Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [79]
“But I can’t find my shoes.”
“I saw them.”
“Where?”
But he was already bending to pull out her slippers from beneath the pine boughs. “Here.”
To her surprise, the slippers looked like new.
“Who mended them?” she asked, holding up first one, then the other in amazement.
Caelan shrugged. “Who gave us fire and food ?”
“Your sister?”
He fastened on his army cloak and did not reply.
Elandra watched him and found herself frowning. “Don’t wear that,” she said.
He paused and raised his brows.
“Don’t wear imperial crimson,” she said. “Kostimon is dead. The ruby throne is broken. Don’t wear his colors.”
Comprehension filled his face. Slowly he removed the bright cloak that had been a symbol of pride for so many soldiers through the long march of history.
She brought him the fur cloak and watched as he put it on. Smoothing his hand across his breastplate, he asked, “Do I now look like a barbarian?”
Elandra laughed. “Yes, but a most handsome one.”
He made a face. “I don’t think the army is interested in how handsome I look.”
“Will your sister come to see us off?” Elandra asked. “Will I get to meet her?”
“I don’t know.”
His mood had sobered again. Elandra watched him, but said nothing. This homecoming had not been what he had imagined; she felt his keen disappointment.
Again she changed the subject. “If the Choven gave you a sword, why didn’t they make you special armor as well?”
“Are you now going to suggest I leave my armor behind?”
“No, silly. You must have it. I only wish it were an officer’s.”
He looked grim as he brought her gold wool cloak to her and fastened it around her shoulders. “The trappings aren’t important now. Only fools worry about how they look as they prance to the battlefield. I worry about whether we can raise the men we need.”
She gazed up at him, adoring him, believing in him. “We will raise the men.”
“I wish I had your faith.”
“We are on the side of right. Tirhin betrayed his own people. In doing so, he forfeited any claim he might have had. Kostimon never named him successor.”
“Kostimon,” Caelan said dryly, “did not believe in sharing what he had.”
She nodded and glanced around at the small cave one last time. Already she missed it. How silly to cry over a primitive mound of pine boughs. How silly to be a woman at all. She lifted her head high and sniffed quickly and lightly, determined not to let him see her foolishness. Small wonder men did not want women along in battle when they could turn sentimental so quickly.
But Caelan took one of her hands and kissed it. “We were blessed here. This sanctuary witnessed our union. And although no priest has pronounced over us, I do claim you, Elandra of Gialta, for my own. I say you are my flesh. You are my spirit. You are my heart. And I will keep myself for you only until the day I die.”
She found herself trembling with joy at the honor he did her. When she looked up into his eyes, her own filled with tears, then she blinked them away and said breathlessly, “And I do claim you, Caelan of Trau, for my own. You are my flesh, my spirit, and my heart. I will keep myself for you only until the day I die.”
He pulled her close into his arms, lifting her until her feet dangled while he kissed her, then set her gently on the ground again.
“Ready?” he asked.
Gripping his hand, feeling as strong as the earth goddess herself, Elandra nodded. She would follow this man to the ends of time if need be. Let all their enemies be cursed unto death if they dared try to part this union.
“Wait,” Elandra said before they reached the mouth of the cave. She pulled her hand free and darted back. “There’s something I want to do.”
Impatient, Caelan frowned at her. “What?”
“Never mind. Go on. I’ll join you in a moment.”
Shaking his head, he hoped she did not intend to linger here. No matter how wonderful the night had been, it was time to go. He felt a strong sense of urgency, the suspicion that time was rapidly running out.
“Hurry!” he called after her.
“I will,” her voice came back, muffled and echoing through the cave.
Stooping