Shadow War - Deborah Chester [142]
He would not fail this woman, he vowed silently, still going down steps. He would not.
At the bottom of the steps, he stopped and gazed around apprehensively. The place was featureless, swept clean. Aside from the small lamp on its pedestal, he saw no furnishings. Three doors surrounded him, all firmly shut. The smell down here was worse, hinting of decay and death.
He could tell himself that it was only the stench associated with blood sacrifices, that entrails for the auguries had to be cleaned and disposed of somewhere, that carcasses of dead animals had to be butchered for daily distribution to the poor.
But his instincts knew there was more to the smell than innocent surface explanations. There was something darker at work down here. Something he did not want to meet, or know.
He swallowed hard, half-ready to retreat, but Sien joined him and walked across to a door carved with the faces of unnamed spirits. He pulled it open.
“Through here. Is she injured?”
“I don’t know,” Caelan replied, carrying her through.
He found himself in a narrow passageway, unlit except for the lamplight cast from behind him. When Sien shut the door, they were plunged into cold darkness.
“Wait,” Sien said, and a second later a dim radiance appeared. It spread, pushing back the encompassing darkness.
The light glowed from Sien’s left hand, faint but steady, just enough to show their way.
Caelan found his heartbeat thudding too fast. He swallowed again, but it did not ease the dryness in his throat.
“You were nearly too late,” the priest remarked. “They will be leaving soon. Or so they intended before you led the Madruns here. Now there may not be an opportunity. We are not as well hidden down here as we should be.”
“What do you mean?” Caelan asked quickly with a sharp look at the priest. “Is the emperor here?”
“Of course.”
Caelan blinked, too astonished at his luck to speak.
It was Sien’s turn to frown at him. “Is that not why you brought her to the temple?”
Confused, Caelan swung his gaze away. “Yes. But I— I thought we were too late.”
“You nearly were. If she is hurt, I had better examine her. Or let Agel attend her. It will not do for the emperor to see her in this state.”
Unwillingly Caelan halted. He knelt and gently propped the girl against his knee, supporting her while Sien bent over her.
She looked so young and vulnerable. Even smudged with dirt and soot, she was breathtaking. He could have gazed at her for hours, marveling at the delicacy of her bone structure, at the wide, clear expanse of her brow, at the thick crescent of her dark lashes against her cheekbones. Tall and slender, she lay against him with no more weight than a feather. Even in her bedraggled clothes and tangled hair, her high lineage showed plainly in her narrow wrists and ankles, in the tapering perfection of her hands that all evening had gripped his with such strength and determination.
Caelan prayed for her now, worried that the shadow had damaged her irreparably.
“It was choking her,” he said softly. “I don’t—”
“What was?” Sien asked.
Only then did Caelan realize he had spoken aloud. He looked up and met the priest’s yellow gaze. An unnameable fear took hold of Caelan’s entrails and squeezed, but he forced himself not to look away.
“A shadow,” he replied. “A shadow of a man, but unattached to anyone alive or present.”
Sien did not seem surprised. He went on gazing into Caelan’s eyes as though to probe to his very soul. “Was it?” he asked.
His voice held only interest, nothing more.
Suspicion came alive in Caelan. He frowned. “You—”
“It did not act by my command,” Sien said, lifting his hand. “Cast no accusations at me.”
His remarks confirmed Caelan’s suspicions. “So you can command these creatures?” he asked. “You can bring them away from the person who casts them and make them do your bidding?”
Sien frowned at the empress, letting his hands hover just above her. “What is this material, this cloak?” he asked. “I cannot touch her.”
“Her cloak is Mahiran-made,”