Shadow War - Deborah Chester [72]
Dazzled by it, she shielded her eyes with her hands and came stumbling out into a sand pit.
It was very hot, so hot her clothes were suddenly stifling her. The sand burned through the thin soles of her slippers, making it difficult to stand still.
She hurried across the sand to the other side, and went up three shallow steps to a stone landing.
This chamber lay in a natural cavern of rough walls and a ceiling hung with strange formations of translucent stone. On the far side a niche had been carved high in the wall for the goddess.
“Elandra,” said a woman’s voice.
Elandra turned and saw Anas walking toward her.
The deputy had not changed in the past year. Slim and straight, her long hair hanging unbound down her back, she approached Elandra with her hands outstretched in welcome.
They clasped hands quickly, then stood apart.
“The Magria is well?” Elandra asked.
“She is well,” Anas replied.
“And you?”
A remote glimmer of a smile touched Anas’s lips for a moment. “I also am well.”
“My sister?”
Anas shook her head. “Bixia left us. She was ... unwilling to accept our training.”
Old guilt rose in Elandra. She knew she was not to blame, yet she still felt responsible for having ruined Bixia’s hopes. Her half-sister had been raised from the cradle to think herself betrothed to the emperor, yet destiny had decreed that Elandra should marry him instead.
“Where has she gone? Back to Gialta?”
“No. We do not know.”
Elandra bit her lip. “She cannot wander the countryside. What will befall her? Someone must inform my father—”
“Lord Albain knows,” Anas said coldly.
“But—”
“Our purpose today is not to discuss your sister, but you.”
“She needs help,” Elandra said stubbornly.
“If she has gone to the Maelites, we cannot help her.”
The rebuke was as harsh as a slap. Elandra frowned and fell silent, while inside she wanted to cry out denials. Bixia couldn’t be foolish enough to go into that darkness. To follow Mael was an unthinkable blasphemy against all that was of the light and good. Yet Aunt Hecati had been a Maelite witch, skilled enough to conceal her evilness from all the safeguards in the Albain palace for years. It made sense that Bixia would return to the woman who had raised her. Still, Elandra hated to think it.
“Come,” Anas said, with that sharpness still in her voice. “Put your mind on the future, not on the past. There is much to do.”
She turned and went back the way she had come. Elandra followed her in silence.
Anas took her through a short passageway into another chamber. A small, round dais stood in the center. Elandra was told to stand on it.
As soon as she complied, Anas left her. Five women entered the chamber and began to undress Elandra, beginning with her gloves and fur-lined cloak.
The paper Miles had given her fell from her right glove and drifted to the floor.
One of the women paused and picked it up.
“Forgive me,” Elandra said, embarrassed. “I forgot that was there. Put it back in my glove, please, and I’ll—”
But the woman holding the paper suddenly hissed as though in pain and dropped it. The candles lighting the room guttered, and several went out.
Looking alarmed, the sisters backed up rapidly. “Anas!” one cried.
The deputy came running into the chamber just as the paper on the floor burst into flames.
Yet it was no ordinary fire, for the flames were a sickly green and emitted a strange odor.
Inhaling made Elandra feel dizzy and faint.
“Protect her!” Anas commanded.
Two of the women ran to Elandra and pulled her off the dais away from the weird fire. She wanted to cooperate, but her legs felt spongy and strange. She stumbled and fell to her knees. She felt horrible, so sick she thought she might vomit.
Anas grabbed a candle from its wall niche and hurled it at the green fire. Golden flames burst against green. For an instant both blazed high; then the golden flames were gone and only the unearthly fire remained, larger than ever. Ugly green smoke spewed from it, filling the chamber.
Coughing, Elandra tried to