Realm Of Light Part 37

"I see." She smiled, pretending that his incoherence didn't frighten her.

"I had to go under and not come up. I don't remember why."

"It's all right now. You're back. You're safe."

The puzzlement in his eyes faded. He smiled at her. "Elandra."

She smiled back. "Yes. You know me now. Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. "He can't hurt me."

"Who?"

"He can't. I was so afraid of him, but he is only memory."

"You're not making much sense, you know."

He smiled again. "It is strange to be here. You look tired. Has something happened? Your father?"

He tried to sit up, but she pressed him back. "Father is much better. Practically well, and he won't stay in bed. Everyone is afraid of him because he recovered so suddenly. They think he is enspelled." The lilt in her voice dropped, and she pressed her lips to Caelan's hand. "Thank you," she whispered brokenly. "I know it cost you too much. But thank you."

He stroked her hair and didn't answer. Whatever had worried him before seemed gone. There was something dreamy and far away in his eyes, an unconcern that worried her anew. He ate a little under her persuasion; then his eyes closed.

She watched him sleep, watched rest restore color to his face and take away the purple smudges beneath his eyes. She could never tire of looking at him. She wanted to memorize every line and feature of his face, for last night she had lain awake, unable to bring him into her mind. It had frightened her, not to be able to recall him with more clarity. She did not want that to happen to her again.

Alti knocked on the door. She went to it and looked out at the guard.

"Lord Albain, Majesty," he whispered. "He has sent for you."

"Is he still at council?" she whispered back.

"Yes, Majesty."

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that their voices had awakened Caelan. He sat up, running his hands through his long hair, and she sighed.

"Let my father know I will come shortly."

"Yes, Majesty."

She closed the door and faced Caelan. "I'm sorry."

He flexed his shoulders, stretching until his rib cage arched above the concave ribbing of his stomach. Her own body grew warm, wanting him. But not with her father waiting for her.

Fighting for breath, she said, "Do you feel well enough to face him?"

"Albain?"

"Yes."

An insolent grin slowly spread across his face. He knew what she had been thinking, and that knowledge in his eyes made her blush.

"Caelan, no," she said shyly. "Not now."

"Come here."

She went to him, loving the circle of his arms. If only they were free, if only they had just themselves, then she could stay in his arms all she wanted.

He kissed her long and deeply, robbing her of breath and thought, melting her to her very bones. When she finally came up for air, her mind was buzzing and foolish. She clung to him and barely managed to say, "Stop. My father is waiting."

"Your father," Caelan said with regret.

She pulled free of his grasp, and he sighed. "It's time we met, I suppose."

"Yes, it is."

He shrugged. "Send our regrets, and let us think only of ourselves."

"Certainly not," she said primly, although an inner spirit of rebellion longed to do exactly as Caelan urged. "Here is clothing. Please hurry."

He groaned and stood up. "The efficient woman."

"Hurry," she told him, refusing to relent.

When she bent over to pick up a garment, Caelan grabbed her from behind and spun her around. "You could say I have a raging fever."

Laughing, she had to fight her way free. She pushed the tunic into his hands to keep them occupied and backed out of reach. "I will not," she said, still battling to keep a smile off her face. "They are waiting-"

"Who is waiting?"

"The entire war council."

He pulled on the linen tunic and held up the mail shirt. "What is this?"

"Armor."

"Not likely."

"Now who is more closed-minded, the Gialtans or you?" she teased him. "You can wear protection without looking like a turtle."

He frowned. "A what?"

"A turtle. A creature that lives in a sh.e.l.l. This gives you more freedom of movement. It is more modern."

Caelan pulled it on and moved his arms experimentally. "It's too tight."

"On you, everything is too tight," she said, handing him a sur-coat of dark green. "It will do for today. You can discuss a better fit with the armorer later."

The leggings and boots fit him well enough. The surcoat hung to his knees, and made him look even taller and more imposing than before. He buckled on his sword belt, swept back his hair with both hands, and faced her.

"Will you do the inspection, Majesty?"

"You are beautiful."

Amus.e.m.e.nt lit his face. "Exactly the quality most likely to impress a room filled with hostile warlords."

Her eyes grew troubled. "Oh, they are very hostile indeed. You must take great care. I have told them you are a king, but-"

"A king!" he said in consternation. "No, Elandra, why?"

"So they will accept you."

"Do they?" There was a world of bitterness in his voice.

She gripped his hand. "But it's true. You wear the sword of a king. Your destiny-"

"No, Elandra," he said with more firmness than before. "These are not things to speak of."

"But-"

He lifted his hand to silence her. He was frowning now, all the fun erased from his face. "You must understand this," he said seriously. "I am not a king. The sword does not make me a king."

"But only kings can carry such-"

"Choven steel is the only metal that can fight darkness."

"That isn't true!" she protested. "I have seen you attack shyrieas shyrieas with ordinary metal. You destroyed General Paz when he-" with ordinary metal. You destroyed General Paz when he-"

"Demons and those who are possessed are one thing," he said, shaking his head. "But I am speaking of the darkness itself."

She spoke the syllable "Bel..." and Caelan held up his hand to silence her, then nodded. She drew back, drenched in fear. "No," she said. "No, Caelan!"

"Elandra-"

"No!" she shouted. "You're telling me that you went to the Choven for that sword, that you need it so you can fight- In the name of Gault, don't seek the dark G.o.d!"

"Please-"

"No, I refuse to listen to this. I won't allow it."

"You can't stop it."

"You said you wanted to rule. You said you wanted to be emperor, the two of us side by side."

"Yes, I said that," he agreed. "And I do. I have ever since I was joined with Kostimon and you in the ring of Choven fire. Kostimon's ambition touched me. It made me think there was a chance to rise from nothing."

"It is is possible," she said. "Kostimon did it. I have done it. You can too." possible," she said. "Kostimon did it. I have done it. You can too."

He smiled at her ruefully. "My path of life leads elsewhere."

"Don't say that! You're tired, confused. You don't-"

"No, Elandra. Don't lie to yourself. I was created to fight. It's all I can do. It's all I know. Everything that has happened to me in my life was to shape me for what is to come."

"But you're mortal!" she cried. "You can't go in search of Beloth! You can't win. I have seen him. I know what he is-"

"Kostimon loosened his chains," Caelan said grimly. "He is breaking free."

She pressed her hand to her lips in an effort to hold back her sobs. "But what about us? Why have you let me think we were going back to Imperia to reclaim the throne? Why do you tell me now?"

"Because you must keep your throne," he said. "And I must fight what comes. We will both return to Imperia. I promise you that. But stop persuading these warlords to support me. Don't try to shape reality to your desires, Elandra. You will only get hurt."

Tears streamed down her face. She was losing him, losing him to death, and she could not bear that. Was there nothing she could say that would deflect him from this course?

"They will not follow me," she said.

"You will find a way."

"Caelan!"

He looked down at her, and his gaze was loving, sad, and implacable.

Suddenly she hated him. Sniffing, she said, "I wish you had told me the truth before I gave my heart to you. Am I to have you, only to lose you?"

He stepped back, and something seemed to close in his face. "Do you think I will lose?"

"You think it," she said bitterly, refusing to let him shift blame onto her. "Why should I not believe as you do?"

He had no answer.

Angrily she wiped her face. "What will this self-sacrifice accomplish? Will it stop the dark G.o.d? Or will you be as a moth, flying toward the fire, burned to death before you can even strike a blow? It is glory, I suppose, but what else? What can you do?"

He shook his head, his expression bleak. "I shouldn't have told you. I meant to say nothing until it was time. I shouldn't have spoken of this now."

That hurt her more deeply than anything. She saw how little her words mattered, how little impact her feelings and opinions had. It had been the same with Kostimon and her father. Were all men like walls? Did they never consider the ones they left behind, the ones who had to cope with the aftermath?

She was not impressed. Caelan's death would not keep her warm at night. His death would not give her comfort during her days. She could not talk to a dead man. She could not love a dead man. He would have glory, and she would be alone. He would be gone, and she would go as spoils to the victor.

Silence filled the room. Wearing his granite face, Caelan went to stare out the window. Elandra poured a ewer of water into a basin and washed her face to remove all evidence of tears. Last night she had thought him lost to her forever. She had grieved and worried. Now he stood no farther away than across the room, and it was as though he had ceased to exist. She had lost him, would lose him. Whatever days or hours remained for them were already shadowed by the future.

She had never been so angry, or hurt.

"I am ready," she said in a small, cold voice. "Come."

Without waiting to see if he followed, she opened the door and stepped outside, walking away rapidly with her guards at her heels.