Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (4 page)

Bernardo sighed, watching her until sleep claimed him. As he lay dreaming of the tiny girl who, so many years ago now, had taken the place of his dead infant daughter in his heart, he didn’t see Jenevra pull his cloak up over his shoulders. He didn’t feel the light touch of her hand against his face. He didn’t know, and she would never tell him.

 CHAPTER THREE

In the misty light of early morning, Jenevra left the sleeping camp, slipping past Tessier’s sentries with contemptuous ease. She had tied her pack onto the horse she had been riding, and left it tethered with the others. At least, she reasoned, that way they would know she had left of her own will. With her swords slung crossed over her shoulders, Jenevra broke into a steady run towards the east, reveling in the freedom; enjoying it one more time before the palace gates closed her in. The snow was far lighter here on the plain, and Jenevra made good time, happily climbing over a small outcrop of moraine that she knew would take the horsemen at least six hours out of their way. Moving easily as her muscles warmed up, she made swift progress the next day around the city to the far southwestern side, nearest to the palace. Undetected as she climbed over both city and palace walls, the princess shook her head in disgust at the ease with which she entered the palace. Climbing and hopping her way along the balustrades and ledges of the Imperial palace, Jenevra found the window she was looking for, slipped a slim knife under the latch, and dropped softly inside the room.

Although the heavy drapes were closed, the banked fire gave enough light to show Jenevra that her cousin, His Imperial Highness, Phillip Orsatti Marissun was deep in an innocent and untroubled sleep; laying flat on his back in his large canopied bed, a faint smile on his face. Taking a seat on the far end of the bed, Jenevra stretched her legs out, and laid her swords across her knees, sitting patiently until the chilly draught from the open window brought Phillip to unwelcome consciousness. “I thought you were going to sleep all day, Flip,” she announced, as his eyes flickered open, and he registered her presence with shock.

“Jenn?” Phillip responded sleepily to the childhood name she had used, before snapping wide awake in shock. “Jenn?” Speechless, Phillip jumped out of bed and hugged her tightly. Snatching up a dressing gown, he tied it hurriedly, and drew her across to a sofa near the fire. Raking his long dark hair away from his face, he beamed at her. “So the convent’s let you out for the wedding then?”

“Convent? Wedding?” Jenevra pulled away slightly, chewing on one side of her lip. Of all of them, she trusted Phillip. She knew that he too was playing a role he had little taste for; thrust into the duties of the Empire through the actions of others rather than his own choice. They had always understood each other; and his forthcoming accession to the throne was one of the reasons she had been sent back. But, it had been five years. Had everything changed between them? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only just arrived here.” She watched him, warily. “I guess I should see the Empress, but I wanted to see you first.”

She saw Phillip’s eyebrows rise at her use of his mother’s formal title, but he didn’t remark on it; knew better than most how strained that particular relationship had been. “How did you get in here?”

Jenevra blew derisively through her mouth, muttering about incompetent guards, as she pulled the window closed and slipped her hand into a pocket, retrieving a sheaf of thin pieces of paper Dai-Nimh had entrusted to her. Holding the packet in both hands, she made as if to give it to him, and then paused. “Can we talk, Phil, please? This might take a while.” She knew she might not get a second chance to talk to him this freely once her return was known throughout the palace.

Phillip nodded, puzzled by her seeming composure, and sat back ready to listen.

Letting out a long slow breath, Jenevra spoke, quietly and fluently for half an hour as they sat by the fire; interrupted only when Phillip wanted clarification of something. When she finished, Jenevra pressed the small paper packet into his hands. “Now you can read this,” she said.

Phillip didn’t say anything, but opened the packet immediately and read the contents thoroughly. Silently, Jenevra watched him, eyes trained on his face as he read the letter that Dai’Nimh had given her for him. The only instruction had been that she was to give the letter to the Emperor-to-be when he was alone, and it was only to be given to him; not to Arrilia Neilla, just to Phillip.

As he finished reading, Phillip folded the pages of the letter neatly, rose to place it inside a carved wooden box on his mantle shelf, and turned to his young cousin thoughtfully. “Is it true?”

“Is what true? I don’t know what was in the letter, Phil. Dai’Nimh just told me to give it to you.”

Phillip dark eyes gleamed with teasing amusement. “Since when would that have stopped you?”

Jenevra shrugged. “Dai’Nimh said not to read it, so I didn’t. It’s that simple.”

“Hmmm,” Phillip wasn’t convinced. “I guess what I’m asking is, why has this ‘Order’ sent you back to us … me … I mean, the Empire, and why now?” His dark brows drew together as he considered those things left unsaid. “Apparently, it was no convent you’ve been in….”

“Why d’you keep talking about convents?” Jenevra pursed her lips. “As for why I’m here now…you know, Phil, I could have been anyone, sitting there on the end of your bed, with two swords. You could have been dead hours ago.” She rolled her eyes. “All I’ve been told is that I should be here to keep you safe. Nothing else.”

“No, no, this is all too mysterious, Jenn. It says I should let you help to defend the Empire. Obviously that’s just ridiculous. You know, when I saw you at the end of the bed, I just thought they’d let you home for the wedding.”

“What wedding?” Jenevra shook her head. “Honestly, Phil, I’m not sure we’re talking about the same things at all. I’ve been sent back to look after you. That’s all. Although given how easily I got in here, it looks like I’m none too soon.” Jenevra mimed sitting on the bed, indicating her swords and drawing her finger across her throat, as Phillip shook his head at her, fished the letter out of the box again, and re-read the last page.

“My wedding,” Phillip finally answered her question. “To Chris…you know, your sister. In about a month or so.” Phillip continued reading, missing the stricken look on his young cousin’s face. “This Dai-Nimh person seems to know an awful lot about what’s going on here.”

Trying to pull her thoughts together, Jenevra took a deep breath and tried to focus on the immediate issues. “He knows most of what’s going on anywhere, Phil. The Order has people everywhere who report all sorts of information back to them. It’s fairly rare for one of us to be sent out to take part in anything away from the Island … on any sort of long-term basis anyway.”

“Us?” Phillip glanced quizzically at her. “You mean it’s really true, what he said about you being one of them? You don’t look like a monk or a warrior come to think of it. I mean, you’re a bit, well … small … aren’t you?”

Jenevra shrugged and chewed on her lip again. “I guess that’s how it looks to you. But that never mattered on the Island. No one in the Order cared how tall I was, how big I looked, or what gender I was. All that mattered was that I was chosen, as we all were, and I completed the same training. There are no breaks for any reason; we all train on the same tasks. I completed the highest level of training that the Order holds—”

“Yes, that’s what this letter says,” Phillip interrupted. “But it doesn’t tell me what that level is. It just says that I should trust you.”

“Well, don’t you?” Jenevra resumed pacing. “Phillip, I don’t know everything that’s in that letter, but I have spent the last five years training harder than anyone you currently have in your Flights. I could probably sit most of them in the dirt within twenty seconds, no matter how much bigger than me they are.” She ignored the rude noises of disbelief emanating from her cousin. “I can help you. I can be in places other people—soldiers—can’t be. Places like your bedroom,” she added pointedly. Stopping, she turned to face Phillip closely; a seriousness in her eyes that was new to him. “Essentially, dear cousin, you have a well-trained assassin, loyal to you alone.” She smiled, flourishing a small bow. “All you have to do is come up with something to distract everyone from that fact.”

Between them they came up with several ideas, each of which they dismissed. Eventually, Phillip said slowly. “You know there’s one we haven’t considered.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Jenevra could see the reluctance to name it in his eyes.

“Um, no you’re not,” he agreed. “I’m not sure I do either, but it would work, I think.” He gave her another quick hug, and grinned. “If you could just turn your back while I throw some clothes on, dear cousin, I think it would be better if I showed you, rather than just tell you. Come on, it’s time I was up anyway.”

“Imperial Protector?” Jenevra was stunned. She looked at the portrait of her distant ancestor wearing the regalia of a long-forgotten position. “You know the trouble that came about last time the Empire had that position. There’s no way they’d let you bring it back.”

“Let me? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be the Emperor, Jenn. I could re-create it as a … a … oh, an act of faith in my new Empire … you know, new beginnings, no superstitions … not allowing the past to dictate the future, that sort of thing.”

Jenevra smiled as her cousin stopped, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Yes,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Yes, I like that. I must remember to use that in a speech sometime soon.” Folding his arms, Phillip’s dark brows drew together. “All right then: if I re-create the Protectorship; do you think you can manage it?”

“Well, I guess it kind of makes sense!” Jenevra agreed, hesitantly. “If you’re Emperor, and married to Chris, that leaves Stephan, Richard and me as the nearest blood relatives, and therefore, heirs to the Empire—in the event you and her future Empress-ness don’t get down to children pretty swiftly.”

Phillip’s ears reddened.

“Anyway,” Jenevra continued. “Stephan and Richard will have seats on the Imperial Council, yes?” Phillip nodded, following the line of thought carefully. “So, they would have a conflict of interests. They couldn’t be totally dedicated to training and moving around with an army; and you couldn’t really afford to have them leave you during serious conflicts or threats to the Empire. You would need their presence to keep the balance in the Council?” She paused as Phillip nodded, fingers still drumming on his chin as he thought.

“So, you need someone you can trust, family, to go out on your behalf. I don’t have any seat on the Council, because I’m a girl. Between you, Chris, Stephan and Richard it’s likely that you’ll come up with enough children to put me way down the line for inheriting anything, so, although I’m family, I’m also what you might call expendable. You know you can trust me.” She shared a swift grin with her cousin at that. “Plus, if you make me Imperial Protector, those people who are worried about the history of the position will think it’s just a ceremonial title to give me something to do. After all, hasn’t it always been the youngest member of the Imperial Family who took the title? That would be me, and those traditionalists would never take a female seriously in that role.”

“That’s true, although it was the youngest male adult of the family if memory serves,” Phillip conceded, rubbing long fingers across his jaw. “It’s also the main flaw with the plan. Richard will be convinced it should be him.”

“Phil,” Jenevra looked straight into his face, a gleam lighting her eyes. “You just said you’re the Emperor … or, at least, you will be. You can just tell Richard you don’t want him doing this, and no-one’s going to argue with you, are they?” Her smile grew as she considered the possibilities. “Very neat, my dear cousin.”

As they began walking back through the hallways of the palace, Jenevra became aware of the curious glances they were getting from the servants. She could see the increased deference given to Phillip as heir apparent, in that no-one approached them to question him about the shabby figure walking with him. The wide marble hallways seemed to echo their footfalls, creating noise in a stark environment that felt hostile to the intrusion. “Some things never change,” Jenevra muttered as they ascended an unadorned staircase of more polished white stone. Phillip had been talking to her, but her memories of the place she had grown up in were flooding back, and they were not of happy times.