Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (15 page)

Guests had begun arriving hours earlier, strolling around the Temple greeting each other. As the hour for the ceremonies to begin had drawn nearer, they began to take their places on the long marble benches facing the main altar. On the benches the Lord Chamberlain had placed long, thickly padded cushions, much to the gratitude and relief of many guests who hadn’t relished the idea of spending too much time on the cold marble. The Lord Chamberlain had, in fact, said for years that regular attendance at Temple services would triple if they ever thought to pad the seats a little. A bank of trumpeters took their places in an overhead gallery, while a choir of priests and acolytes began soft anthems from their place to the right of the main dais.

The Lord Chamberlain greeted the Chancellor as he arrived at the main doors of the Temple, along with the chief Priests. A brief hushed discussion confirmed that everything was in readiness, and Chancellor Menzetti escorted his frail wife slowly to their places at the front of the Temple, where Serena Massili and her brother greeted them warmly. All of the Imperial family’s closest friends were seated in the front rows, with just a few chairs left now for the immediate family.

The Couressimes were the closest family that Arrilia Neilla and Phillip Marissime had, and Stephan, Christiana, Richard and Jenevra entered the Temple together. Stephan escorted Christiana, followed by Richard with Jenevra. All four were dressed in deep red with gold trim, the colors designated for only the Imperial party. Their arrival signaled the guests that the ceremonies were about to begin, and a hush descended over the assembly. As the four Couressimes took their places, the sound of the crowds outside cheering could be heard. The people loved their Empress and were giving her as vocal a demonstration of that as they knew how. As the sound swelled, the congregation rose and the trumpeters began their first fanfare; a ringing cascade of notes heralding the arrival of the Empress.

The High Priest of Tore led the Imperial procession from the vast plaza outside into the Temple, his simple white robe adorned only with a gold sash in honor of the occasion. Behind him, the next two senior ranked priests walked, carrying the heavy ruby encrusted Imperial crown in front of the Empress and future Emperor. Arrilia Neilla and Phillip walked side by side directly behind the priests; the Empress wearing the Pearl Tiara of the Empress for the last time, Phillip bare-headed beside her. Their carriages had met at the steps of the Temple, Phillip taking his mother’s arm, turning her around to receive the acclamation of her people. The crowd went wild. The people had always admired the strength Arrilia Neilla had shown throughout her life. However badly things had gone for her, she had always had time to remember the ordinary people of the Empire. Even in the midst of some of her greatest tragedies, she had not hidden from them. She had been there, at the head of the realm, strong, dignified and caring.

As befitted the occasion both Arrilia Neilla and Phillip were clad in gold robes, and long crimson trains were clasped to their shoulders prior to their procession into the Temple, dragging behind them both. At the main temple doors, Phillip kissed his mother’s hands respectfully then stood back, allowing her to proceed up the long aisle alone. Phillip entered a small chamber, accompanied by the Deacon of Salanova, to await his coronation in prayer.

Arrilia Neilla walked towards the High Altar, the heavy train slowing her steps from her usual briskly purposeful stride to a more suitably regal pace. All eyes in the Temple followed her as she made her way along the aisle. Women curtsied and men bowed as she passed; Kings, Queens, Dukes, Duchesses, nobles of every stripe paid her homage as she began the ceremony that would end her reign over them. Reaching the High Altar, and ascending the few steps to the top of the dais where it stood, she turned to face the entire congregation. Trumpets sounded a long fanfare as the four Couressimes moved from their chairs to stand in front of her, at the base of the dais. As the fanfare reached its last phrase, Stephan, Richard, Christiana and Jenevra sank onto their knees, signaling the rest of the congregation to follow suit. Rustling silks and satins whispered as the last notes of the trumpets faded into silence.

Into the stillness, the High Priest’s voice carried clearly, praising the virtues of the Empress, recalling her strengths and actions as supreme leader of the Empire. Moving to stand behind Arrilia Neilla, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder and she knelt. The choir began a soft anthem as the High Priest prayed over his Empress, calling upon God to reward her grace and obedience, her wisdom and humility in laying down the Crown. A single young chorister’s voice soared to heaven in a beautiful soprano as the High Priest laid his hands either side of Arrilia Neilla’s head, and lifted the Tiara from her head. Receiving a much smaller crown, a delicate filigree of gold threads and diamonds traditionally used by the Mother of the Emperor, from another Priest, he placed it onto her head as the choir swelled to yet another theme, this time backed by trumpets in celebration.

The Couressimes bowed respectfully to their aunt; a bittersweet moment for all of them. Aunt Neilla had been their Empress for almost all of their lives, and it would be strange not to see her in that role any more. Arrilia Neilla’s role as Empress had pretty much defined their Aunt to them; it was a part of who she was. What changes would they see in her now?

Arrilia Neilla rose to her feet, acknowledging the applause of the assembly with a gracious smile. Assisted by two of the Priests, she moved to one side of the dais to await the arrival of the new Emperor.

Placing the Imperial Crown on the High Altar, the High Priest turned to face down the long aisle. Silence fell almost immediately.

To the sound of the one clear voice, raised in the same song as it had for the Empress, Phillip began his journey towards the High Altar. The purity of the single soprano melody sang of the purity of heart required of those who live to serve their country, of the sacrifices to be made by the Emperor in putting his duty to the Empire above all else. The song echoed the separateness of the office of Emperor, the isolation of responsibility. The song tugged at Jenevra’s heart, reminding her of the similar sacrifices she and Phillip were both sworn to, and she lowered her head in fervent prayer for her cousin. A warm hand squeezed hers, holding it closely. Looking up she gave Richard a shaky smile.

Passing by the last of the marble seats before the Altar, Phillip paused to bow to the assembled Priests. The song began to swell into joyousness of having found an Emperor willing to take his place at the head of the nations; a celebration of the obedient and willing heart of the man in front of them. Kneeling upon the last step of the dais, Phillip bowed his head in token of the humility of service; an acknowledgement that he would look to the gods for his trust and strength. In a clear voice he answered the challenges of the Priests; that he would defend the Empire from all harm; always seek to do what was best for the people of the Empire as a whole; that he would hold himself to the highest standards of morality and behavior, and insist upon the same from all who were under his command.

As Phillip completed the ritual phrases, the High Priest anointed him, raised him up and sat him on a curule chair set in place as the ceremony had been happening. Phillip sat, facing the congregation, darkly handsome in crimson and gold; deep brown eyes looking steadily at the world he was about to rule. Just briefly his eyes met Christiana’s, and a flicker of a smile crossed his face. Then he focused on the words of the High Priest again, responding in a loud, clear voice that he was prepared to become the Soul of the Empire.

Arrilia Neilla approached the High Altar with the High Priest, both bowing reverently. With prayer, the High Priest lifted the Imperial Crown high above him, calling the protection and blessings of all seven greater Gods down upon the head of the next ruler of the Empire. Handing the Crown to Arrilia Neilla, the High Priest continued his declamation until Arrilia Neilla, tears in her eyes for she knew both the joy of power and the pains of responsibility that this would bring upon him, placed the crown upon her son’s head.

“Phillip Orsatti Marissime, by the grace of our Gods, Emperor Phillip the Second of the Marissime Empire; rise and meet your people!”

Arrilia Neilla was the first to kneel, raised quickly by Phillip. “Never bow to me, mother. It doesn’t suit you.” He shot her a quick grin, kissed her on the cheek, and she found herself smiling through her tears.

Trumpet fanfares erupted throughout the Temple, and Phillip made his way slowly back down the aisle, receiving deep obeisance from the gathered throng. The High Priest followed directly behind him with Arrilia Neilla. “So,” the High Priest said quietly to her. “Can I be expecting to perform a marriage soon?”

Arrilia Neilla looked puzzled. “Your Grace? Surely you haven’t forgotten? The day after tomorrow?”

Now the High Priest looked perplexed. Sudden comprehension dawned on him, and he laughed. “No, Your Majesty. Not the Emperor. I was wondering if you and Commander Rabenaldt were going to—.” He stopped, unsure of the look on her face.

“What?” Arrilia Neilla hissed at him. “What do you mean, Commander Rabenaldt and me?” She waved regally at people as they walked down the aisle. “Who said anything about Raik, I mean Commander Rabenaldt and me?”

The High Priest smiled at her, knowingly. “Would you believe me if I said that God told me?”

Arrilia Neilla smiled and nodded at several Dukes from her own home region of Trevannta. “I think the gods have better things to do,” she murmured.

“My dear Arrilia Neilla,” the High Priest spoke with the familiarity of long acquaintance. “A blind man can see how you two feel about each other … and have done for years, if I may say so. Don’t you think it’s time for you to have a little happiness back in your life?”

The opportunity to answer him was lost, for Phillip had emerged into the bright sunlight of the plaza outside the Temple, and the people of Salanova had erupted into tumultuous acclamation, the noise drowning out any further attempts at conversation for those following them. Phillip stood on the white marble steps acknowledging their greeting; a striking figure, crimson and gold blazing like a beacon, a flame igniting the heart of the Empire to new life in his reign.

As his mother emerged slowly from the shadow of the Temple doorway, the crowds were swelled to new heights of appreciation for this family. Phillip took Arrilia Neilla’s hand and led her out onto the steps with him where they waited, warmed by the adulation of their people, for the carriages that would take them back to the Imperial Palace, and the celebrations that would last all night.

 CHAPTER TWELVE

The Palace staff was lining the courtyard as the Emperor’s carriage drew up. Cooks, maids, butlers, grooms; anyone who worked in or around the Palace had come to welcome their new Master home, and to acknowledge and thank their old Mistress. Cheers echoed around the entrance hall as Phillip and Arrilia Neilla were welcomed officially by the Master of Keys, official gatekeeper of the Palace.

The Marissun family had never been difficult to work for, unlike other noble families where bad tempers and beatings were a way of life. As such, their staff adored them. They knew how different their lives could have been under another ruler. So, it was almost a family celebration atmosphere in the Imperial Palace as they arrived, which Phillip was quick to acknowledge, thanking them all for welcoming them back into their home.

Entering the formal throne room, Arrilia Neilla pushed Phillip gently towards the vacant chair. “Go on. It’s yours now.” A slightly wistful smile, accompanied the statement. Squeezing her hand, Phillip ascended the shallow stairs to his throne, leaving the Lord Chamberlain’s deputy to escort the Dowager Empress to her seat on a lower step to his right. Servants bustled efficiently, ensuring their Emperor and his mother had food and drinks in their hands swiftly. It would be a long time before they would eat properly as the ceremonial greeting of their guests would likely extend for several hours.

As closest family members, the Couressimes were the first to enter the room and greet their cousin and Emperor, but with the numbers of people arriving quickly behind them there wasn’t time for more than a brief congratulatory handshake between the men, and hugs from the girls. Christiana managed to plant a quick kiss on her fiancé’s lips, before being shunted off to one side near Richard and Jenevra.

“Leave him alone! Can’t you wait?” Richard murmured in her ear.

“Kissing in public? Yuk, you’re so embarrassing, Chris,” Jenevra grinned.

Christiana didn’t have time to make the response she felt would have been appropriate as the Lord Chamberlain organized the official greeting line; lining the Imperial Party up ready to greet all the dignitaries who had come to attend their Emperor’s inauguration. Phillip, of course, headed the line from his throne. Arrilia Neilla’s chair was brought to his left hand, with the Couressimes arranged in age following on. Chancellor Menzetti stood to Phillip’s right as his closest advisor, with the Lord Chamberlain slightly in front of him, announcing each person as they came forward to pay their respects.

A long line of nobles waited to be presented, and many others just milled around in the vast room, knowing they would be later in the line and taking the time to talk with each other. Greetings were swapped, families met with cousins they hadn’t seen for years, births were commented on, alliances agreed and weddings planned; plots were hatched and promises made.

Jenevra felt the onset on another headache, growing as the number of people in the room increased. Catching the gaze of a guard in ceremonial silver tunic at the back of the room, she mouthed a question. Brogan nodded in reply. The Shadow Flight, looking splendid in their new uniforms, stood all around the hall, ostensibly on guard duty, but listening for all they were worth. There wouldn’t be much information in the room that didn’t end up in the Emperor’s ears between Jenevra’s Flight of eavesdroppers and Chancellor Menzetti’s official spies. Satisfied even Will Theiss and Gervaise D’Agostino appeared to be behaving themselves appropriately today; Jenevra turned her attention to the onslaught of nobles heading towards them. Peering along the line, Jenevra saw Chancellor Menzetti’s wife, Graea, sitting quietly to the side of the dais to his right. Catching Jenevra’s glance, Graea Menzetti smiled at her. A little startled given the Chancellor’s well-known dislike of her, Jenevra smiled back. Graea motioned to her, a small gesture telling Jenevra to focus, to pay attention. Jenevra bowed her head obediently then realized where she had seen that gesture before. Raising her eyes to look again at the Chancellor’s wife, she found Graea Menzetti had gone.

Before she could think about it anymore, the old King of Lorthia arrived in front of her with his third wife and the sons of his second marriage. King Caddoc Wargentin was in his seventies now, and was either the envy or laughing stock of those who saw him, having recently married the twenty six year old niece of King Corros of Diruthia. Odilia was an attractive young woman, blonde, buxom and gentle; an appealing combination for a man in his twilight years. Jenevra greeted them all warmly. King Caddoc had not visited the Imperial Court very often, but relations between the Empire and Lorthia had always been cordial. Caddoc’s second son, Conall, was still unmarried and the King was obviously looking for a suitable match, clutching Jenevra’s hand with his own gnarled one and asking if she had accepted any offers yet.

“I have only recently returned to the Imperial Court, Your Majesty,” Jenevra tried to be diplomatic. “Any plans must wait until I know my Emperor’s wishes.”

“Ha! Splendid. There, you see, Conall; you still have a chance!” Caddoc’s hearing was going, so everyone within twenty feet of them heard him. Baran, Conall’s immense and exuberant older brother, grinned widely at his brother’s embarrassment. Conall looked rather as though he would like to sink through the floor, and Jenevra would certainly have joined him. He could barely look into Jenevra’s eyes as he greeted her.

“My apologies, Your Highness.”

Jenevra shook her head slightly, glancing to one side as Conall’s large blonde brother greeted her own similarly statuesque siblings. “No need, Your Highness.” She smiled at the shy, brown-haired prince, recognizing a kindred spirit. “If that’s as embarrassed as I get today, I’ll count myself lucky.”

Aleksander, the King of Abalos Colles, a three region state to the South of the Marissime Empire, greeted her warmly. Like the Lorthians, the family of Abalos Colles did not venture out of their realm too frequently, but Arrilia Neilla and Daneshka Brecc, the King’s wife, had corresponded for many years, having been friends in their youth. The King had striking hazel eyes that made a vivid contrast to his pure white hair, reminding Jenevra of someone she knew, but couldn’t quite put a finger on whom. His wife was a tall woman with deep auburn hair of a shade that, again, just flickered a shadow in Jenevra’s memory.

King Corros of Diruthia introduced his children to the Imperial party with swift formality that was almost lost on Jenevra. His arrival coincided with a severe increase in her headache that made her wince, and grit her teeth. She barely recollected greeting his son, Cieren, or his daughter, Artela; although she was almost sure she had promised to dance with Cieren at some point.

The principal royal guests passed, leaving the huge ranks of nobility to follow them in pledging their loyalties to the new Emperor. As most of them held ranks similar to the Couressime family, without being members of the Imperial family, Jenevra and her siblings were able to stand down from the dais and mix with the throng in the hall. Shedding the heavy velvet mantle she’d had to endure for the ceremonies, Jenevra handed it over to a maid, rolling her shoulders in relief from the weight and heat of it. Wandering around the edge of the room, she came up to Gervaise D’Agostino, standing smartly to attention, an evilly spiked spear resting in his hand. “Very natty,” the princess muttered as she strolled past him. “Anything interesting?”

D’Agostino shook his head slightly, shifting his spear to his other shoulder. “Only gossip so far, Your Highness,” he said under his breath. Dark eyes twinkling, he winked slyly at her. “Looking rather devastating yourself, Captain.” All of the Shadow Flight had quickly gathered their Captain’s distaste for formal clothing, particularly when she had inspected them in their new uniforms before the coronation. The silver tunics over brightly buffed chain mail had caused some caustic comments from the princess, in language that she certainly hadn’t learned at the Island. Sticking her nose in the air in mock disgust, Jenevra swirled her crimson skirts dramatically, and headed back into the crowd. She’d seen Raik and Richard together earlier, and wanted to find them again. Every time she thought she’d spotted them through the crowd, someone else would grab her attention.

Knowing that Chancellor Menzetti and the Council would look for any excuse to prevent her official installation as Imperial Protector, Jenevra greeted and chatted with everyone. Eventually, she bumped into Blaise Tessier, Captain of the Eagle Flight, and her shoulders drooped as she recognized that the one familiar face she managed find in the crowd was the one she least wanted to see.

In his best formal blue uniform for the occasion, Captain Tessier was distractingly handsome. Although his long hair was tied with black ribbon, strands floated around the edge of his face in a way that made her fingers itch to reach out and push it back. His shave, as always, left just enough along his jaw to look as though he hadn’t bothered; his moustache and beard making a dark outline, shadowing a deeply kissable set of lips. “Well, hello, Princess,” Tessier kissed her hand, gazing intently into her eyes; watching for the uncomfortable squirm he thought he would find there.

Pulling her hand away, trying to distance herself from him, and finding that the crush around them prevented it; Jenevra resorted to irritation.

Tessier moved closer again, his arm around the back of her waist, ostensibly directing her through the mass of people towards the open terraces, his own amusement growing as he noted how truly awkward she was with him.

“Yes, thank you, Captain. Hands front, please.” Jenevra moved out of his touch, a tingling feeling running up her spine. Smoothing down the front of her dress, for no other reason that it gave her something to do with her hands; she stepped out onto the wide terrace overlooking the gardens.

Tessier took a couple of glasses of wine from a passing servant and handed one to Jenevra. “Still not quite there are you?” He walked over to the marble balustrade along the edge of the terrace.

“Not quite where, Captain? I don’t understand.” Jenevra’s eyebrows drew together in a frown.

“Let’s see.” Tessier leaned closer with one arm resting on the balustrade. “Here you are, Your Highness, what … twenty now?”

“Nineteen, thank you, and why don’t we just make it Captain, you know, now that we’re colleagues—fellow officers, as it were. I’m really tired of the whole Highness thing. It’s just not me.”

“Nineteen then, and that’s the problem isn’t it? What’s a nineteen year old princess doing leading an Imperial Flight? It’s just not normal … unnatural even.” He grinned, anticipating the angry response.

Jenevra glared up at him, dark lashes fanning out around those piercing blue eyes which were flashing dangerously now. Damn the man, she thought, frantically trying to hold on to the anger.

Captain Tessier was entertained. He had noted the protective stance so many of the other men had taken with the young princess and, seeing her discomfort with anything approaching close contact, he began to see a way to pay her back for their initial meeting. The scruffy, grubby girl he’d encountered in Frann had cleaned up remarkably well, but there was a brittle quality to her, as if there was a shell she wrapped around herself to keep people away. Expert on women that he was, Captain Tessier was planning to see how long it would take him to crack that shell. She was totally unlike all the simpering, manipulative women who constantly chased him around the Imperial court, and with the combination of long dark hair framing an almost elfin face, and those eyes that any man could lose himself in. Well, he was willing to admit that his first reaction to her may have been more than just a little wrong. The crimson gown she was wearing today emphasized the tiny waist, and the more womanly features that had developed since she was last at court. Wondering how it would feel to hold that body against his, Tessier sighed. Knowing the princess, painful is how it would feel. Deciding to move onto safer ground he actually took a step back, shaking his head. “Ah, Princess! You have absolutely no idea. You should be out in the gardens, flirting, dancing, and falling in love; doing all those things young Princesses are supposed to do.”

“Flirting? Falling in love?” A cynical smile curved her mouth even as a slightly wistful expression clouded her eyes. “I wouldn’t know how. I’ve never been trained for that.”

Leaning back on the balustrade, Captain Tessier turned his head towards her, a wicked gleam lighting his eyes as his lazy smile emerged suggestively. “I’m always available for lessons, Princess. You can call on me any time.”

“Hogging the beautiful ladies again, Tessier?” Reiff Pichot’s nasal bray interrupted Jenevra’s embarrassment. “And our delightful Princess is out here, hiding herself away from all of us.” Pichot reached out a clammy hand to take hold of Jenevra’s, who shot Tessier a look of alarm.