Shadow War - Deborah Chester [53]
But dreams were easy for a girl without prospects. Illegitimate and hard-working, uncertain of her status in a household too busy, Elandra had never imagined she would find herself here in the imperial palace. Childhood dreams were not supposed to come true. That was what her cruel Aunt Hecati used to say. Elandra had never imagined she would find herself at the edge of a destiny such as this. She kept waiting for reality to bump her harshly from this fantasy. She kept waiting for Aunt Hecati to strike her with a switch and order her to get back to work. Sometimes she sat up in the night, breathless and choking, and believed she was back in the Penestrician stronghold, blind and imprisoned in her tiny stone cell while ancient chanting rose and fell in the distance.
Was that a rumble she heard?
For an instant she believed she felt the room tremble around her.
She leaned over the edge of the bed, but already the faint sensation had stopped. Perhaps it was only her imagination at work again. The night was a strange place, and dreams were not safe from intruders. She sometimes felt afraid here, as though the shadows held things unseen that watched her. If she could have had a jinja to guard her from magic, she would have slept deeply and peacefully, but the emperor did not like the useful little creatures and would not allow her to have one.
Moaning a little, Elandra threw herself back on her pillows. It was barely dawn. Her new room was dark and shadowy, the outlines of the furniture still unfamiliar to her. She needed more sleep, but she was too excited to drift off now that she was awake.
What had that noise been? She was certain now that she had heard a noise.
Loud and sharp, as though something had broken. Like the mortal snap of a large tree when loggers bring it down.
Sliding from her bed, she picked up the long hem of her silk nightgown and crossed the cold floor in her bare feet. One of her ladies in waiting snored gently on a cot by the door. Elandra slipped past her like a ghost.
In the anteroom, however, she could hear low voices talking outside her door. Her guards were alert and on duty. They did not usually talk, though. Something was amiss.
She opened the door a crack, only to find her way barred by a strong chest plated in armor.
“What is it?” she asked, squinting against the lamplight in the passageway.
“A noise, Majesty,” the guard replied. “In the throne room. Men have gone to investigate.”
Her puzzlement grew. “The throne room? Is it the emperor?”
“Nay, Majesty. Wait within until the investigation is complete.”
The guard shut the door firmly against her. Elandra stepped back, but she was more alarmed than reassured. If something was wrong, she did not intend to sit here in the darkness like a mouse.
Some ladies might say that courting servants’ gossip was common, but Elandra had survived her difficult childhood by gleaning every rumor, report, and speculation from her father’s servants that she could. Since coming to the palace, she had tried to build a discreet network, and with her new status, information was easier to acquire.
Thus, she knew why Tirhin was flaunting his father’s wishes. She knew Tirhin was furious with her. He resented her. He felt betrayed by his father. He had been laying plots and sounding out men’s loyalties. Kostimon chose to overlook his son’s activities, but she could not afford to be so generous. Tirhin was rapidly becoming her enemy, and perhaps a coup was being struck right now.
With her heart beating fast, she hurried back to her bedchamber. She was grateful now that she had taken certain precautions. Pulling on a heavy robe and fur-lined slippers, she opened a box of ebony and took out a dagger. It was a large knife, heavy and curved near the tip. A man’s weapon, not a dainty, feminine stiletto. It filled her hand, and her fingers closed around it gratefully.