Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [134]
“He has foul manners,” Tirhin said angrily.
“He’s a fighter, a scrapper, like I was once. I like him. Get back, Hovet. Leave him be.”
The protector stepped away, sheathing his sword with an ill-tempered snick of the blade.
The emperor snapped his fingers. “Well, victor, look at me again. Look!”
Slowly, Caelan straightened his aching back and met the emperor’s gaze. Legend or not, he looked to be a man like nearly any other. Kostimon had been handsome once, but his face was now weathered and creased. Dissipation had carved unfriendly lines around his mouth and eyes. His hair was white and thick. It sprang back from his forehead in unruly curls. His eyes were yellow like a reptile’s and frightening somehow, for all the amusement alight in them just now.
“Not many would dare correct me, much less in public,” the emperor said softly.
Caelan’s face burned and he bit his lip, wondering how it was he still lived. Would he never learn?
“Trau is loyal to me, as I recall. I have not been there in years. A rude, stiff-necked people not much given to hospitality.”
People chuckled around them. Caelan gathered the emperor had made a joke, but he dared not smile.
“Do you have a name?”
“Caelan E’non.”
The emperor sipped wine and settled back in his chair. “Well, Caelan E’non, you have pleased me today. You’re a terrible fighter, nothing consistent about your form at all, but you’ve cournge and heart and the guts to use them. I’ll grant you a reward. What do you want?”
Torhin frowned and looked disgruntled. Many of the others grinned and exchanged glances.
Caelan hesitated very little. “I want the chance to train with a champion team, so I can fight for my freedom.”
The emperor sat boll upright and hurled his cup away. “Damnation! What kind of request is that? Why not ask for your freedom outright?”
Even now the temptation to do that was choking Caelan. But according to barracks tales, slaves who asked the emperor for freedom were always killed. It was said to be the emperor’s favorite irony, in that death was the only genuine freedom a slave could ever know.
Caelan struggled to answer well: “Majesty, how can I ask such a request when I am not your property?”
Standing behind the throne, Tirhin relaxed visibly and even begun to smile. The protector ran his hand suddenly across his mouth.
The emperor’s yellow eyes smoldered. Glaring at Caelan, he leaned forward and gave him a little kick. “You have the slick tongue of a courtier, arena dog! How did you come to be a slave?”
Caelan’s brows knotted with the old rage, checked just in time by his own prudence. Fighting down the emotion, he lowered his gaze. “The answer would displease your majesty.”
“Hell’s garden, I’m displeased now as it is! Give me your answer!”
Caelan’s own temper rose to meet his. Setting his jaw, Caelan looked the old man in the eye. “Thyzarene raiders burned my home and sold me into slavery, majesty.
Thyzarene raiders assigned to your eastern army, but set free to plunder loyal subjects as though we were enemies—”
“Enough!” the protector shouted.
Abashed, Caelan bowed low. Silence hung over the box, and during it Caelan dared not move.
“Well, Tirhin,” the emperor said at last, snappishly. “He’s your property, as he’s had the stupidity to point out. What say you to his request to train for a championship?”
“I am not opposed to it. He’s an ill-bred dog, but he does have potential. My trainer—”
Caelan looked up sharply, but just in time managed to curb his tongue.
Still, the emperor noticed. He sighed and raised his brows at Caelan. “Truly you are a fool. Do you have an objection?”
Again the courtiers laughed, but Caelan treated the question as though it were literal.
“If it please your imperial majesty and your imperial highness,” he said breathlessly, “I would prefer to be trained by Orlo.”
Tirhin snorted, and the emperor slammed his hand down on the arm of his throne.
“By the gods, I’ve not seen the like in years! Not only does he dare to correct me, but now he has specific