Shadow War - Deborah Chester [55]
“What does it mean?” someone asked. “What is to become of us?”
Was the emperor dead? The thought nearly stopped Elandra’s heart. She looked up wildly. “The emperor! Quickly, someone go to him and see if he is well—”
“I am well,” Kostimon’s deep voice replied from the other side of the room.
Elandra saw him coming, robed in crimson and wearing a tasseled cap. His protector Hovet, looking old and grim in plain steel armor, stalked along behind him with a drawn sword.
People scattered out of the emperor’s way until only Elandra stood there by the ruined throne.
Hovet snarled something, and with a start she realized she was holding a drawn weapon in the emperor’s presence. Hastily she bent and placed her dagger on the floor, then retreated respectfully with her eyes lowered.
Kostimon’s face might have been carved from granite, but as he reached the throne, his shoulders sagged. He touched the polished side of one half, and it was as though he physically shrank. Suddenly he looked old and defeated.
Pitying him, Elandra would have given anything to see that look erased from his eyes.
He sighed. “Then it is finished,” he whispered. “All is over. The gods have spoken—”
She moved before she realized what she was doing, rushing up to stand between him and the ruined throne. Fiercely she glared at him. “It is not finished!” she said, keeping her voice low, but letting all her anger show. “You are not finished. Not yet. Oh yes, Majesty, it was a rare work of art, a thing of surpassing beauty. But you were not born with it. It came to you, to serve you. Had it been otherwise, you would be dead now, at the same time as its breaking.”
Kostimon’s expression did not change. He shrugged. “I am tired, little one. Let it rest.”
“No!” she said, daring to defy him for the first time. “I will not let it rest.”
Anger stirred in his eyes. He glared at her. “Keep your place. This has nothing to do with you.”
All the breath seemed to leave her body. It was as she feared. In one second he had forgotten all his promises to her. Everything was swept aside, and she might as well be one of his empty-headed concubines. Fear filled her, but she knew that if she backed down now she was truly lost.
“I am keeping my place,” she said fiercely. “And this has everything to do with me. Have you not charged me with new responsibilities?”
A shuffle from the people nearby caught the corner of her eye. Without waiting for the emperor’s reply, she turned her head to glare at them.
“Leave us!” she commanded. Her voice rang out across the room. “All of you. And you, Hovet,” she said, turning on the protector who glowered at her, “go with them to see that they wait in a group outside. I will not have anyone running off to spread the word about this. Guard them!”
Hovet did not move. Nor did anyone else. In dismay, she saw she had no authority at all. It was all a sham. An empty promise.
Then Kostimon gave the protector an all but imperceptible nod. Hovet wheeled around and brandished his sword at the others, even the guards.
“You heard the Lady Elandra,” he said, still stubbornly using her old title.
They obeyed, although her guards looked outraged at being put outside. Elandra did not care. Alone with Kostimon, she prayed for the strength of her father and the iron will of her mother. The emperor was a capricious man. She had seen him turn on others with little provocation. Right now, in his present mood, he could have her destroyed without a moment’s hesitation. But if she gave way, if she backed down now and sought to save herself, she would lose everything, possibly even her life. She saw that clearly, although what she has to do terrified her.
“The throne can be bolted back together,” she began, trying to keep desperation from her voice. “It can be mended.”
Contempt crossed his face. He turned away from her. “Ah, the mind of a woman. Always mending.”
“What, then?” she shouted at his back. “Would you throw it away? Will you let this tiny flicker of adversity