Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (42 page)

Jenevra was thinking more or less the same thing as she was dragged under by another towering wave for what felt like an eternity. She knew the current was pulling her in towards the rocks at the base of the cliffs, so she let it tow her along, saving her energy for gasping for air whenever the waters allowed her head to clear them. Already she had been flung against rocks underneath the water, pounded and bruised till she felt like a rag doll being thrown about. When each wave crushed her against a cold jagged surface, she tried to hold on to it, but so far the strong swell had pulled her away time after time, ripping her hands and feet. Another wave hit her, pushing her down until she felt as though her lungs would burst, then throwing her up with a brutal force, slamming her against the base of the cliff. Realizing she didn’t have much strength left, she clung desperately to the rock face almost sobbing at the reprieve as the waters fell back leaving her there. Frantically, she scrambled higher where the waves couldn’t pull at her, and clung there for some minutes, retching up seawater, anxiously holding on to harness some energy for the climb she knew she had to make. Staring upwards, all she could see was a wall of gleaming black rock, a wall she knew would be slippery and treacherous in the driving rain. Shivering, she began to stretch out for a hand hold, aware that the longer she stayed still, the colder she would get and the more difficult it would be. With a glance at the sea still churning beneath her, she began to climb.

It felt like the longest ascent she had ever made, as fingers cut by the rock and numbed by the cold slipped from their holds again and again: each stretch and pull upwards opening up the cut across her front and the wounds in her side. Time after time she clutched flat to the rock, trying to find the energy to move again; had to force herself to move a little further up the endless face of the cliff. Exhausted from the cold, effort, emotion and blood loss, it was increasingly difficult to concentrate; the tremors that had begun to shake her body were becoming worse. It would be so easy just to stop, to fall backwards into the comforting rest of the sea; just to let it take her. Just as she began to believe that letting go was her only option, her hand grasped a flat surface above her. Praying for a ledge to rest on, she hauled up and onto it with rapidly fading strength; lying beaten, bleeding and gasping for breath in the still torrential rain.

Aware that she couldn’t lie there forever, Jenevra turned her head. As her vision slowly registered figures on the cliff top to her right she forced herself to roll over. Pushing up with battered hands onto her knees she knew she had to get away: breathing fervent thanks to the seven gods as she realized that, somehow, she had made it to the top of the cliffs. Desperately clutching at what shreds of energy she could find, the princess tried to push upright using the sword. Fighting against a wave of sickness, she closed her eyes, opening them again only to focus on several pairs of booted feet coming towards her. Determined not to die on her knees, Jenevra dug down deep inside, rising to her feet with a barely audible scream; hoisting the sword one last time to face Cieren and his men.

 CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Impatient with watching over the edge of the cliff, Captain Tessier had given his spot over to Finn Corrigan. Pacing frantically around the cliff top he was the first to catch sight of a small dark shape on the next cliff. His stomach lurched as he dashed through the rain; the shape was hardly moving. Reaching the princess, he was startled, if rather relieved, to see her stand, raising her sword against him. Relief sweeping through him in a red mist, Captain Tessier glowered angrily at the shivering, sodden girl in front of him. “Put that bloody sword down right now!” He screamed at her over the storm; reaching out and taking the sword from her nerveless fingers. Yanking his cloak off, he wrapped it around her, pulling her close into him by the collar, shouting, “Do you ever think about what you’re doing? You could have been killed! Do you have any idea how angry you make me?” He shook her.

“Tessier!” Baran growled in warning behind him. “Leave it.”

Collecting himself with an obvious effort, Blaise strode off towards the horses, towing the princess after him by the arm, muttering every curse word he’d ever learned. As she stumbled in near collapse, he swung her up into his arms, carrying her easily, feeling her trembling as she leaned against him.

Baran handed her up to Tessier as they mounted. Bending across from his own horse, he grasped Tessier’s arm firmly. “Go gently with her, Blaise, or you’ll be answering to me. It’s a miracle she’s still alive. The best thing we can do is get her to the healers now.”

By the time they reached the camp again, the rain was beginning to slow: it didn’t seem to have been as bad back inland. The early hours of the morning were passed and the sky was beginning to lighten towards the dawn as they rode up to the healers’ tent.

Baran left for his own tent, taking Tessier’s horse with him, handing Ki-Nimh’s sword to Finn and Spider. They took Jenevra’s horse and headed back towards the Flight’s encampment; happier once they had seen their Captain arguing with Captain Tessier; stubbornly insisting on limping into the healers on her own two feet, even though she could barely stand. Looking forward to a couple of hours sleep before everyone else would be up, Spider looked across at Finn. “We’d better go put this sword where she’ll find it. What do you want to bet she’ll still be here for a morning run?”

“No bet,” Finn grinned. “I just hope we can keep up.”

Not expecting any more casualties at this hour, the chief healer, Wynn, had to be awoken by an assistant who was watching over the wounded men still in their care. Jenevra quickly recognized Wynn: the skinny man with jug ears backed by large tufts of white hair and a shining bald pate wasn’t too easy to forget.

“Your Highness?” Dull brown robes swinging about him, Wynn moved forward quickly when he saw who his early arrival was. “Great Pajan! What happened? No, never mind explanations just now … let’s see what we’ve got here.” With quiet, gentle efficiency he looked over the most obvious lacerations and wounds, shaking his head at the condition of the slight form in front of him. Moving her quickly out of the main part of the tent, he took her into the area where they worked on the wounded.

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me how you managed to get a sword all the way through your side? Well, it’s a clean enough wound: doesn’t seem to be in the region of anything major, anyway.” Wynn looked directly at Jenevra, still shaking visibly although he had wrapped warm blankets around her as soon as he’d made his first quick assessment of her condition. “Anything I can’t see?”

She shook her head, eyes slightly unfocused. “I don’t know. Maybe a bruise or two, but the rest of it is right where you can see it.”

“Right,” Wynn made a mental list. “Let’s take care of those sword cuts. The one across your front is pretty much knitting on its own already. I don’t want to open it back up, so I think we’ll just leave it to see how it heals. The other two are going to need either stitches or cauterizing. I’m inclined towards the stitches personally, just in case of infection, but they’re in a very easy place to rip open if you aren’t careful.” He gave her a pointed look. “No running around, fighting, training or anything until they’re healed.”

Jenevra pulled a face. “You’d best get on and do it then.”

“Do you want a draught before I do this, Your Highness? For the pain, I mean.”

She frowned at him, puzzled. “Why? It’s only a couple of stitches. Just do it.”

Wynn moved closer to the large brazier he kept burning in the tent, taking a lamp across with him and laying it on a table. His assistant brought a bowl of hot water with leaves in it, just like the one Jenevra had used with Captain Tessier earlier in the day. “If we work over here, Your Highness, it will help to stop you getting cold again. We’re going to have to lose the blanket for a while to do this.” He patted the table. “Lie down there, and we’ll get going.” He glanced at Tessier who was pacing about looking uncomfortable. “If you want to make yourself useful, Captain, you could go bring some dry clothes for her.”

Jenevra rolled her eyes, but made no other objection as Tessier came over to the table, leaning down so his face was by hers and muttering “I will be back. Behave.” Running quickly to her tent, the Captain delved through the small bag of clothing, dragging out the softest things he could find. Thinking ahead of himself, he asked Raik’s steward, to place a small flask of brandy in the princess’s tent.

While Wynn was stitching up the two large gashes in Jenevra’s side, Captain Tessier returned and took a couple of minutes for himself to assess how badly hurt she was. The first cut Misha had made ran almost the entire width of her body, across the lower part of her ribs, but didn’t seem to be too deep. The sword had penetrated her left side, exactly at her waist, a straight line between the front and the back wounds; the healer was right when he said it was an easy area to strain and rip open. Her hands and feet were cut, and there were cuts, scrapes and bruises all over her from being flung against the rocks. Tessier also allowed himself a brief moment to admire the figure lying in front of him still in the tight black trousers he’d commented on earlier; and a wide band of leather tied across her chest. He bent to whisper into her ear, “You’re still having problems with your clothes. These appear to have shrunk somewhat in the sea.”

Jenevra didn’t open her eyes, but a smile flickered. “Does that mean you’re not angry with me anymore?”

“I’m absolutely furious,” he said softly, his moustache tickling her ear. “But I’m saving that conversation for later.”

“Finished, Your Highness,” Wynn announced, wiping his hands off on a towel and reaching for a bandage to wrap around her waist. Asking Captain Tessier to excuse himself, the healer helped Jenevra change into the clean, dry clothes. “Still pushing the pain away, Princess?” he enquired in an admonitory manner. “You know we’ve talked about that.” Pulling her up to stand, he began wrapping the bandage round her.

“Ki-Nimh thinks it’s a problem too.” Jenevra was vague; dismissive.

“He’s right,” Wynn nodded sagely. “An abnormally high tolerance for pain like yours can potentially be a bad thing, although those of us without it often believe otherwise.” He picked the blanket up again from by the brazier and wrapped it around the princess. “Rest is what you need now, Your Highness; plenty of it—and no exercise. Not until that side heals. Good food and rest.” He handed her a packet of herbs wrapped in paper. “Soak your hands and feet in a solution of this a couple of times a day. It’ll take the bruising down quickly, and help those cuts to heal.”

Jenevra nodded. “Thanks, Wynn.” She hesitated slightly. “You don’t absolutely have to tell Commander Rabenaldt about everyone who’s been in here do you?”

Wynn smiled craftily, as he pushed her gently into Captain Tessier’s waiting hands. “Only if they don’t follow my instructions, Highness.”

Back in her tent, Jenevra stopped dead as she saw Ki-Nimh’s sword lying on the table. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her composure and dropped down onto the bench at the side of the table, still staring at it. Tentatively she reached for the hilt, trying to untie the red cord she had tied around it. Frowning as her shaking, battered hands struggled to cooperate, and the blanket she had round her slipped from her shoulders, she swore in annoyance.

“I know what you need.” Tessier announced, making her jump as she’d forgotten he was there. “This’ll warm you up faster than those blankets,” he promised, pouring a large quantity of amber liquid into a cup and placing it into her hands. Pouring one for himself, he sat down, uninvited, in the large chair.

Jenevra put the drink on the table, sitting stiffly on the end of the bench. Although her fingers continued picking at the cords, her eyes were distant, haunted.

Completely focused on her, Tessier set his drink down and knelt in front of her; taking hold of both her hands. “Seriously, you need to drink this.” He held the cup out to her again, wrapping her fingers around it. As her gaze slid away again, Tessier sighed, recognizing that the events of the night were catching up to the young girl. Guiding her hands with his, he managed to get her to swallow a mouthful of the warming liquid. He wrapped the blanket round her once more, picking her up in his arms, and moving over to the chair; thoroughly startled as the princess suddenly came back to life, struggling violently.

“What the … what’re you doing?” She tried to wriggle from his grip, a panicked look on her face.

Fortunately, she had nothing like her usual strength, and Captain Tessier held her easily as he sat down, holding her tightly against him. “Will you calm down? What on earth is the problem? Just sit still. You’ll feel warmer.”

Unable to break his encircling grasp, Jenevra pushed against his chest, but she had nothing left in her. Breathing rapidly, she had no choice but to be held, and slowly, very slowly, stopped trying to fight and leaned against him.

Very softly, he kissed her.

Her eyes widened; looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and wonder.

Tessier kissed her again, a long passionate kiss this time that seemed to take possession of her soul, and left her gasping.

Pushing herself away slightly onto the edge of his knee, Jenevra chewed on her lip, reminded of several other occasions and praying this would turn out like none of them. “Is that what it’s supposed to be like?”

“What’s supposed to be like?” He saw bright patches of pink appearing high on her cheekbones.

“A kiss.” Totally flushed now, she stared at the floor. “Is that how a kiss is supposed to feel?”

“Why? I thought you told me you’d been kissed before?” A teasing smile appeared on Tessier’s face as he watched Jenevra trying to overcome her embarrassment. He took one of her hands in his, kissing each bruised finger; planting a warm kiss in the center of her palm, and one on the inside of her wrist. Placing his feet up on the table, he slid her back towards him, holding her tightly against his chest. “What did this one feel like, Princess?”

Lip caught between her teeth, she raised bewildered eyes to his face. “Like everything inside had turned to melted butter,” she whispered.

Tessier felt a moment of pure satisfaction, a triumph beyond anything he had hoped for. “Melted butter?” He murmured; crushing her mouth under his again as she nodded. His lips were hot and strong on hers, tenderly demanding as his thumb stroked along her jaw and down her neck. He lifted his head, watching her run her tongue along her lips, and a slow smile curve her mouth. When her eyes fluttered open again, the expression of utter trust in them made him feel like a god, and he realized right then that—good or bad—he couldn’t live without her in his life.