Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [170]
Tirhin rode into the square to the cheers of the people. Smiling and waving, he was richly attired in heavy velvet and a fur-trimmed cloak. The cuffs of his gauntlets sparkled with jewels. His eyes glowed with excitement.
Caelan stared at him, feeling the temptation to cut this man’s threads of life. How black and snarled they were already. He could reach out like the hand of Mael herself, and snip them. Thus would the reign of Tirhin the Usurper end in a sudden, pathetic sprawl on the paving stones.
With a wrench, Caelan closed off the temptation, afraid of it, afraid of the darkness that rose inside himself. Instead he turned his gaze toward Elandra, while the man in front of him stepped on his toes, and someone to his left elbowed closer in an attempt to see her.
She rode a white horse with queenly grace, gowned in pale sky blue and adorned with jewels. Her veil had been pinned back to let the people see her face. They cheered for her lustily, waving and shouting her name, and she waved back with somber dignity.
Blue did not suit her. She looked pale and unwell. Shadows ringed her eyes, as though she had not slept. Caelan watched her ride past, ducking his head at the last moment so she could not see him. His heart twisted inside him, and it was all he could do not to push his way forward and pull her from the saddle into his arms.
This could not be allowed. She was his. He was hers. They belonged together. He wanted to yell her name. He wanted to draw his sword and smite everyone who stood against them. Most of all he wanted to wipe that evil smirk off Tirhin’s face.
Tirhin is not your enemy, the Magria’s voice whispered in his mind.
His heart burned, but Caelan held his severance and his oath. He must not lose his temper. He must wait, no matter what the cost. But the cost was so damned high.
The chancellors, not as fat and sleek as they used to be, not as many in number, ringed the pavilion as witnesses. A guard stood nearby, watching over a wooden box that must contain Tirhin’s crown.
Waving once more to the crowd, Tirhin took Elandra’s hand and led her into the pavilion. He barely limped at all, and Caelan could see the potions within his body, disguising the dark disease that riddled it. It was not the poison that had nearly claimed Elandra, but something different, something darker and far more foul.
Frowning, Caelan shifted his gaze to a still figure in the crowd, a man in white healer’s robes. In severance, Caelan could see a thread stretching between Agel and Tirhin. Caelan realized that Tirhin was nothing more than a puppet for the forces of darkness, manipulated, and probably unaware of it. Moreover, Tirhin was dying. Caelan could see death within him, held at bay by Agel’s potions.
Pity melted away the anger in Caelan’s heart. Tirhin might be mad, might be twisted with ambition and selfish conceit, but he had once been someone decent, strong, and kind. He was not worthy of hatred for the mistakes he had made. He alone was not to blame for what had befallen Imperia.
The priest lifted his hands and began a droning chant over Tirhin and Elandra.
A low rumble came through the earth, growing in volume and intensity. The ground shook and cracked. The pavilion swayed dangerously. People cried out in fear, horses reared and shied, and some of the soldiers broke ranks. Toppled off his feet by the heaving ground, Caelan fought to keep himself from being stepped on. A youth fell on top of him, and Caelan rolled clear. Then the quake ended.
Stunned silence lay over the square. The bells had even stopped ringing.
He pushed his way clear, wincing and holding his side as he staggered to his feet. The air smelted of dust. Slowly people picked themselves up. Some were crying. Others prayed aloud. Sergeants bawled out orders, restoring the ranks of soldiers.
Elandra still