Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [168]
“The proclamation has been sent out,” Orlo said. “The wedding will be directly before the coronation—”
“Wedding!”
Memory flooded through Caelan. He flung off the tattered blanket and tried to sit up.
Orlo pushed him down. “Are you mad? What are you doing? You can’t get up!”
“Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Caelan said furiously. “Damn you, let me up!”
Again he tried to sit up and managed to get himself propped on one elbow. Breathing hard, he ran his fingers over the bandage. He felt sore and stiff. Pain still ran deep through him, but it was no longer the mortal kind of agony that had incapacitated him. This he could manage.
Groaning, he pulled his feet under him and lifted his hand to Orlo. “Help me up.”
“Caelan, you must lie down. You’ll start bleeding again if you move. You can’t afford to lose more. You’re already as white as a bone.”
“I’m fine. Help me up,” Caelan said grimly, gritting his teeth.
“In Gault’s name, you’ll kill yourself!”
Caelan glared at Orlo, but the trainer had a strange, mutinous expression on his face. Too much time had already been wasted in arguing. Caelan rose unsteadily to his feet. His balance was shaky. He was so stiff he could barely move. He needed a massage and some drills to stretch his muscles, but there was no time. Elandra was out there, going to Tirhin like a prize captured in battle. Gritting his teeth, Caelan forced down his anger and panic, seeking a center of calm. He could not find it, could not achieve the severance he sought and so desperately needed.
Closing his eyes, he struggled to find his balance, to find the icy void. As always when he was worried or upset about Elandra, he could not do it.
But this time he had to. Without severance he could not even walk outside, much less help her.
Keep your word, Lord Caelan, said the voice of the Magria in his mind.
His eyes flew open, and he looked around. He had heard her so clearly, it was almost as though she stood in the room with him.
But she was not there.
Only her words echoed inside him. He remembered his promise. He remembered what was at stake.
Orlo gripped his shoulder. “Stop this, you fool!” he said angrily. “You can’t go out there and show yourself. Soldiers are everywhere. Tirhin thinks you’re dead. Leave it that way. You can sneak out of the city after the ceremony and—”
“No,” Caelan said.
The cheering grew louder. He glanced at the ceiling again, feeling the pull. It occurred to him that if Tirhin thought he was dead, then so must Elandra.
Closing his eyes, he shut his emotions into a box. He had given his word to the Magria. And though it would destroy him to see Elandra go to another, he would stand in the crowd where she could not see him and witness the ceremony.
Calmness flowed over him, and he slipped into severance, detaching himself from pain and weakness, locking his box of emotions with chains of purpose and determination.
The stiffness in his body was forgotten. He swung his arms, loosening them, and stretched carefully until he felt his wound pull.
“The armor that was taken from the soldiers we killed last night. Is any of it here?”
“You’re not back in the arena,” Orlo said, watching him with a mixture of fear and exasperation. “That crowd is not cheering for you, Giant. You’re champion no longer. There is no combat.”
“Get me a breastplate,” Caelan said. “And a sword.”
“None of the breastplates will fit you.”
Caelan almost smiled. “I forgot. The sword then, and a dagger.”
Orlo hesitated. “The army stands guard in the square to keep order. They won’t let you near Tirhin.”
“Give me a sword.”
Orlo unbuckled his own belt and handed it over, but when Caelan reached for it, Orlo held it fast. “Why did you lie to me?”
“About what?”
“Groveling as a slave all that time, letting yourself be whipped and degraded. Why? If you are a lord—”
Caelan stared at him, and remembered how the dream walker had addressed him. He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “I am no lord,” he said. “For a few days I thought I might become one, but