Shadow War - Deborah Chester [75]
Elandra frowned. “We are to continue, as though nothing happened? Is the emperor not to be informed? There must be an investigation.”
“I prefer my own investigation,” the Magria said. “And, no, I do not think the emperor should be informed. Not yet.”
Elandra shook her head. “I do not believe he is behind this attack on me.”
“You have failed to make him love you; how can you be sure?” Anas said tartly.
It hurt, exactly as she intended it to hurt.
“Anas,” the Magria said in displeasure. “You go too far. Events have turned, and we must reevaluate their meaning.” She turned her gaze on Elandra. “The important thing is to let nothing deflect you from the events of tomorrow. You have done well thus far. You must continued to be courageous. If your enemies stop you, then they have won. Do you understand?”
Elandra nodded slowly.
“We will be more careful now. There must be more safeguards taken,” the Magria said sternly.
“Excellency,” Elandra said, choosing her words with care, “in your visions, have you foreseen the Madruns invading Imperia?”
The Magria’s eyes widened. “What question is this?”
“Have you?”
“I have not.”
Elandra frowned and told herself her fears were groundless. The army was strong. There could be no invasion.
The Magria watched her closely for a moment, then said with unexpected patience, “We have naught to do with the wars of men. The goddess guides our attention elsewhere.”
Elandra asked no further questions.
Finally the Magria said, “Anas, resume the ceremony.”
Anas sighed. She walked past Elandra. “Come, then.”
“Anas,” the Magria said.
Both Elandra and the deputy looked back.
The Magria’s gaze was for Anas alone. “Be kind,” she said.
Flushing, Anas inclined her head and walked out, stiff-backed, leaving Elandra to follow.
Whatever Elandra expected, it was not the gentleness of the sisters as they finished undressing her and led her to a stone cistern filled with warm, steaming water. Chanting, they pushed her completely under, then sprinkled dried rosemary and rue on her as she emerged, dripping. The purification chamber was small and cramped. Sand covered the floor, and besides the cistern there was only a stone bench. Elandra sat on it, shivering and dripping water.
The sisters carried in braziers of red-hot rocks. Placing these around Elandra, they poured small dippers of water on the rocks to create steam. Soon she was warm again. Then she was sweating. They scraped her skin, wrapped her in a robe, and led her into an adjoining room to be plunged into a cistern of fresh water.
The water was so cold it had pieces of ice floating on it. The shock of immersion in it robbed her of breath, and she could not even scream.
Then she was out, teeth chattering, hugging herself. They took her back to the steam and warmth, sweating her again.
And thus it alternated until her body was pliant and relaxed. She felt sleepy but marvelous. How could she have been afraid? she wondered. Even the aftereffects of the poisoning attempt had vanished.
When an elderly sister rubbed scented oil on her hands and began to massage Elandra, she closed her eyes and sank deep into luxuriant sensations. The sister’s strong fingers dug into all the sore spots and melted away Elandra’s tensions. She felt boneless, utterly at peace. Fears and worries about tomorrow faded from her mind. Even the chanting about her sounded lighter now, more like singing. Smiling, Elandra sighed and floated into sleep.
Only it was not sleep. She had the sudden sensation of falling, and although she threw out her hands to catch herself, she could grasp nothing. Faster and faster she hurtled down through a darkness that terrified her. Then the darkness changed to light, and she was falling through images. Faces loomed at her, huge and confusing, only to dissolve and vanish as she fell through them. Dreams ... no, memories. She saw her father shouting at a hapless servant. She