Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [118]
While Elandra’s bewilderment grew, the Magria turned a terrible smile of pity on Bixia. “You have no destiny. Those who have told you so all your life have done you a great disservice.”
“I do have a destiny!” Bixia stamped her foot like a spoiled child. “I do! It says I am to marry the emperor, and you can’t stop me!”
“Father was told,” Elandra said in agreement. “The prophecy was clear.”
The Magria’s eyes pinned her. “Speak the prophecy.”
Bixia sighed, but Elandra said in a clear, precise voice: “The daughter of Albain shall marry the emperor.”
“Yes,” the Magria said. “That is correct.”
“I am his daughter!” Bixia said hotly.
“So is Elandra.”
“No!” Bixia cried. “She is a bastard, a worthless embarrassment. She doesn’t belong here. Father was wrong to even send her with me.”
“The prophecy does not lie,” the Magria said.
“You make a lie of it! You are evil and a—”
The Magria lifted her hand, and Bixia’s sentence choked off. Bixia clutched her throat, writhing and turning blue. Alarmed, Elandra realized she was in the presence of powers she did not understand. Were these women also witches?
“We are not witches,” the Magria said severely.
Uneasiness crawled through Elandra. So they read minds as well. Surely they were indeed possessed of dark powers.
“No,” the Magria said sharply. “Do not judge what you do not understand. You have met one real witch. Was she like us?”
“I—I do not yet know,” Elandra said.
The Magria’s mouth twisted. “We serve the goddess- mother of all creation, the earth itself. With education you will come to share our love and worship. You will walk ourway.”
Bixia was still being choked by the Magria’s will. Elandra swallowed and made herself face the Magria.
“I will not walk your way,” she said defiantly. “Call your powers what you will. They are not for me.”
“We live with the five natural powers—that of the earth, in which all life grows; that of water, which nourishes life; that of the moon and her mysteries; that of blood, which is life; that of a woman’s womb, which gives her power over men as she both takes their force and gives back sons in exchange. We do not consort with demons. We do not walk in shadows.”
Elandra was only half listening. She took a half step toward her tortured sister, then stopped herself from intervening.
“Wise,” the Magria murmured and lowered her hand.
The invisible force choking Bixia released her. Gasping and crying, Bixia sagged to her knees and coughed.
Elandra went to her, but Bixia fought her off. “Leave me alone! I hate you!” she croaked, and fell into another coughing fit.
Angrily Elandra turned on the Magria, but the woman stopped her with a quelling look.
“Do not waste your effort defending her. She does not want your pity. Disappointment is a bitter cup. Let her drink it unhindered.”
“I don’t understand,” Elandra said.
The Magria’s eyes were clear and very wise. “Yes, you do.”
“But I can’t be the bride-elect,” Elandra said in bewilderment. “I have no birth—”
“Your lineage is above hers. Your mother Iaris was the daughter of Lord Cernal, holder of most of Gialta west of the river, as your father holds most of the eastern bank. Lord Cernal descends from the same line as the Empress Fauvina. You, Elandra, not your half-sister, carry imperial blood. You, Elandra, not your half-sister, had a prophecy told over you at your birth.”
Elandra’s heart began to beat very fast. Feeling breathless, she whispered, “I am to marry a man whose name shall be known throughout the ages.” She blinked, unable to believe it. “But... not Emperor Kostimon!”
Bixia, still kneeling on the ground, began to cry.
“It can’t be,” Elandra said blankly. “I don’t believe it.”
“The Fates cannot be denied,” the Magria told her. “You were raised as a servant in your father’s house, yes?”
Elandra frowned but gave her a tiny nod.
“Yet you carry yourself with pride and the demeanor of a lady. You were persecuted by the Maelite witch, were you not?”
Elandra’s frown deepened. She said nothing.
“Was she not cruel to you? Deeply,