Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (13 page)

Christiana glanced indignantly at her twin, and Jenevra’s eyes glinted with smoldering anger again.

“No, Jenn, I’m serious,” Richard pressed. “Stephan and I are soldiers by profession. How could you even think you could do it?”

Jenevra shook her head in disbelief. “I really appreciate your vote of confidence.” She pushed through them towards the door once again, turning before she got to it. “I told you, this role is traditional. The youngest, the most expendable member of the Imperial family has always taken the position. You all have responsibilities and duties within the Empire that far outweigh anything I have. I am expendable. I have had more training than you know of, and I want to do it. Phillip thinks it can work and …” Jenevra paused, raising clear blue eyes at them. “It may surprise you to know that Commander Rabenaldt thinks it will work too. That’s good enough for me.”

“Jenn—” Christiana started forward, hand stretched toward her sister, but Jenevra was already gone, a soft, “Goodbye,” falling behind her as the door swung closed.

Deeply saddened that her own family would still not make any effort to understand her, even after she’d been away for so long, Jenevra returned to her rooms and, flopping down onto the soft bed, she let her mind drift away, floating on a cloud of feathers. She pictured the serene faces of her masters at the temple, as they sat in meditation, and felt her spirit reach out for that same tranquility. Unconsciously her hands met on the amulet she wore around her neck, infusing her with a deep sense of connection to the peace of the island. Jenevra felt the jarring rhythm of the palace intrude, sweeping away her short respite. Sighing, she closed her eyes for another brief moment, hating this place and wondering, not for the first time, what she was getting into.

 CHAPTER TEN

Jenevra was just swinging up into the saddle, attempting to escape the palace before anyone thought to look for her, when the groom dashed across the courtyard with a summons from Arrilia Neilla. The Empress had finally found the time to deal with her niece. Not waiting to change, Jenevra headed towards the Empress’s suite of rooms, dreading the early morning interview. She knew that Arrilia Neilla was not happy about either the position of Protector or the way Phillip had independently chosen to reinstall it. Chewing distractedly on the side of her lip, Jenevra hesitated just momentarily as the doors to Arrilia Neilla’s private rooms were swung open for her. Jenevra’s sweeping gaze quickly established that there were only her Aunt and Lennia Manvi in the room; no sign of Phillip, Commander Rabenaldt, or even Chancellor Menzetti. She wasn’t entirely sure whether this was a good sign or not.

“Ah, Jenevra,” The Empress turned towards her niece. “Come in.” She waited for Jenevra to cross the room and bob an awkward curtsey to her. Rolling her eyes at Lennia, Arrilia Neilla motioned for Jenevra to take a seat by the window. Settling herself opposite Jenevra, she folded her hands in her lap and gazed at the young woman whose presence was always unsettling for her.

Jenevra was the image of Arrilia Neilla’s younger sister, Saphila. Slender and darkly bewitching, Saphila had broken the hearts of almost the entire Court before finally deciding to fall in love with Stephan Couressime, the Duke of Coural, a tall, blonde, rugged bear of a man. They had been deliriously happy together, their first son, Stephan, born the same year as Arrilia Neilla’s youngest one, Phillip.

Saphila had supported Arrilia Neilla through that terrible time when her two oldest sons were trapped during a siege, and died of a virulent disease in the same week. They had been terribly young; ten and eleven years old; full of all the promise of youth. The tragic loss of both the heir to the Empire and the next in line made Saphila painfully aware of how fragile life was, and she insisted that her children would never have to leave the court as Neilla’s sons had done, to live with another royal family for training in etiquette and duties. Stephan and Phillip, both just emerging from infancy, stayed near their mothers in the Imperial Palace. Arrilia Neilla couldn’t afford any more chances now that Phillip was the sole heir to the Marissime Empire.

Shortly after the twins’ fourth birthday, Saphila returned to the Couressime family estates in Coural for the birth of her fourth child, Jenevra. Stephan Couressime rushed from his duties with Raik Rabenaldt’s Border Patrol to be at her side; both utterly captivated by this small dark echo of her mother. Their first three had all been large blonde replicas of their father; bonny bouncing babies with golden hair and pink cheeks. Saphila Jenevra Couressime had skin like porcelain, a thick mop of dark hair and the clear blue eyes of all Couressimes.

Returning to Court some months later, they were surprised by a raiding party. Although the Duke of Coural was no mean warrior, he only had a small escort with him that day and the ambush soon overwhelmed them. Fighting for the lives of his beautiful wife and daughter, he was wounded many times. Any one of them would have been fatal, but he struggled on, knowing that he was their only hope. As the light died in his eyes, he saw his friend, Lieutenant Raik Rabenaldt leaping from his horse to defend Saphila and the child. Knowing that against all hope the Border Patrol had arrived, he sank into death believing he had gained them time to live. His eyes were blind to Raik holding Saphila’s dead body, an arrow sticking out of her chest, and an ugly gash across her throat. He never saw the tears in Raik’s eyes as he picked up the crying bundle that lay on the ground next to Saphila: didn’t witness the carnage as the Border Patrol unleashed its collective fury on the raiders.

The Border Patrol had almost adopted the little princess by the time they reached the safety of the Imperial Palace. She was somehow a reminder of all they fought to keep safe at home; and it was well that the Border Patrol cared for her, because the Imperial Palace was thrown into deepest mourning for the Duke and Duchess of Coural. Arrilia Neilla was bereft; her sister and brother-in-law following after her young sons. She had little time to notice the baby they had been bringing back to court with them. When she was aware of the child it was only as the cause of the fateful journey.

The Emperor, her husband, Reiff Marissime, held Jenevra, tears filling his own eyes as Stephan’s eyes gazed steadily at him from Saphila’s beautiful face. Try as he might, he could not convince Arrilia Neilla to hold her. Even Lennia Manvi couldn’t persuade her to it. So, the care of Jenevra Couressime was left to Lennia, Serena Massili and, as she grew older, the Border Patrol.

Not until after the death of her husband, the Emperor, did Arrilia Neilla show any interest in her sister’s daughter. As he lay dying, Reiff had held onto her hand and begged her to see the child; to hold her. “She is beautiful, Neilla,” he had whispered hoarsely. “Beautiful, like Saphila. She’s your niece, Neilla; your flesh and blood. Saphila’s daughter. She needs a mother. She needs you.”

And so, when she had buried her husband, along with her memories of her sons and her sister and brother-in-law, Arrilia Neilla had taken her first real look at Saphila Jenevra Couressime; the small child who seemed to link every death that had come close to destroying Arrilia Neilla’s life.

Blinking back tears, Arrilia Neilla shook her head slightly. The guilt was fresh every time she looked at Jenevra. She had sent her to the Order with something approaching relief that she wouldn’t have to see her dead sister’s face gazing at her every day. The young woman sitting in front of her today wasn’t so very different from that tiny girl she had taken in her arms all those years ago: the slender figure, like her mother; porcelain skin slightly warmed by the sun. Masses of rich dark hair, pulled back into a braid again, and those eyes … no-one ever forgot meeting a Couressime because of their eyes.

“Your Majesty?” Jenevra could see the Empress was far away.

Arrilia Neilla smiled at her niece, reaching forward to pat her gently on the hand. “I’m sorry, Jenevra. You look so much like your mother. I’m afraid I was just wallowing in some old memories there for a moment.”

“Oh, not again!” Jenevra blurted, closing her eyes and catching her lip between her teeth as she realized what she was doing.

Arrilia Neilla was pierced again by how much she had failed with this child. Her mother, Saphila, had never looked doubtful for one day of her life. She had grown up universally adored and sure of her welcome everywhere. Jenevra was much more guarded, something Arrilia Neilla had never seen until now. Never quite sure she was wanted; always knowing that her birth had led, however indirectly, to her parents’ deaths. Then sent away to some remote island to people none of her family knew; forced into making a family of the strangers she found there. Again, Arrilia Neilla was overcome with sadness for this living image of her long-dead sister, but still could not find a way to reach out to her.

Arrilia Neilla took a deep breath and focused on her niece once more. “Why does that look like what you were wearing when you arrived back at court?” She waved Lennia over to join them. “Lennia, doesn’t that look like—”

“It is the same thing, Your Majesty,” Jenevra interrupted. “Lady Massili did make me wear other things, but I was just going to go riding, so I thought I’d put these on. They’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable!” Arrilia Neilla and Lennia chorused, choking. “You don’t wear clothes to be comfortable, my dear,” the Empress continued. “You wear them so people know who you are.”

“Well, I know who I am, and I didn’t think the horse would care too much.”

“Jenevra!” Arrilia Neilla’s smile belied her irritated tone. “I would have thought that you would be giving more thought to your image now that you’re going to be Imperial Protector.”

Jenevra’s eyes widened, one eyebrow shooting upwards in query.

“Well?” The Empress asked. “What are you going to wear?”

“For what?”

“For your role as Imperial Protector, of course.” Arrilia Neilla’s shoulders drooped in mock dismay. “Don’t tell me. You thought you’d just wear those things?” She waved at the tired gray outfit Jenevra was wearing.

Jenevra looked down at herself. “Well, honestly … yes. Why not? I want to be inconspicuous—you know, like a shadow. That’s what we’re called; the Shadow Flight. I thought the whole gray thing worked rather well.”

“My dear child, you simply cannot expect to be taken seriously if you don’t look the part. If you are going to be Imperial Protector, and stand next to Phillip for formal occasions—”

“What?”

“Then it’s important that people know who you are. You need to be conspicuous. They have to know what you’re there for. You have to look … well, Imperial.”

“… and protective,” added Lennia, enjoying the surprise on Jenevra’s face. “Like a warrior.”

“Exactly,” agreed Arrilia Neilla. “Protective. So some sort of formal outfit seems to be called for. Maybe something with metal … you know, suggesting armor.”

Arrilia Neilla moved towards the door. “Come along, Jenevra. We have outfits to plan, and I won’t have time for this tomorrow. We have to set this in motion today, or you won’t be ready to be presented.”

“Presented? What?” As Arrilia Neilla swept out of the room, Lennia chivvied Jenevra along behind her. “Where are we going?”

“To the long gallery in the East Wing.” Before Jenevra could ask another question, her aunt supplied, “To take a look at the last Imperial Protector’s uniform. Maybe we can get some ideas for yours there.”

The three of them stood around the glass case. Lennia’s eyes were sparkling and Arrilia Neilla’s lips were folded tightly together. Jenevra stared at the tiny display of sapphire studded leather, aghast. “You cannot be serious!” She walked around it, shaking her head in disbelief. “He wasn’t wearing that in the portrait Phillip showed me. Absolutely not! I’m not sure it’s even legal.” She frowned at the display. “Certainly shouldn’t be; you’d catch your death in that.” She looked over at her Aunt and lady-in-waiting. “You can’t possibly see me in something like this?”

“Not really, dear, no.” Arrilia Neilla smiled. “But you get the idea? It needs to be something eye-catching.”

“I get the idea, Aunt Neilla.” Jenevra’s shock threw out her carefully remembered formality. “But that’s eye-catching, not eye-gouging we’re looking for.” She shook her head at the display case again. “I don’t know what the last Imperial Protector was going for, but I’ll bet any number of assassins got past him while everyone was busy staring at his—”

“Jenevra!”

“Jewels … I was going to say jewels, Aunt Neilla. Honestly.”

“Yes, well, why don’t you and Lennia go find Serena and see what you can conjure up? Just remember it needs to be ready by the wedding.”

“You want me to wear this for the wedding? Lady Massili has other plans, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I believe Phillip’s plan is to formally invest you with the title during the evening banquet and ball. You will need to change into it then.” The Empress started to leave, and then turned back. “Oh, and Jenevra?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t forget to uniform your Flight too, dear. They looked almost as scruffy as you trotting in yesterday.”