Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [162]
She looked at her mother desperately, seeking solace that was not offered. “What makes one man better than another? Is it an accident of birth, or is it what he proves himself to be?”
“I don’t know,” Iaris said. “But if he is dead, then he is dead. Your tears won’t bring him back. And if Tirhin is mad, then you truly are the last hope Imperia has. Don’t throw that away, Elandra.”
Elandra wiped her face and nodded. She felt colder than ever inside, but her grimness had not lessened. Nor did her intentions waver. No matter what her mother said, or how much she pleaded, Elandra would not let herself be made Tirhin’s wife.
She thought of the Magria’s strange prophecy and how she had been given two destinies. If she locked herself in her chamber, refusing Tirhin, there would be civil war. She remained popular with the people, and they would support her. But Tirhin had killed the man she loved, and Elandra hated him for that. Her grief hardened inside her, becoming cold, implacable hatred. She would not sit in passive resistance. No, she meant to strike hard. She must avenge Caelan. The goal burned in her heart like fire. Woman of fire, the prophecy had called her. So be it.
When she was dressed and adorned with jewels and veiled, Elandra dismissed everyone.
“I am going to say my prayers,” she said. “I will be alone.”
Iaris looked at her suspiciously. “What are you up to now?”
“By tradition, a bride has the night before her wedding to fast, meditate, and purify herself. I have not had that privilege.”
“They are waiting,” Iaris said. “There is no time for this.”
“I will have my prayers,” Elandra said angrily. She glared at Iaris with all the stubbornness she possessed.
“What are you up to?”
“Nothing more than I have said. I shan’t be long.”
Iaris pointed across the room at the window, where the jinja sat pouting because it was not allowed to go. “Go stand in that corner, then, and say your prayers quickly. The gods will understand your haste. I will wait here by the door.”
Anger flashed through Elandra. Through her teeth, she said, “You are a blasphemous woman. Get out.”
Red surged up Iaris’s throat into her cheeks. But she never flinched. “I do not trust you.”
“I have given my word,” Elandra said. “Take care. You are treading close to treason.”
Alarm flickered in Iaris’s eyes at that threat. She frowned as though she would protest further, but instead she said, “Very well. But for a few moments only. The escort is waiting.”
Elandra waited until the door was closed; then she ran across the room to the window. “Jinja, give it to me.”
The jinja sprang up at her command and jumped off the window sill. It had been sitting on her sheathed dagger, concealing it from the maids who had straightened the room.
Elandra strapped the thin sheath on her arm and pulled the sleeve of her dress down over it. A more sensible, safer course of action would be to go through the ceremony today and kill Tirhin tonight in the bridal chamber, but she had no interest in safety. She would give Tirhin a knife in the heart instead of her vows. It would be her vengeance for the man she had loved. She did not care what happened after that.
The jinja pressed close to her skirts, making a worried, mewing sound.
“Danger,” it said. “Danger great. Hide is better.”
She paused and stroked its small, golden head. “I know,” she said sadly. “But I can’t.”
“I go,” the jinja said. “Bad magic here.”
“No.”
The jinja hissed, but she gave it no chance to protest.
“You will stay here and hide yourself from what will happen. That’s an order.”
The jinja glared up at her,