Shadow War - Deborah Chester [79]
But there was no comfort to be handed out. The Magria looked at her deputy unsparingly. “Yes,” she said. “But whether she has returned with her reason intact is something we do not yet know. Whether she can survive the shock is another question beyond it.”
“The coronation is in three hours,” Anas said. “The guard of escort is already waiting outside the temple.”
“Do not speak to me of time!” the Magria snapped. “Do you think I can simply put my hand on her forehead and revive her to her senses? Do you think she is likely to recover in time to be crowned?”
“But—”
“I told you not to do this, and you disobeyed me,” the Magria said, too angry now to soften her tone.
“The purification ceremony must be difficult—”
“Why? The girl did not require it. She is no threat to us.”
“She will be if he gives her the throne,” Anas said sharply. “You saw how much she has changed already. She must be taught to need us.”
Disappointment caught the Magria in the throat like a knife. She had trained Anas with such hopes, but Anas continued to fall short. Another candidate to succeed her must be sought, and there was no time for that now either. Not with events shaping themselves so quickly.
“You are wrong,” the Magria said flatly.
For the first time Anas looked uncertain. She opened her mouth to say more, but the Magria lifted her hand.
“You are no longer deputy,” she said in a harsh, toneless voice. “If you cannot realize what your mistake has cost us in terms of time and trust, then you are incapable of judging what needs to be done to salvage this situation. We have lost this child.”
“She still lives,” Anas said, white-faced and shaken.
“Go.”
Anas started to protest again, but the Magria glared at her and curled her fists. She was angry, so angry she could barely trust herself not to strike.
As though finally seeing this, Anas bowed her head and crept from the room.
The other two sisters exchanged frightened glances. “Excellency,” one said, “may we assist you in—”
“No. I must do this myself. There can be no more mistakes.”
The Magria steeled her heart, although already she was grieving for Anas, whom she had loved like a daughter. I was proud of her, she thought wearily to herself. I indulged her too much, overlooked too much. I have myself to blame as much as her.
“Go with Anas,” the Magria said. “Do not talk of this to the others. I must guide Anas later when this matter is back under control. For now, stay with her. Do not let her out of your sight. Comfort her if she will permit it.”
Reluctantly, the two sisters filed out.
Alone with the empress, the Magria sighed and buried her face in her hands for an unguarded moment of despair.
The sisterhood had grown so weak, and the Vindicants seemed stronger than ever. It had been Vindicant poison that had gotten past their safeguards to strike at this girl. There would be other attempts, and the Magria did not know if the sisters would be vigilant enough to thwart them.
And now this precious child had been seriously mishandled. It was an appalling blunder, but even worse was the vision of a released Beloth marching across the world again. The Magria herself had not foreseen that.
In her earlier visions she had seen that Elandra would marry the emperor but that she would turn to the man who would succeed Kostimon. One of the choices had been Tirhin. The other man was unknown. These men would war against each other, and Elandra would go to the victor to help found a new dynasty. Now it seemed the Magria’s interpretation had been wrong. Elandra had not chosen either Tirhin or the unknown.
Gently the Magria pried the topaz gem from Elandra’s fingers. The girl—so stubborn, so headstrong, so surprising—had chosen herself. Just as Kostimon—in an astonishing twist of contrariness—had chosen her.
None of this had lain in the visions.
The girl could not rule alone. The idea was impossible. Kostimon must know that. He must have some ploy in mind, but what? Did he realize that this child with her long eyelashes,