Shadow War - Deborah Chester [133]
“Yes.”
“Put them on. We’ll be outside in a moment, if the gods favor us. Put your gown on too, over your nightclothes.”
She knew he was right. Hurriedly she crammed her bare feet into her shoes. “Help me.”
“Better that I should stand guard,” he said, and retreated a short distance from her. “Hurry.”
Mouthing a curse to herself, she slipped off her cloak and pulled the gown over her head. It was awkward, doing this alone, not because she was incapable of dressing herself but because the gown’s design made it difficult to handle the lacings alone. It did not fit well over her sleeping robes, but she shook the folds of the skirt down impatiently and put on her cloak again.
“Ready,” she said, trying to braid her hair so it wouldn’t fly into her face.
He turned to look at her over his shoulder. Wreathed in shadow, his face concealed, he stood tall and formidable in his long cloak and breastplate, the sword shifting alertly in his strong grip. His long hair swung free about his shoulders, and she could feel danger radiating from him, directed not at her but at any potential foe, a savage readiness to attack and rend.
Was it fate that continued to cross her path with his? Or something else?
This was not the time to seek answers to those questions. She trusted him to protect her; that was all that mattered.
“Come,” he said.
She joined his side, feeling reassured by his size. “There is something else you should know.”
“Hurry,” he said, striding forward.
She had to trot to keep up. “There are forces of the darkness at work here tonight.”
That got his attention. He stopped in mid-step and stared at her. “Explain.”
She described the shadows and how they had killed Rander and attacked her. “If you have any special means of protection from the gods you believe in, I beg you will call on it. We have more enemies than just the Madruns.”
He was scowling, his eyes deep in thought. Almost absently he touched the throat of his breastplate in the manner of a man who wears an amulet. “Who calls forth the shadows?” he wondered aloud. “Who commands them?”
“I know not. Indeed, I will never see a man’s shadow again and feel safe.”
Caelan’s brows knotted tighter, but he speculated no further. He seemed suddenly remote from her, as though he had stepped into a place where she could not follow.
He reached out and gripped her hand hard in his. It was a liberty that ordinarily she would not have permitted. Right now, however, it was a reassuring link from one human being to another. She gripped back just as tightly.
“No matter what, you must stay close to me,” he said, his voice colder and harsher than usual. “You must follow orders, on the instant, with no hesitation, no argument.”
She felt breathless with fear. Fighting the cowardly urge to retreat, she forced herself to nod. “I will,” she promised.
“Then come.” And he strode forward again.
Chapter Nineteen
With the hand of Empress Elandra clamped firmly in his, Caelan pushed himself deeper into severance to heighten his senses, but also to protect himself against the distraction she presented.
He hurried her along the passageway, questing constantly for trouble, more aware than she of how much danger they were in. She obviously believed the palace was still held by the guards, but Caelan knew differently. Most of the Imperial Guard on duty inside the palace itself were now dead, killed by poison or in savage hand-to-hand fighting.
Worst of all were the traitors, guardsmen who had joined Tirhin at the last minute, turning unexpectedly on their comrades to slay them before running to the ranks of the Madruns. At this stage, it was nearly impossible to tell friend from foe. Many of the traitors wore the empress’s gold colors, and a few minutes before when Caelan had seen her standing trustingly next to a Gold guardsman, his heart had stopped. He expected to see her die of a quick knife thrust then and there, but the man had been loyal. He might well be the last loyal Gold alive.
So much betrayal... with every stride, Caelan’s fury beat harder. Who had convinced