Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [113]
A sound at her door disturbed her thoughts. Ever wary, Elandra rose from her stool and faced the door. It was not yet time for food. She had had a bath yesterday. Trapped in the whiteness, she strained with her ears and her sense of smell to determine who was there.
The door swung open, creaking slightly on its hinges. Hope lifted in her. Was this a visitor? Would at last she have someone to talk to?
“Yes?” she asked eagerly. “Why have you come? Who is there?”
The woman entered the room without answering. Her footsteps were soft on the stone floor. Bare feet, Elandra thought. But unlike the usual attendant who hobbled as though old and who puffed when she walked, this person moved gracefully with a low, distinctive jingle of earrings.
With her came a scent of herbs and musk, very faint but pleasing. There was something familiar yet elusive about her that teased at Elandra’s mind. How maddening not to recognize what her senses seemed to be telling her.
In silence, the visitor took Elandra’s hand and tugged.
Elandra resisted. “Where are you taking me?”
Not answering, the visitor tugged again.
Anger tangled with frustration inside Elandra. “I don’t understand why I am treated so. Why won’t you answer my questions? Must I be punished for having been spell- burned?”
The visitor tugged harder, pulling her forward.
Elandra gave up the useless questions and stumbled along. Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She wasn’t going to let anyone see her hurt and confusion. Blind or not, she was still the daughter of Albain. She wouldn’t beg for their mercy.
There were fourteen steps from Elandra’s door left along a passageway, then a turn to the right and thirty-nine steps to the bathing room.
Today, however, they turned left twice. Suddenly Elandra was lost and disoriented.
She slowed down, using her free hand to feel along the wall. The woman leading her kept tugging at her to go faster. Elandra’s uncertainty grew, and with it came fear.
Quickly she squelched that emotion. She must not let them think she was scared. If anything, she must bide her time until she could figure out a way to get word to her father. No doubt the Penestricans had concealed her fate, fearing Albain’s blame in the matter. But Elandra did not intend to stay here imprisoned and forgotten like some charity case, if she could help it.
“I wish to speak to the Magria,” she said now. “If you are not permitted to speak to me, fine. Only have mercy on my plight and give my message to her. My father is Lord Albain. He will come for me and take me off your hands if only he is informed of what has happened. Will you tell the Magria this? Please?”
The woman said nothing, only tugged at her to hurry.
Sighing, Elandra bumped into the wall and righted herself. Where were they going?
They turned again. The floor was very rough and uneven beneath Elandra’s bare feet; then its surface grew smoother. Strange scents came to her: pungent odors of herbs, cedar, and rodents. The air against her face grew progressively warmer and drier.
The woman escorting her stopped in front of her without warning. Elandra bumped into her and heard a hiss of anger. She was shoved back with a rough hand.
Before Elandra could react, her arm was gripped above the elbow, and she was pulled forward, then stopped.
Confused, Elandra hesitated. The same action was repeated. This time, her foot stumbled down a step. Understanding flooded her.
“Steps,” she said aloud. “Very well.”
Slowly she made her way down a whole series of steps, her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “It would help,” she said, “if you would tell me how many steps there are.”
The woman said nothing.
Annoyed, Elandra clamped her lips together. This rule of silence was both cruel and absurd. She might be blind, but she wasn’t deaf or stupid. She would not ask again.
They passed through a doorway and entered a place that was extremely hot.
The temperature made Elandra gasp. Perspiration broke,