erect with her long skirts belled around her, her hands folded in her lap.
Tirhin dropped heavily into his with a grunt of relief and stretched out his bad leg before him.
This close, she could see how much he had changed. Deep lines had been carved around his mouth. A permanent crease between his brows marred his forehead. He looked older by years, and his eyes seemed haunted. Tension radiated from him.
She looked at him, and was glad he suffered. She hoped his guilt consumed him, for no punishment could be more appropriate. Had he sat before her sleek, contented, and fat with his ill-gained riches, she would have thrown her knife at his throat. But this pain-wracked shell of a man, this prince who had lost his youth, vitality, and laughing good looks was someone she could tolerate. Barely.
He met her eyes and gave her a tentative smile, then lifted his forefinger at Agel, who hovered discreetly in the background. “Some wine for the lady, healer. Oh, and bring the box.”
In silence Agel brought a tray containing a flagon of amber-colored wine, two goblets of hammered gold, and a small wooden box with an ornate lid.
Elandra watched scornfully as the healer filled the goblets. “And when did this skilled healer become your servant?” she asked.
Agel did not glance up as he finished pouring the wine, but his nostrils flared.
Tirhin chuckled. “The slaves have all been sent to bed. Our conversation is private, not for idle ears. Thank you, Agel. That will suffice.”
The healer bowed and left the room. Elandra breathed easier after he was gone. “I thought Lord Sien would be at your side.”
“Sien died when Kostimon died,” Tirhin said. “Agel has saved my life.” He drank thirstily from his goblet, then handed the second goblet to her.
Elandra lifted her hand in refusal. “I am not thirsty.”
“At least let us share a toast, Elandra.”
She stared at him coldly and made no move to take the goblet, which he still extended to her. “We have nothing to celebrate.”
“Not even a mending of a broken friendship?”
Elandra did not relent. “You are premature.”
His smile faded, and a shadow crossed his eyes. He set down the goblet with enough force to slosh its contents. “Will you not meet me halfway?”
“Why should I?”
He struggled a moment with himself, as though to keep his patience and his temper. “This hostility from you is most unbecoming. It does nothing to show the people that we are united in—”
“We are not united,” Elandra said sharply.
“Let me finish,” he said. “I was going to say united in friendship. Why do you fear me? We are family. I mean you no harm.”
“Do you not,” she said softly beneath her breath.
He overheard and frowned. “I am not your enemy, whatever you may think.”
“Then why am I your prisoner?”
Tirhin leaned back in his chair. “Leave if you wish. Go. I will not stop you.”
“My chamber door was locked tonight.”
“For your protection.”
She sniffed. “I was brought to this room by an armed escort.”
“For your