Shadow War - Deborah Chester [15]
To his surprise, the prince left the imperial box and came halfway down to meet him.
It was an unheard-of honor. Tirhin’s guards—obviously caught unawares—scrambled to follow him, but the prince strode down the steps through the midst of the spectators and met Caelan with a broad smile.
Behind him, up in the imperial box, Caelan saw the emperor sitting with little expression at all. The high priest Sien stood near the emperor’s chair, watching Kostimon with a small, evil smile.
The prince smiled and waved to the crowd, accepting the fresh accolades and cheering as though they were for him alone. When he reached Caelan, however, his smile was replaced by a frown of consternation.
“My dear Giant,” he said, then stopped himself from saying more. Straightening his shoulders, he withdrew into formality, and his smile reappeared—public, practiced, and false. “Well done,” he said, the way he would have praised his best stag hound.
Rebuffed, Caelan met Tirhin’s eyes, seeking approval, seeking confirmation that he would receive his reward. But the prince’s gaze was unreadable. As he listened to the crowd’s shouts, Tirhin’s smile widened.
Caelan had no choice but to extend the formalities. With all his strength, Caelan forced himself to speak clearly and without any evidence of his inner strain. “Sir, I bring you this day’s victory.”
Formal words, demanded by tradition and spoken countless times before. Yet they didn’t begin to say all that he meant or all that he yearned for.
Let it be true, he prayed in his weary heart. Oh, Gault, in thy mercy, let this man keep his word to me as I have kept mine to him.
“And I accept this victory, fought on this auspicious day in my name,” the prince said. His baritone voice rang out loudly, carrying across the hushed stands.
A servant joined him with a silk pillow supporting the victory crown of ivy. As Caelan bowed, the prince set the crown on his head. The leafy vines scratched, as usual.
“You have served us well, champion,” the prince said. “You have defeated an enemy of the empire, as our armies will defeat the Madruns and drive them far from our borders.”
Cheering surged up, drowning out his words until the prince lifted his hands. With quiet restored, he continued. “We thank you, champion. We admire your strength, courage, and fighting prowess, shown this day as never before. In appreciation of this magnificent effort, which has more than surpassed my expectations, I wish to give you a special reward.”
Caelan’s gaze snapped up, and his heart surged. Suddenly his ears were roaring. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. His eyes filled with tears that he struggled manfully to hold back.
Tirhin smiled, glancing around to be sure the crowd was still watching. “Here is a personal token of my pleasure.”
As he spoke, he took a heavy gold chain off the pillow. “Wear it with pride, my champion.”
Caelan stood there, stricken and silent. Disappointment crashed through him, and he felt as though he were falling a very long distance.
A frown touched the prince’s features momentarily, and he cleared his throat.
Belatedly, Caelan somehow managed to bow his head, although his neck felt so stiff he thought it might snap. Tirhin slipped the chain around Caelan’s throat, and a smith appeared from the crowd to close the final link.
Then the prince leaned near and whispered into Caelan’s ear in a voice that was low and furious, “You fool, you weren’t to take a scratch. If you collapse publicly from this stunt, I shall see your soul damned for all eternity.”
With that, he extended his hand to Caelan, who had to kneel and press Tirhin’s fingertips to his sweaty brow.
Fresh cheering swelled, but in Caelan’s heart there was only fire and bitter disillusionment. What cruel betrayal was this? His master was a fair man. They had bargained squarely. The prince had given his word ... somehow Caelan choked off the desperate