Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (3 page)

“Princess,” he beamed at her remembering his name, wiping it off immediately as the shorter man elbowed him in the ribs.

“And Sergeant Brogan.” She turned to his friend, a slightly guilty grin emerging. “You knew it was me, then?”

“You haven’t changed much,” Sergeant Brogan noted, with gruff indifference to rank. “Going somewhere?” He added, nodding pointedly towards the horse.

“I was just going to pop along to Salanova,” Jenevra smiled innocently at them.

“And you’ve told Captain Tessier that, have you?” Brogan folded his arms in mirror image of Bernardo’s stance.

“Who? Oh, you mean the idiot in the inn? Tessier, is it?”

“Brogan, what on earth’s going on out here?” A voice interrupted them.

Brogan’s head slid down into one of his hands, and he rubbed at his face, muttering, “Oh gods,” under his breath. His movement, as he turned to face the newcomer, allowed Jenevra to see that it was the young lieutenant who had accompanied Brogan earlier.

“What’s going on?” He repeated. “Horse thief?”

Brogan and Bernardo drew deep breaths at that; Jenevra just grinned.

“Lieutenant,” Bernardo began. “It’s not what you think.” He took a step back to let Jenevra take a pace forward. “This is the princess.”

Lieutenant Crevaux took a long look at the scruffy figure in front of him. Puzzled, he looked at Brogan and Bernardo, both of whom met his glance with a nod of their head in confirmation. “You are Princess Jenevra?” He said, doubtfully.

Jenevra nodded. “Bit of a disappointment really, aren’t I?”

Lieutenant Crevaux choked slightly. “No, no, Your Highness…well,” a smile began to twitch his lips. “Really?” He asked. “I mean, seriously, Brogan…”

“Really, Lieutenant,” Brogan said. “Bernardo and I have known her Imperial Highness for many years. Sadly, there is no mistaking her.” He winced as Jenevra punched him in the arm.

“Well, in that case,” the young lieutenant drew himself up. “May I have the privilege of being one of the first to greet Your Highness on your return?” He made a small bow.

“That’s nice,” Jenevra said. “Now that all the formalities are met, and we’ve all been introduced, can I go?”

“No, you can’t.” Brogan took firm hold of Jenevra’s arm and began walking. “You’re coming in to meet Captain Tessier, and then you’re coming to Salanova with us. You can’t go wandering round on your own. You’re a member of the Imperial family.”

“So?” Jenevra dragged her feet. “How do you think I got here? And no-one knows who I am. He didn’t even believe I am who I am,” she tossed her head indicating Crevaux who was following with Bernardo. “Come on, Brogan. I can just meet you all at Salanova. No-one need ever know I got there on my own.” Catching the look on his face, Jenevra subsided, allowing herself to be marched into the inn, directly up to the officer pacing moodily in front of the hearth.

“Captain,” Brogan started to explain, but was cut short.

“You, boy, are starting to get on my nerves,” Captain Tessier poked a finger at the princess’s chest. “I’ve a good mind to clap you in irons and you can see how a spell in the dungeons in Salanova suits you.”

Jenevra’s eyes narrowed at the finger prodding her. “Move it, or lose it.”

“What?” Tessier’s voice rose angrily.

Attempting to avert disaster, Lieutenant Crevaux stepped between them, gesturing at Sergeant Brogan to make the necessary introductions.

“Captain,” Brogan announced loudly. “I have the honor to present Her Imperial Highness, Princess Saphila Jenevra Couressime. Princess, I present Captain Tessier.”

Jenevra smiled rather sardonically at Sergeant Brogan, even as she held out her hand, with chipped fingernails, for a stunned Captain Tessier to kiss—as befits an Imperial Princess. “Thanks, Sarge,” she said.

“Oh, gods,” Brogan said again, catching the look on his captain’s face.

Embarrassed beyond belief, Captain Tessier took the first opportunity to leave the inn, ostensibly to check on the men stationed elsewhere in the town; in reality, he needed time for him temper to cool. Lieutenant Crevaux took the chance to speak to the princess, asking her why she hadn’t introduced herself straightaway to the Flight.

Jenevra sighed. “I don’t really know.” Her eyes went distant for a moment. “I guess it’s just that I’ve been away so long. I don’t even feel like an Imperial Princess, much less act like one again. Although, there are plenty of the Imperial family who would tell you that I never did act like a Princess. Brogan would tell you too.”

“How
do
Brogan and Bernardo know you, Your Highness?”

“Can we dispense with the ‘Highnesses’, please?” Jenevra looked round for Sergeant Brogan but he was nowhere to be seen. “Brogan’s known me for years,” she began to explain. “When I was really small I would try to get out of the Palace, and as often as I could, I’d follow the Border Patrol. Commander Rabenaldt was their Captain then, and I’ve known him since I can remember, so I would try to follow him. It usually ended up with Brogan and Bernardo having to take me back to the Palace.” She smiled gently then. “I’m surprised they didn’t grow to hate me; always getting stuck with chasing a small child round the Palace … but they never did. They always looked out for me. There are few people I trust as much as I trust them.” She shook her head. “It’s a good thing they were here to identify me to your Captain. I don’t think he’d have believed me if I’d told him.”

Sharing a smile, Lieutenant Crevaux chuckled quietly. “No, I think you really managed to shake him. He’s usually very calm and collected. He’s an excellent Captain,” he added loyally.

Jenevra found that by early evening she was exhausted. It was the most company she had been in for such a very long time, and simply the volume of that many people in one room was overwhelming. Excusing herself, she wandered upstairs to her room. A brief note, pushed under her door a few minutes later, was her only communication from the Captain, informing her that they would be leaving the following morning, whatever the weather conditions. Holding the very edge of the paper into the fire, she watched as the note burned, fiery motes flying up the chimney and into the frosty night.

The ride to Salanova was uneventful. Captain Tessier rode at the head of the Flight, insisting that the princess should ride in the middle of the column for protection, much to her frustration. Already the feelings of being surrounded and trapped were growing in her, and her temper was fraying quickly.

Lieutenant Crevaux and Sergeant Brogan were kept close to the front by the Captain, leaving Bernardo and the Flight’s best horseman, Kallan Bana, to ride with the princess.

Salanova, the capital of the Maressime Empire, was a good four days from Frann in good weather. The late snow slowed them down considerably. Aware that Captain Tessier would like to be able to blame her for the pace, Jenevra made every effort to improve her riding, never complaining, never asking to stop for rest. Two days ride from the city, they made camp for the evening sheltered in a small grove.

Jenevra needed some space, a little time alone. Giving Bernardo the impression she had female needs to take care of, she disappeared into the trees, walking into the darkness and quiet with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Establishing their camp with quiet efficiency, the men were soon gathered round a fire, while Bernardo began cooking. As a kettle of tea came to boiling, and they began dipping out mugs of it, Brogan asked Bernardo if he’d seen the princess. Before Bernardo could answer, and unaware of his friendship with the young Princess, Captain Tessier interrupted loudly. “How would he know, Brogan? Tell me, how would anyone know …
that
… was an Imperial Princess? Great Tore, how would anyone know it was even a girl?”

“That’s a bit harsh, Captain,” Lieutenant Crevaux objected.

“Why?” Captain Tessier said. “How can that possibly be harsh? You saw her.”

Brogan, spotting the tell-tale signs of rare anger in Bernardo put a warning hand on the tall man’s shoulder.

“I mean how can she even be a Couressime?” Tessier continued. “If she’s the sister of Christiana Couressime, then I must be the High Priest of Tore! Christiana is beautiful—stunning even. Dammit, even the brothers are good-looking too. If that stunted, scrawny thing is related to them, it certainly brings meaning to “runt of the litter!”

Bernardo, Brogan and Crevaux were not the only ones to voice protest at this; it being an unusually vicious comment from their Captain. Normally, he was charm itself with women … any women. Always seen around Court with at least one adoring young woman hanging onto his arm; Tessier was rarely without a flattering comment or a suggestive wink for anything in a skirt. Not one man around the fire could remember him ever reacting like this to anyone, much less a member of the Imperial family.

“What a fascinating insight, Captain.” Jenevra’s voice cut clearly through the men; a path appearing as they melted away from her, leaving the princess directly facing a deeply embarrassed Captain Tessier. “And how brave of you.”

“Your Highness, I—”

“Oh don’t apologize, Captain,” Jenevra held her hand up to halt his words. “Please don’t feel you have to do that. I’m sure you have an excellent reason for everything you said, and it’s good to know you’re not a man to shy away from speaking the truth.” She was mildly satisfied when he looked away first, his teeth gritted against the retort he obviously wanted to make.

Taking a deep breath, Tessier tried again. “Princess, I’m sorry… ”

“For what? Saying what you did, or sorry I heard it? I should keep your apology if I was you Captain, because I wouldn’t believe it.” She turned to walk away; hesitating momentarily to look back over her shoulder. “One day, Captain—assuming my cousin decides to leave your head attached—you may be able to apologize sincerely. I shall look forward to that.” She swept off to a small rise at the edge of the grove and settled down with her back against a tree, staring off into the distance.

For the rest of the evening uncertainty hovered around the Patrol like a swarm of mosquitoes: none of them sure of how to approach either their Captain or the princess. Most of the Flight gathered around the fire, but Bernardo stood watch over her in the moonlight; her knees drawn up under her chin with her arms clasped firmly around them. Strands of long dark hair were blowing around her face, having long since escaped from the braid she had tied on the ship. As the pale cold light caught her, Bernardo felt a surge of his old protectiveness for her flood back. She had told them as they rode that she had changed. He could see it in her eyes, and in the tension built into her posture. More than anything he wanted to roll time back until some of the warmth and joy that had been the younger Jenevra came back; even the mischief, the nonsensical pranks that had landed her in trouble on more than one occasion. But it was gone, or buried deep. Leached out of her like the moonlight stole the color from her skin.