Shadow War - Deborah Chester [116]
The emperor’s mouth quirked in a thin smile before he turned serious again. “I have seen you in the Dance of Death.
Only men of great courage attempt it. Courage and honor are sometimes found together.” His eyes narrowed. “Then you attacked my son when you found he was a traitor.”
Caelan shook his head. “No attack,” he said wearily. “Lies.”
“But the servants witnessed it.”
“No attack.”
Disbelief filled the emperor’s face.
Caelan grew desperate. “Please,” he whispered. “The accusation made by the healer against me is a lie. The servants saw nothing. There was nothing to see. Ask Orlo, my trainer. He will tell you the truth.”
“Why should the servants tell this falsehood, lay accusations against you? My son has been injured. You struck him—”
“No!” Caelan said vehemently, daring to interrupt. “I swear to you on all my gods that I did not strike the prince. I brought him back from the mountain and sent for my cousin—for the healer Agel to tend him. The prince was attacked by the shyrieas. They hurt him, not I.”
“None of this makes sense,” the emperor complained. “It is all babble, as I feared it would be. You accuse a man, yet you carried him back and sought help for him? Bah!”
“Could I accuse him unconscious?” Caelan asked, his desperation rising. “Could I be heard unless he were in a condition to be judged? I have no reason to lie. My very life is endangered by what I have said. If you do not believe me, then I am a dead man. I would be safe had I kept silent.”
“And why has the healer accused you?”
“I do not know.”
“You say he is your cousin?”
Caelan found the emperor’s eyes to be more penetrating than ever, as though the man wanted to peel open his skull and peer inside. “Yes,” he said bleakly. Unwanted memories of Agel, of racing together through the spruce forests, of stealing apples, flitted through his mind momentarily and were gone, ghost voices laughing merrily before fading behind. “But I can call him kinsman no longer.”
“He must have a reason for betraying you, if he has betrayed you.”
Caelan frowned. “The reasons are old ones. When jealousy and grief entwine through a man’s heart, who can say why he does one thing or another? Our feud does not affect this matter—”
“I think it does. I will know everything.”
Caelan sighed. He did not understand why the old man had to probe into matters that were personal. “May I have a drink of water?”
“No,” the emperor said in an implacable voice. “Talk.”
“We were at school together, to be healers,” Caelan said in a low, toneless voice, trying to shut off the pain. “I— my father wished me to be there, although I wanted to be a soldier in your army.”
His gaze flicked to the emperor, who watched him impassively. Caelan shrugged. “A boyish dream. I was rebellious. The elders of the school eventually disrobed me—cast me out. Agel stayed, a model student, but he never forgave me. I had more talent than he did; he considered my actions a waste.”
Spoken aloud, it did not seem like much of a motivation. Caelan hesitated a moment, then added, “There is more to it than a boyhood rivalry. Agel is ambitious. He thought this matter would bring him the gratitude of his highness. As a slave, I embarrass him.”
The emperor turned away from him, hands clasped at his back. Back and forth he paced, deep in thought. Finally he stopped and faced Caelan again.
“If I had not seen you fight the Madrun, I would not have come down here. My son offered you a magical potion to strengthen you against your opponent, but you refused it. Why?”
Caelan blinked in surprise. Did the emperor know everything? “I—I do not believe in such things, Majesty,” he said.
“Yes, you believe,” the emperor said, turning the meaning of his remark. “You believe all right, and you’re afraid. Why?”
Caelan’s heart started pounding. Yet he could not escape. “I will not sip of the shadows, Majesty,” he said, gasping a little.
“Hah!” The emperor drew back as though struck. His scowl was fearsome. “Self-righteous bastard, what do you know of the world? What do you know of shadows?