Shadow War - Deborah Chester [95]
The Magria gripped Elandra’s hands in hers, using surprising strength. No matter how much she struggled, Elandra could not pull free. The other dream walkers also took hold of her, and the three of them drew her from her hiding place.
Crying and struggling, she could not escape them. She planted her feet, but the three women were stronger, pushing and propelling her along the stony path.
Ahead, the path lay obscured in mist. Pale light glowed from beyond two looming stone pillars.
Seeing the upright stones, knowing instinctively that they were some kind of gateway, Elandra struggled even harder. “No,” she gasped, managing to get one hand free only to be gripped again. “No, I can’t. I’m not finished.”
Behind her, the hellhounds howled. Chills clawed up her spine. She looked back, and could see the creatures coursing in the distance, closing rapidly. Their eyes glowed red, and their flanks shone with green fire.
“Come!” the Magria said sharply. “There is little time! Do not let them follow us through the gate.”
At the last moment, Elandra could no longer stand against the others. Her fear was too great. Ashamed of her own cowardice, she leaped between the stone pillars ... and found herself sprawled in the sand pit on the Penestrican temple, drenched with sweat and sobbing.
Shivering now in her bed, Elandra curled up tighter. They were only dreams, she told herself, but she did not believe it. The object clutched in her hand told her otherwise.
Uncurling her hand, she forced herself to look at the large topaz. In the gloom within her enclosed bed, it looked dull and lifeless, but she remembered how it had flashed radiantly in the torchlight of the temple. Since Elandra had awakened, it had not left her possession. It had been given to her by a mysterious force, and it symbolized a future she could not as yet claim. In a strange way, to hold it gave her comfort.
She had nothing else to reassure her. Until now, she had believed the Penestricans to be her friends. She no longer trusted them.
The bed hangings were pulled back with an abrupt scrape of the rings across the rod. The Mistress of the Bedchamber stood peering in at her.
“Majesty, it is morning,” she said.
Elandra frowned. Of course it was. Did the woman not understand that Elandra had returned from the temple less than an hour ago?
Dragged forth from the sand pit and hastily revived. Sponged down and comforted with empty words. Given something sweet to drink that had cleared her head and put strength back into her limbs.
And how long would that potion last ? Elandra had no faith in it either. For all their work, she still felt hollow and strange inside, displaced as though she had traveled too fast from too far away.
Sunlight blazed in through the windows, bringing life to the silk and velvet gowns worn by the ladies in waiting. They came in, giggling and staring at her, looking eager and giddy.
She stared back in dismay, feeling unready to deal with any of them.
The Mistress of the Bedchamber curtsied low. “Majesty, the delegation from Mahira has arrived. They await an audience with you.”
Elandra’s frown deepened. Pushing back her tangle of long hair, she sat up on one elbow. “I don’t understand. I cannot have visitors now.”
“But these are Mahirans,” the woman said insistently. Her eyes were large with excitement. “It is a great honor, to wear garments sewn and blessed by—”
“Yes, I know,” Elandra said. She knew all too well how fine and costly such raiment was. Her bridal robe had been Mahiran and exquisite. It had never been worn.
A superstitious shiver passed through her. If the Mahirans had brought her a new gown, would that mean she would never be crowned?
Immediately she forced such thoughts away. She could not go on like this, afraid even of her own shadow.
Lifting her chin, she sat up in bed. “Let them enter.”
But first the ladies crowded around her, pulling her hair back into braided order. One draped a dressing robe of costly silk around her shoulders. Another brought her a gossamer-thin veil.
Only then did the doors