Shadow War - Deborah Chester [108]
“Is that not gratifying?”
“Of course.”
“I understand also that you often take the fellow with you to functions and parties. Is he here tonight?”
“No.”
“What a pity.”
Tirhin gave her a twisted smile. “Now that you have been raised to such exalted standing, do you intend to sample—”
“Tirhin,” Lord Sien said sharply in warning.
The prince frowned and knocked over his cup. Wine spilled like blood across the table linens, and a servant rushed to blot it up.
Caught between them, Elandra looked from one man to the other. The lamplight seemed to fade near her chair, letting the shadows crowd closer; then all was bright and merry again. She blinked, alarmed, and wondered what had just occurred. It felt as thought a spell had been formed and sent, but she was unaffected.
In her lap, her hand clenched hard on her napkin. She wanted to run from this place, but she couldn’t. Fear burned in her throat, but she held it back until her breathing returned to normal. Swallowing hard, she looked at Tirhin, who sat as though frozen, his face bleak with unhappiness.
“You were saying?” she prompted.
He blinked and seemed to rouse himself. His eyes, dark with resentment, gazed past her at Sien. “I only meant to ask if you intend to sample the many public events and amusements of the city, now that you are released from your bridal confinement.”
She replied with inconsequential chatter, but in her mind she was turning over the true meaning of what he had been about to say before Lord Sien interrupted him. It had been meant as an insult, she was certain.
Elandra sighed. If only she could talk in private with this man and convince him she was not his rival, but such an opportunity had not yet presented itself. She was not certain how to arrange it without causing trouble and talk. She did not want Kostimon to get the idea that she and Tirhin were conspiring against him.
“Your highness looks tired,” Lord Sien now said to the prince across her. “Perhaps you wish to retire.”
Tirhin’s fingers tightened around his wine cup; then he nodded without meeting the priest’s gaze. “Yes. If I may have the permission of the empress to withdraw early? I am a little fatigued.”
“You look unwell,” she said in sympathy, aware that his pallor had intensified. He looked like a ghost above the vibrant hue of his tunic. “Of course you may withdraw.”
Tirhin stood up immediately, swaying against the table as he did so. He bowed to her, graceful, debonair, and tense. With one final glance of resentment, he exited the hall.
Now there was only Lord Sien to talk to. Elandra accepted a pastry filled with almond-flavored cream and toyed with the flaky layers, wishing she also could withdraw.
“Take care, Majesty,” Lord Sien said in a low voice.
She glanced at him in startlement. “In what way?” she asked more sharply than she intended.
Her nervousness made him smile toothily. She felt pinned by his gaze, like a little animal frozen before a predator.
“Do not underestimate the prince.”
Elandra swallowed. “I do not,” she said carefully.
“He has not behaved ... wisely of late. But chagrin can lead to darker motivations if it is not checked.”
This cat-and-mouse conversation annoyed her. She took a chance on being direct. “You mean, it can lead to treason?”
Lord Sien blinked; then amusement glimmered in his hooded eyes. “So you know of that, do you?” he asked.
She glanced around, but the servants had momentarily retreated out of earshot. Although in the full view of hundreds of people, she was effectively alone with this man. He spoke softly beneath the general noise of the banquet, and they were in little danger of being overheard.
A cold chill ran through her, but she sat erect in her chair and faced him without flinching. “I do know of a plot,” she said. “Has the emperor also been informed?”
A snort of laughter, quickly checked, came from the priest. “Did you not run to him with the news?”
She went on looking at him, although inside she found herself shaking with nerves. “Did you?