Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [157]
Elandra glared at him, saying nothing.
Finally he grew quiet, and met her gaze. He frowned. “Tell me this is a jest.”
“No.”
“You have promised yourself without witnesses to a slave?”
“Caelan is not a slave. Kostimon freed him. He is wellborn.”
Tirhin waved away these distinctions impatiently. “You know what I mean. He is not remotely of your rank.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You have no right to advise me.”
“Take care, Elandra,” he said. “We are family.”
She snorted. “Do I make you angry? I don’t care,” she shot back. “I love Caelan, and I have bound myself to him.”
“I am prince of the realm, soon to be emperor,” he said angrily. “I recognize no such marriage.”
She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “Whether you recognize it or not, the marriage exists. You cannot force me to the altar, and any truth-light will confirm my claim.”
Tirhin looked furious, and she was satisfied. She had blocked him and his plans. Let him choke on his ire, if he wished.
“We seem to be at an impasse,” she said coolly. “May I return to my chamber now?”
His eyes glittered, and he limped slowly to the desk to pour himself more wine. As he lifted the goblet, he tapped its base against the wooden box.
“Very well, Elandra,” he said in a voice like velvet. “The contents of the box are for you. If you like, you may consider it a wedding gift.”
She frowned in suspicion, unable to believe he would accept defeat this calmly. “What is it?”
With a smile, he placed his palm flat against the lid of the box. “Do not fear. Open it and see. You will find it an ornament above price.”
Fearing a trick, fearing poison, she refused to touch it.
“Will you not open it?” he asked. “Shall I open it for you?”
Her frown deepened.
“Yes.” He put down his goblet and picked up the box. Opening the hinged lid, he peered in at the contents and smiled to himself.
Watching him, Elandra thought that truly he was mad. What kind of terrible, bitter amusement twisted inside him?
“I will not wear your jewels,” she said in warning. “Keep your gift.”
“Oh, no,” he said, turning the box around and holding it out to her. “I want you to see this. Look at it.”
Still she would not.
“Damn you!” he shouted, his mask suddenly ripped away. Furiously he glared at her and dumped the contents of the box onto the desk. A fist-sized, bloody object rolled across the edge of the map and stopped beneath the glow of the lamp.
Elandra stared at it, not recognizing it at first. Then she caught its smell, a horrible smell of blood and raw meat. A memory flashed into her mind. Her father’s hounds, being fed meat and scraps after a hunt, the dogs leaping and snapping at the chunks tossed to them by the butcher.
Feeling faint, she drew in her breath sharply.
“It’s Caelan’s heart, my dear,” Tirhin said viciously. He picked it up and squeezed his fingers around it. Drops of blood landed on the map and spread into the parchment.
Elandra’s stomach heaved. She swallowed hard as the room spun around her. “No,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off Tirhin’s bloody fist.
“Do you believe me incapable of ridding myself of any opponent, any rival?” Tirhin asked, smiling. “Nothing will stand between me and the throne. When my chancellors told me that unless you and I are wed, I cannot be immediately crowned, I set to work immediately to remove all obstacles.”
Elandra started shaking. She was so cold, so terribly cold. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she sent him a beseeching look. “Tell me this is only a cruel joke,” she pleaded. “He cannot be dead.”
“He is. I hold the proof in my hand. You are a widow, Elandra.”
She cried out, lifting her hands to her mouth, unable to deny her pain. “No. No, I will not believe it!”
Tirhin came around the desk, tossing away the heart, and gripped her wrist with his bloody hand. “Believe it,” he said harshly. “He is dead. I gave the order myself.”
She wept.
“You are mine,” Tirhin said. “Now, go back to your chamber and prepare yourself for the ceremony. It is nearly dawn.”
Elandra