Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [77]
Her father took the white brocade in his broad, battle- scarred hands. “How came it to be ripped?”
Elandra’s gaze shifted to Hecati, who opened her mouth, then pinched it together very tightly. Hecati’s eyes were glittering with warning, but as frightened as she was, Elandra wasn’t going to lie. In a faint voice, she answered her father’s question: “I was trying to show Lady Hecati what I had done when she lost her temper and grabbed it from my hand.”
Hecati’s face drained of color. “You—you—”
Albain scowled, and Hecati choked on the rest of her sentence. “This work is very fine, daughter,” he said. “I cannot tell where your stitches begin and the others leave off.”
Elandra smiled at the praise. “Thank you, Father. I tried my best. I’m sorry I could not finish it. And now it’s torn. If I’d known it had been blessed, I wouldn’t have touched it. You must believe that.”
He met her eyes, but his own gaze still held doubt. “How could you be ignorant of such an important part of your sister’s trousseau? That is the weakness of your story, which makes me doubt the whole.”
“But I haven’t seen the trousseau, Father,” Elandra said.
His brows drew together, and now he did look disbelieving. “What is this? Have you no interest in Bixia’s good fortune? I did not raise you to be petty and jealous, Elandra.”
Anger sparked in her. You did not raise me at all, she thought with resentment. You gave me instead to this creature.
“My lord,” Hecati said nervously, keeping an eye on the jinja. “We have not encouraged Elandra to loiter about during the fittings and viewings. The child would have only been bored, and I didn’t want her to feel envious or left out by seeing the sumptuous gowns which are so far above her own station.”
Albain looked blank. “I’m sure Elandra has no cause to feel envy. Her own gowns are pretty enough. I’ve made sure of that. Except for this ugly rag she’s wearing this morning.”
Elandra stared at him and felt fresh emotions welling up inside her. How to explain that his gilts were locked away in the cupboard, to be worn only on rare important occasions when she and Bixia dined with him?
Hecati was sputtering, but her voice died away when Albain shot her a sharp glance.
“Or does my daughter have pretty gowns to wear? It seems that whenever I glimpse her running through the grounds or the palace, she is always dressed in dull garb like this. Dressed like a servant.”
“Too many pretty things make a young girl vain,” Hecati said. “Besides, Bixia must come first.”
“Of course Bixia comes first,” Albain said impatiently. “That does not mean Elandra is to be neglected. I have spoken to you about this before, Hecati. I thought the matter settled.”
“Of course, my lord,” Hecati said in a voice as smooth and brittle as glass.
“Elandra, have you anything to complain about?” Albain asked.
She drew in a sharp breath, ready to Tell him everything, but Hecati cleared her throat in soft warning.
Involuntarily Elandra tensed. Since childhood she had been trained not to tell her father anything. She could not count how many whippings it had taken to make the habit of silence strong within her. Now she stood tongue-tied and afraid, despising herself for her own cowardice, yet unable to take the chance he offered her.
Albain swung away impatiently. “I do not like to hear of these disturbances,” he said grouchily, tapping his gauntlets on his palm, his gaze already darting about the room. “It is unbecoming for ladies.”
Elandra held back what she might have said. He hated arbitration, and household arguments usually made him furious. He had little patience with hearing both sides of a matter and often punished everyone involved rather than deal with the issue. She reminded herself that in a short while Hecati and Bixia would be gone. Her troubles would be over.
“No complaints, Father,” she said quietly. “I know my place.”
His brows lifted, but Hecati nodded. “Exactly,” she said with approval. “The girl knows her place, which is to serve her