Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [161]
Lea’s voice called his name. Holding up a lamp, she came searching and did not find him.
“I’m sorry,” he said as she passed him by.
“I’m sorry,” he said, unexpectedly finding himself kneeling to Moah, the leader of the Choven tribes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And Exoner lay broken in the snow, while he dreamed and shivered and burned in fire.
The queer tolling of cracked bells awakened Elandra. She could hear them across the city, some near and some faint on the distant hills. One rang whole and pure, its beauty serving only to accentuate the dead, flat notes of the others.
She lay there in her bed, in the fine suite of apartments, and thought of another day when the bells of Imperia had rung for her. It seemed a lifetime ago.
She had been on her way to be married.
“No!”
Sitting bolt upright, she flung off the covers and swung her feet to the floor. Around her, servants were moving quietly, refilling the lamps with oil and lighting them. Pushing back her hair, she glanced at the window and could see the sun hanging halfway above the broken spires of the city, still veiled by the hazy gloom.
She remembered the horrible talk with Tirhin last night, and fresh grief rose inside her along with grim determination. She would not marry the man. No matter what he did, no matter what he plotted, he could not coerce her.
Iaris came toward her, veering around a maidservant carrying a tray of food. “It’s about time you woke up,” she said. “Your bath is being poured. I’ve been sewing since dawn, trying to alter the wedding gown your groom has provided. He says it belonged to his mother. It’s charming, but very old-fashioned. Still, we do what we must. Hurry!”
Elandra ignored her as she would a buzzing fly.
Gripping her by the wrist, Iaris marched her into a small bathing chamber wanned by a burning fire. Curls of steam rose off the surface of the water.
“This is the fate of women,” Iaris said, stripping the sleeping robe off Elandra’s back and pushing her into the deep marble tub. “The more you fight, the more miserable you will be. The result is still the same. Find obedience in your heart, and cease this struggle.”
Elandra sat in the water, letting it lap around her shoulders. She could not cry now. She had cried all her tears for Caelan the night before. Now she felt hollow and empty inside, as empty as the city around her. She felt as though she had died, yet still was able to move about and talk. It seemed so strange.
“I am a ghost,” she said, staring into the distance. “I am nothing.”
Iaris slapped her hard. The blow rocked Elandra backward, and stung enough to get her attention.
Lifting her hand to her face, she turned her head and stared at her mother.
Iaris was glaring at her, looking both angry and afraid. She gripped the rim of the tub so hard her knuckles turned white. “Stop this!” she repeated sharply. “Our lives depend on you. Don’t you understand? Your father, Pier, myself, the others. If you displease Tirhin, he will hurt us. Not you. Us.”
Elandra’s eyes widened. She looked at her mother, heard the truth in her mother’s voice, and felt shame rise inside her.
“You are safe,” Iaris said in a tight, hard voice. “But we are not. No one in Imperia is safe except you. He needs you, Elandra. The rest of us are expendable.”
Elandra’s lips were trembling. She felt cold despite the warmth of the water. “He is a monster,” she said. “A madman. He killed Caelan.”
“He will kill Albain next,” Iaris said. “You know that. Stop being so selfish, girl, and think of someone besides yourself.”
Bowing her head, Elandra began to cry.
“Stop it! Pull yourself together. Did you tell him about the child?”
Still weeping, Elandra shook her head.
“Thank Gault for that.” Iaris sighed. “I am sorry about your lover,” she said, making her voice more gentle. “He was not suitable in birth or rank, but—”
“He was noble in his