Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [74]
“All is safe to enter, master,” the jinja called. “No poison. No assassin. No spells.”
Elandra whipped her head around to look at it in amazement. Couldn’t it smell the magic that had been used in the room? But her own nostrils no longer detected the faint scorched scent of Hecati’s spell. She realized Hecati had been fooling the jinja for years. Elandra’s fear grew. Hecati must be powerful indeed. But even she would not dare act openly in front of Lord Albain, who could have her put to death.
“You stupid creature!” Hecati said sharply to the jinja. “Who would offer his lordship danger here?”
Ignoring her, the jinja licked the tips of its little fingers and began to clean its ears with them.
Gihaud Albain strode inside with his customary impatience, spurs jingling with every step.
He was a tall, broad man. Not fat but square, with massive shoulders and thick arms. His hair had once been fiery red, but had now faded to a rich gold. It was shaved off the front half of his skull and worn in a long warrior’s ponytail. He was dressed in his ceremonial mail leggings and embossed armored breastplate. He carried his embroidered gauntlets in one hand, and his dress sword clanked at his side. With his scarred cheek and missing eye, he looked tough and gnarled even in his fancy regalia. Lord Albain was responsible for holding the south border of the empire against the barbarians, and he did his job very well. At present, there was peace, and he had been bored and restless all spring from the inactivity. But today he looked content, even proud, and he strode in with a vigor that seemed startling in the secluded surroundings of this womanly apartment.
The sight of Bixia in her nightgown made him frown. “Girl! You idle lazybones, get dressed! Are you daft, to be dawdling on a day like this? We can’t keep the Penestricans waiting. Nor the imperial escort waiting down in the courtyard. They’re already mounted.”
Bixia tossed her head, oblivious to his shouting. “Let them wait,” she said haughtily. “I am to be the next empress. I can take as much time as I want.”
Bristling, Albain shook his thick forefinger at her. “Now, listen to me, you spoiled—”
“My lord,” Hecati interceded hastily. “There is good reason why your daughter is not ready. Hear me, sir. She has been betrayed by one close to her. By one she trusted with all her heart. Yes, and worse than that, your lordship has been betrayed as well by this same fiend.” Hecati’s eyes flashed. “The entire marriage agreement between Lady Bixia and Emperor Kostimon now lies in jeopardy.”
Chapter Fourteen
ALBAIN LOWERED HIS hand. “What?” he said blankly. “Jeopardy? Betrayal? Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lord.” Hecati gestured mournfully at the robe lying on the floor. “The sacred bridal robe has been torn beyond repair. I’m sure your lordship knows the terrible omen this constitutes for Lady Bixia’s wedded happiness.”
“Superstition,” Bixia said; then, under her father’s steady glare, she hitched her nightgown up properly over both shoulders.
“I hope that was a joke, daughter,” he said with severity.
Bixia swallowed and dropped her eyes. “Yes, father.”
“Heresy, even in jest, is a bad habit. I doubt you’ll have the freedom at court to speak your mind as freely as you do here.”
Her head came up defiantly, but at the last moment she said nothing. Her gaze went to Elandra, and she shrugged.
Lord Albain scowled at the robe. “Isn’t this the piece that cost me nearly nine hundred