Realm of Light - Deborah Chester [96]
She gave him a wan smile so that he would think he comforted her. Inside, however, she remained like a clenched fist, too tense and worried to be reassured.
Handar snapped his fingers, and the major domo came running to bow low.
“May I offer the most humble greetings and welcome of this house, formerly thy home, Majesty?” he said, never once looking directly at her.
“Thank you,” Elandra replied in a hollow voice. Now was not the time to remember her childhood spent far from grand public rooms such as this. She had been treated like a servant. She had scrubbed floors for punishment, and she had mended and fetched like many of the other maids when her step-aunt ordered her to.
While the major domo issued discreet orders for a chamber to be cleared for her use, Handar spoke to a man in a long tunic trimmed in monkey fur. This man in turn summoned a lady who approached in a beautiful gown and curtsied perfunctorily to Elandra.
“May I assist you. Majesty?” she asked. “May I offer you the service of my own maids? My seamstress will be honored to alter some of my gowns for your use.”
Elandra did not recognize her, but it hardly mattered. “Thank you,” she said.
Caelan released her hand so that she could be led away in the care of the noblewoman and servants. Elandra started up the staircase, then glanced back at him, missing him already. But the lady was urging her on gently, and she kept walking, feeling numb.
Left behind with General Handar, Caelan watched Elandra walk out of sight with graceful dignity. Only he guessed how frightened she was, how shocked.
This latest blow of fate was surely one cruelty too many. Elandra had endured enough. To now lose her father, the man whose support she had never for one second doubted, on the heels of so many other tragedies was too much. If Caelan could have yelled at the gods and shamed them for their capriciousness, he would have.
As it was, he had to stand here, helpless and unable to comfort her.
But if he could not assuage her grief, at least he could change the hostility he sensed in this room. How quickly people could turn on each other. Petty, jealous, envious, and shortsighted, they forgot how much they needed to side together at this moment of crisis. Caelan swallowed his anger at the way Elandra had been received, and forced himself to pull his wits in line. There would be a change by the time she reappeared. He would make sure of it.
Setting his jaw, he turned on the general, who had been looking at him like he was some kind of encroacher. Caelan knew they had all witnessed the familiarity of his steadying arm around Elandra, the way she clung to his hand, the way she looked to him for guidance and comfort. He was no nobleman, by the state of his clothes or by his origins. And surely someone present had visited the arena in Imperia and would recognize him as a former gladiator.
For an instant Caelan felt the old shame of slavery like a ghost perched on his shoulder, then he shook it off. Kostimon had once been no one from nowhere, and he had made himself emperor. Without leadership, these fancy courtiers were doomed. It was time they knew it.
“We were not properly introduced,” Caelan said to the general with a courteous nod. “I am Caelan of Trau.”
Handar’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, another voice rose from the crowd: “Caelan of the arena is more accurate.”
Men broke into laughter, and the ladies nudged each other and smiled behind their hands.
Caelan’s temper snapped. He whirled around in the direction the voice had come from. “Who said that?”
More laughter rose up, jeering and contemptuous. Caelan glared at them, refusing to be driven away, knowing that if his nerve broke here, he wasn’t worthy to stand beside Elandra, much less face the coming shadows.
“Who spoke?” he demanded again.
“Really? A gladiator?” a rotund, red-faced man said, hooting as he held his sides. “Gault help us, a pretentious brute from the arena.”
Caelan’s face burned, but he didn’t move. His gaze searched the crowd, while they laughed and pointed