Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [121]
Bixia scrambled to her feet. “Get away from me! It wasn’t enough that you always had Father’s affection. It wasn’t enough that you humiliated my mother and made her cry in secret every time she saw you. No! You couldn’t be satisfied until you robbed me of all that was promised. Scheming and—”
“I didn’t scheme for it. I just—”
“You’re a liar and a thief!” Bixia screamed at her. “They’ll never let me near you again, and that’s good because if I could I’d cut out your black heart!”
“Please don’t be like this. It’s not the end of the world. You’ll still marry—”
“Who? Some paltry nobleman with a backwater palace in a forgotten, underfunded province?” Bixia laughed scornfully and tossed her golden head. “I’d sooner die than take your leavings. You think you’re rid of me and Aunt Hecati, but you’re not.”
“It’s Hecati who caused the trouble in the first place,” Elandra said hotly.
“And she’ll cause more. Plenty more!” Bixia’s eyes narrowed, and her face held only spite. “Enjoy your pretty gowns and fancy jewels as quickly as you can. You won’t have them long. The emperor will take one look at your long face and die of horror.”
“Perhaps he’ll be relieved to be married to someone with a mind for a change, instead of another pretty slut,” Elandra retorted.
Bixia went white.
At once Elandra was ashamed of herself. This was no time to be petty, not when she’d robbed Bixia of her life’s ambition.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, holding out her hand.
Bixia slapped it away. Tight-lipped and trembling, she glared at Elandra like someone possessed. “I hate you,” she whispered. “I shall always hate you. Count yourself warned, for if there is any harm I can bring you or those you love, I shall do it! I swear this in the name of Mael.”
Shocked, Elandra backed away from her. She started to say something, started to plead with Bixia to deny what she’d just uttered, but Bixia had become a stranger—enraged and violent, nearly insane with hatred.
“Get out!” Bixia said with loathing. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Clapping her hands over her ears to shut out Bixia’s screams, Elandra turned and ran.
Outside in the passageway, she ran full tilt into someone in a black robe, someone plump and motherly who held her close when Elandra would have fought free.
“No!” Elandra said, choking on her tears. “No, I— please.”
“Hush,” the woman soothed her. “Hush, now. All will be well.”
And suddenly Elandra found herself clinging to this gentle stranger, weeping as though her heart would break.
“Greatness is born of pain, little one,” the woman murmured, stroking her hair. “Let the tears fall. Let the tears cleanse you, little wife of the emperor who is and the mother of the emperor who will be. All will be well with you. All will be well.”
Chapter Twenty-one
AFTER ALL THE anticipation, Caelan did not fight on the first day of the season. Locked in with the veterans, it seemed he was forgotten. No one came for him the first day or the next. The gladiators paced about or played with dice, locked in the gloomy quarters beneath the arena. The thunder of the crowd rolled incessantly from noon until dusk, day after day.
On the third rotation, guards came with a small wooden pail. Without being told, the gladiators lined up against the wall. Caelan took his place at the far end, watching to see what to do so he wouldn’t have to ask. Each man drew out a small bronze tag with a number engraved on it.
The guards swept the litter of their game off the crude wooden table and shook out a pair of dice three times. “Numbers three, twelve, and eight. You go in tomorrow.”
One guard made notations on a tablet while the other collected the bronze tags and put them back in the pail.
Caelan’s number had been four. He loosed a sigh of relief, and the tight knot in his stomach eased a little.
Nux had drawn number three. He scowled at Caelan with his small beady eyes and grunted. But Nux left him alone.
At the end of the following day, only Nux returned. Soaked with sweat and blood that apparently wasn’t his, he shrugged