Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (17 page)

Mikhail pushed past both of them, muttering, “I’ll talk to you later,” at Mikyle as he left.

“What’s up with—?” Mikyle shook his head at Misha’s back.

“Charming,” noted Tessier, returning to his observation of the princess. Now she was smiling at Conall Wargentin. Tessier’s pride was beginning to take a beating.

Richard Couressime appeared; Stephan trailing after him with Princess Allegra, Mikhail’s sister, hanging from his arm. Helplessly, Stephan allowed Allegra to drag him onto the dance floor as another lively air began. They joined the dance near Jenevra and Conall, bringing Richard’s attention back onto his younger sister. “Mikyle, you’ve known that family for a long time, yes?”

“Who? The Dhorani’s? Yes. Mikhail’s one of my oldest friends. Why?” Mikyle gestured towards Stephan, winking at Richard. “I think Stephan’s made a new friend.”

Richard dismissed that observation. “No, I was just trying to remember if Mikhail had ever been here before? I didn’t think he had, that’s all.”

“How interesting you should bring that up,” Tessier said. “We were just wondering that ourselves. He seems to have developed a sudden intense interest in your dear sister—not that she isn’t absolutely adorable, I’m sure. ”

“Yes, well they both seemed rather wrapped up in each other over dinner,” Richard noted dryly. “But then Christiana and I heard an interesting piece of information from Mikhail’s sister.”

Mikyle and Blaise perked up and looked at him intently. “Spit it out, Your Highness,” Blaise said, suddenly looking slightly less amused; eyes going colder.

“The besotted Prince has been … away … for the past seven years.” Richard’s expression grew cold as he watched the growing understanding slide across their faces. “Yes, just like my darling sister, no-one knows where Prince Mikhail has been. And suddenly they’re both here, gazing at each other like long-lost lovers. Something stinks, gentlemen, and I think we need to find out what it is.”

Blaise Tessier sloughed off his indolent courtier pose, manner changing instantly into the military commander he was. Straightening up, he looked dangerously alert, like a tiger on the hunt. Smoothing his moustache down, he announced, “Think it’s time to cut in on the Lorthian,” and marched directly onto the dance floor, straight up to Jenevra and Conall. “Excuse me, Your Highness,” he bowed smartly to Conall. “I believe Her Imperial Highness promised me this dance.” Without waiting for a reply, he took Jenevra’s hand and swung her smoothly back into the dance.

“Did I miss something, Captain Tessier?” Jenevra asked icily. “That was extremely rude, you know.”

Blaise looked down into her face. There was none of the softness about him that had been there earlier when he had rescued her from Reiff Pichot’s unwanted attention. Jaw tight, eyes focused, it was Tessier the Flight Captain who was holding the princess tightly, feeling tension course through her body as she realized that he was angry. “We were just a little concerned about your safety, Your Highness. There are some things going on here that are unusual. I decided to come and protect you, just in case.”

Jenevra stopped dead in the middle of the floor. “What?”

“Keep moving, Your Highness.” Blaise swung her on again. “We have information that someone here might be a danger to you.” He wasn’t too amused when Jenevra laughed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Captain.” Jenevra was still laughing which didn’t convince him that she really was. “It’s just funny that you think anyone here could truly be a threat to me. Not …” she countered as she saw the disbelieving look on his face. “Not that I don’t appreciate your concern for me. But Conall wouldn’t hurt me: couldn’t hurt me.”

“Conall? Oh, it’s not him we’re worried about, Your Highness. It’s that other one: the supposed heir to Abalos Colles.”

“Misha? I mean … Prince Mikhail?” Jenevra stumbled in confusion. “Really, Captain Tessier, I don’t think you need to worry about him. He seemed perfectly harmless to me at dinner.”

“That’s interesting.” Tessier grew harsher again. “Because I have it on very good authority that no-one knows where he’s been for the last few years.” Jenevra looked down, knowing she would give it away if she met his gaze. “Funny that, isn’t it?” He continued. “We don’t even know that he really is the Prince of Abalos Colles. If no-one’s seen him in seven years or so, maybe he’s an imposter?”

“An imposter? Captain, really!” Her head still thumping with the talisman’s warning and unused to dancing without concentrating on the steps yet, Jenevra tripped over his feet.

“Gods, are you always this clumsy?” Tessier tightened his grip. “How would you know if he was or wasn’t an imposter, Princess?”

“You know something, Captain? I really don’t like your tone. You need to remember that I am, in fact, a member of the Imperial family; and I do not answer to you!” All this came from between clenched teeth. Snatching her arm away from him, Princess Jenevra stalked off the floor angry, and worried that her role as Protector could be jeopardized if her contact with Mikhail was suspect.

Captain Tessier watched her go, well aware that he had struck a nerve, and inwardly relishing the satisfaction he felt at making the princess so angry. Looking across the room, he gestured for Richard and Mikyle to meet him on the terrace. He didn’t see Mikhail intercept Jenevra, or King Aleksander beckon his son away from her immediately, calling him across to the Imperial dais where he was seated with the older royals.

Richard followed Tessier onto the terrace, but Mikyle lingered, watching Jenevra closely as Mikhail walked away from her.

“Ah, my son.” Aleksander slapped his son convivially on the back. “It is so good to have you back with us. Now we can move on. Things need to change in Abalos Colles. I was just discussing it with the Empress and the other Kings here.”

“Ex-Empress, Aleksander,” Arrilia Neilla reminded him. “Phillip gets all the hard work now. I’m retired.”

“Dowager Empress at least, Arrilia Neilla, surely?” Aleksander chuckled. “Anyway, Mikhail, now you’re home, we can move on with plans, can’t we?” As Mikhail bowed politely, murmuring, “As Your Majesty wishes,” Aleksander stood at the front of the dais, and waved his hands for silence. The musicians dwindled to a halt, as did the dancers. Phillip, the Emperor, having finally managed to find time to dance with his fiancée, Christiana, looked somewhat surprised at the interruption, but waved politely at Aleksander to continue.

“I apologize, my friends, for interrupting your festivities; but I have an announcement to make which gives me great pleasure.” Elegant and urbane, he turned to his son. “My son, Mikhail, has returned to us to fulfill the duties of his house. It seems only fitting that as we gather to celebrate this time of new beginnings … for our new Emperor,” he bowed to Phillip, who returned the courtesy. “And his lovely bride-to-be.” Aleksander bowed again, to a blushing Christiana; waiting for a small ripple of applause to die away. “It seems only fitting to announce another new beginning, for the House of Dhorani.”

A cold dread began to fill Mikhail’s stomach and his eyes searched the room frantically seeking Jenevra. Hazel eyes met blue as Alexander turned and held out his hand to a young woman standing behind King Corros of Diruthia. Understanding, too late, what his father planned to do, Mikhail’s eyes were pleading with Jenevra, whose eyes were widening in belated realization.

“I am delighted to announce the union of our Kingdoms through the marriage of Princess Artela of Diruthia, to my son, and heir, Prince Mikhail.”

As King Corros stood and placed his daughter’s hand into Mikhail’s to enthusiastic applause, the Prince had to force himself to tear his gaze away from the young woman he had just realized he was in love with. Artela, an uninteresting, somewhat plain girl, beamed delightedly at her good luck, blushing bright red as Mikhail planted a brief kiss on her mouth. Mikhail and Artela were besieged by well-wishers, and he lost all sight of Jenevra.

Mikyle appeared beside Jenevra. “Come on,” he said, startling her by taking hold of her hand and pulling her out onto the terrace. “I’m just guessing, of course, but I don’t think you wanted to go congratulate the happy couple just yet.” He led her to the steps leading down to the garden. Jenevra smiled ruefully, walking with him to where Richard was leaning watching her, with Blaise Tessier.

“King Aleksander just announced Mikhail’s betrothal,” Mikyle informed them before they could say anything, a note of warning in his tone. “To Artela of Diruthia.”

Richard said nothing but lifted his sister easily, sitting her up on the balustrade; one arm lightly around the back of her waist. A small sigh escaped her as she leaned against him. “I didn’t know who he was when we were on the Island. He’s just Misha,” she explained quietly. “And I certainly didn’t expect to see him again after I left to come home. I thought he was just a friend.”

“Apparently he’s not even that.” Blaise’s tone was cynical.

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.” Jenevra glared at him.

“Really? I thought you were just being shy about it.” Tessier shot back.

Richard was just about to intervene when Phillip and Christiana appeared. Hand in hand they joined the group; Christiana frowning disapprovingly at Jenevra sitting swinging her feet in mid-air on the balustrade.

Drowning out any further attempts at conversation the night sky was torn apart as a huge firework display began; lighting up the evening with billowing clouds of sparkling light, flashes, bangs; lightning bright explosions celebrating the new Emperor’s ascension to the Imperial throne.

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the early hours of the morning, as the entire Imperial household lay still sleeping, Jenevra pulled on her usual gray clothing and slipped out of her rooms. Not bothering to ride today, she took off on foot, needing the exercise to keep her thoughts from dwelling on the feelings she had been trying to ignore since last night. Running easily, long strides loping towards the forest; keeping the pace steady she ran through the forest for several miles, going along rather than up the hillside this time. The air was cool and slightly musty amongst the trees, palely dawning light filtering down between the branches; dappling the ground through the broad leaves. The smell was thicker than the bamboo groves on the island which had always smelled sweet even early in the day, but it was still comforting; reminding Jenevra of the place she had called home for five years. Five years with Misha. Pulling to a halt with one hand resting lightly on the bole of a tree, she pushed the thought away. Misha … Mikhail, she reminded herself, was a prince. He had to marry according to his family’s wishes; she knew that as well as he did. It was the mantra every child of any noble family grew up with; marry for the family honor, never for love. Tucking damp strands of hair back behind her ears, she set off again; feet padding soundlessly on the deep leaf litter on the forest floor.

Love? She’d never thought of love on the Island. She had trained with Misha; lived, eaten, slept alongside him for the years she’d been there, with no thought of any bond other than that of the friendship and loyalty the members of the Order owed each other. So why was last night so hard to think about? She had never expected to see Misha again. Why should she care that he was marrying someone else? Focusing on running, she picked up the pace, trying to push herself hard enough to drive out any extraneous thoughts. Mile after mile passed steadily until she emerged from the dark forest, on to a broad cliff top overhanging a thundering waterfall. Breathing deeply, she stood looking at the pounding waters, their mist rising to cover her in a damp, cool spray. Hands on hips, she took control of her breathing, enjoying the refreshing coldness and smiling at the almost luminous mists appearing in front of her.

Stretching out warm muscles, Jenevra swung her arms, moving towards the edge of the cliff. Sitting on the very edge of the slick, dark rock, feet dangling in the air, she gazed at the boiling waters below until the roaring sound became almost hypnotic, blocking out everything else, including thought. The dull tingling sensation that was almost constantly inside her became one with the pounding of the cascading waters. White noise and mist surrounding her like a cocoon in time and space, she closed her eyes and just let the sensation fill her whole body: like being suspended in nothingness.

When she opened her eyes again, the cool mist was still encompassing her, and it was a moment before she noticed the figure sitting motionless beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Misha said, not looking at her. “I had no idea my father was going to do that.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even know her.”

“I know.”

“Jenna!” Mikhail turned towards her, irritated, looking for a reaction; wanting her to be as angry as he was.

“I understand, Misha.” She reached out, touching his face with gentle fingers; letting them drop back to her side. “I understand the whole royal thing; why wouldn’t I?”

“But I don’t want to marry her, Jenna. I want to—”

She shook her head. “Don’t say it, Misha. You know it can’t happen. Don’t make it any worse than it has to be.” Rising smoothly to her feet, she wiped the spray from her face with a sleeve. “We both know what duty means. That’s why Dai-Nimh sent us both back. We have duties to perform within our families. Don’t you get it Misha? Dai-Nimh knew. He understood who we were, the families we come from. He made certain that nothing more came to us than friendship.” She made a waving motion with her hand. “Can’t we just forget about it and get down to work? I do believe a challenge was issued last night …”

Grudgingly, Misha nodded his agreement and, silently, just as they were used to doing on the Island, they fell into their training routines. Simple moves followed by increasingly complex forms kept them occupied, each keeping pace with the other, working so closely in harmony their hearts beat to the same rhythm.

“So why did he link us with the talismans?” Misha asked when they broke, drinking icy water from one of the streamlets that fell alongside the waterfall. It was a simple question; but one that Jenevra didn’t want to think about. She walked back towards the forest looking troubled. “We’re linked, Jenna. You can’t deny it.” He strode over to her and lifted the talisman on its chain around her neck in his hand, causing a sudden flash of pain within her. Then he felt around his own neck, lifting an identical pendant in his other hand. “Why did he link us with these if we’re not meant to be together? Be honest, Jenna, you feel it too. You know there could be more between us if you let it.”

Strangely wary of her most trusted friend as the talisman sent forth its danger tone again—and puzzled by it—Jenevra made to move back, but Misha still had tight hold of the talisman around her neck. “Misha, let go! We’re both royal. It’s as simple as that. We both have positions that can be of use to the Order. You know as well as I do, our wishes don’t count. Last night you were telling me that Ki-Nimh told you to remind me about that, in case I’d forgotten. In case I wasn’t following my orders. You can’t change your mind about it now. We’re under the same vows.” She placed a hand over his to take his fingers from the talisman, but he grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her closer still to him. Heart racing, she looked into his eyes; the hazel reflecting the green of the forest around them.

“I can’t do it Jenna. I can’t marry Artela. I don’t love her. I love—”

“No! No, Misha!”

Misha still had her talisman in his fist, preventing her from moving. The chain was starting to cut into the back of her neck as Misha, suddenly reckless, lowered his mouth onto hers hungrily, ignoring her muffled protests.

Torn between wanting this desperately and knowing it could only cause trouble for both of them, Jenevra drew deeply on her training. Bringing her mind to a calm place, she focused all her energy into freeing a hand to push him away slightly. Scarcely pausing, she drew the hand back and slammed it full force, heel first into the dead center of his chest. Without a sound, Misha dropped to his knees, doubled over in pain.

Jenevra backed away, watching to make sure he was still breathing. She knew it hadn’t had enough force to kill him, but she could have damaged his chest. Rubbing at her mouth with the back of her hand, she knew a certain disappointment that her first kiss had been under these circumstances. It wasn’t Misha kissing her that she objected to just the manner in which he’d gone about it … and she could see in his face that he knew that too. “I’m going back. Will you be alright?”

Nodding slowly he looked up at her, pain etched in his face. “I will be,” he whispered. “I’m sorry Jenna. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.” She tucked the talisman back inside her tunic.

Running back to the Palace her mind went over the situation again and again; puzzling over Misha’s actions. He knew there could never be anything between them as long as they belonged to the Order; and on the Island there had never been any connection of that kind between them, just solid trust between friends. Yet, suddenly he seemed willing to jeopardize everything. It simply didn’t make sense.

The twenty three members of the Shadow flight would have been very interested in the exchange on the cliff top. It might have explained to them why their young leader drilled them all afternoon, after a good long morning run; until they were all ready to drop, vomit or both. But there was a look in their Captain’s eyes today that they weren’t quite brave enough to question; not even Will Theiss was stupid enough to cross her today. She matched them stroke for stroke with the sword; end for end on the archery field. She ran with them, rode with them and drilled with them, marching around constantly monitoring them, correcting, even encouraging; but not with the playfulness they had seen before. This was a different Captain, darkly purposeful; one to be obeyed without question. As they formed up to march off the practice field, Jenevra called Brogan over. “See they get a good dinner, and double the beer allocation for tonight. I know I was hard on them today.”

Brogan saluted sharply. “Permission to speak, Captain? The men will be fine.” He cleared his throat, looking somewhat apologetic. “But … if I may make an observation … you need to tend to that graze around your neck.”

Jenevra’s hand reached up to where the talisman had bitten deep into the skin. Appreciating the concern, she smiled slightly and nodded again.

“Captain? The lads said if they find who did that, they’ll kill them.” Brogan said it very matter-of-factly, staring over her shoulder.

She laughed softly. “Sergeant, you can thank them from me, but tell them that if I wanted someone dead, I’d take care of it myself.”

Feeling emptied through exercise, Jenevra wandered back to her rooms. It seemed like an eternity since she had left that morning. Opening the door, she found her maids in a state of near panic, not knowing where the princess had gone, and fending off questions from the rest of the Imperial family all day.

“Why didn’t anyone think to look on the practice field, where the Flight was?” Jenevra puzzled.

“But, Your Highness wasn’t there this morning,” Anna said. “We did check.”

“Yes … true … sorry,” Jenevra peeled off the tunic she’d worn all day. Sniffing at it, wrinkling her nose slightly, even she had to admit that a bath and change of clothes were in order. “The green velvet will be good for now, please, Anna” she said, sliding into a huge tub full of hot water and sinking up to her chin in it. Lying back, she soaked away much of the tension of the last day or so; loosening her hair from the complicated braid she’d worn it in yesterday; letting it fan out in the water behind her.

Half an hour later found her sitting in front of the fire brushing her hair through, as Christiana arrived. “You’re here then. Good. Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you.” She sat down opposite Jenevra. “Just bathing now?”

“Not ‘just now’, Chris; I’ve been out all day. I needed a bath … now.”

“Fine, well, Aunt Serena has been going crazy waiting for you. Apparently you still haven’t tried on your gown for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Oh, yes, tomorrow.” Christiana’s face hurried Jenevra’s memory. “Well, it’ll be fine, Chris. Honestly, Aunt Serena made the seamstresses take so many measurements I think they could outfit me for a year without my being here. The dress will be fine.” She waved the brush vaguely in the air.

“Jenn! This is my wedding we’re talking about. I don’t want you to be ‘fine’. I want you to be perfect.”

“No-one will be looking at me, Chris. Everyone’s eyes will be on you. What does my dress matter?” Jenevra went back to brushing her hair again as Anna silently placed a pitcher of water, a carafe of Christiana’s favorite wine, and goblets, on a small table next to the girls.

Lips pursed, and a slight frown marring her otherwise flawless face, Christiana poured a large drink and leaned back comfortably. “You have such great hair, Jenn,” she sighed enviously.

Jenevra’s mouth hung open. “What?” She regarded the golden cloud floating around her sister; waving her hand towards it. “With that hair?”

Christiana toyed with a long tress of spun gold, wrinkling her nose at it. “I know. Everyone loves it.” She flicked the lock back over her shoulder. “But yours … it’s like its alive. You’ve got so many different colors in it.”