Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (31 page)

Recovering felt like a long slow process to the princess. The first day Jenevra had been fully conscious was almost five days after the initial collapse. Weak as she was she was still as determined as ever, asking for Brogan, and proceeding to give him instructions as to the Flight’s training schedule; much to his secret relief and amusement. Until Lady Menzetti found out what she was doing and chased Brogan out.

“Kian can work with them, Jenna,” she told the princess. “If he trained you, he can certainly work with your Flight, don’t you think? You just need to concentrate on getting your own strength back, so that you can work with them too.”

Ruefully, Jenevra had acknowledged that Lady Menzetti was right, informing Brogan that Ki-Nimh, her mentor from the Island, would be helping them with their training. “Tore help you,” she murmured. “You’ll all wish you had me back before he’s finished with you! You’d better tell D’Agostino to watch his mouth. Ki-Nimh won’t put up with his comments.”

“Really?” Brogan’s grin was huge. “I’ll try to remember to tell him, Captain.”

It was another four days before Lady Menzetti would allow Jenevra out of the main house. She had let Mikhail join in some light work with the Flight earlier in the week, knowing that he needed to start rebuilding his strength; but she was still concerned about Jenevra’s lingering weakness, not wanting to overtax the princess before she was ready. When Jenevra finally came out to see the Flight it was only to observe. She looked shockingly pale to the Flight; none of her normal vivaciousness had returned yet.

In the short time that Master Ki (as the Flight were calling him) had been training the Flight, Jenevra could already see differences. The casual nature of the Flight was no longer evident. Tall, lean, and looking as though he’d been carved out of living granite, Master Ki was a tough disciplinarian. D’Agostino was tight and focused; it hadn’t taken Ki-Nimh long to cure him of commenting out loud … just a couple of days worth of sharp blows to the backs of his calves whenever he said anything. All of them were looking tidier. A sudden fashion had broken out among them for scraping their hair back into the tight braid worn by most of the Order. Even Spider Baudoin’s curls had been pulled back, like Misha’s.

Jenevra grinned. Those things hadn’t been important to her, but if Ki-Nimh could impart them to the Flight, so be it. Several days later, she began training again herself. Concerned at how hard the talisman had hit her, Jenevra couldn’t remember a time when she had felt this bad before, ever. Knowing that the talisman could be operated again at any time, she knew she couldn’t afford to be this weak again.

Slowly, Kian had begun working Jenevra and Mikhail together again, just as they had done on the Island. After the regular sessions with the Flight, they would work slowly and carefully on sword drills, side by side, move by move. It was like their first year in the Order; basics, building their skills again, piece by piece.

It became something of a routine for the Flight to gather at the top of the gardens, lounging on the lawn in the pale afternoon sun to watch the training sessions. At the bottom of the grassy slope, next to the ornamental lake, the tall lean figure of Ki-Nimh would stand, arms folded, calling move after move to his two students. Falling back easily into the habit of obedience, Jenevra and Mikhail moved as one; improving daily in speed and strength. Having previously been so highly trained and physically fit, once they began working seriously their skills revived quickly. Before long they were back running at the front of the Flight, instead of lagging behind.

Those members of the Flight who hadn’t been in the Throne Room the night of Jenevra’s investiture as Protector had been astounded watching Jenevra and Mikhail train with wooden practice swords. The initial side by side drills had given way to full contact fighting, each of them flowing seemingly effortlessly into a sequence of moves that blocked the other. They knew each other’s style so well, they rarely landed a blow, blocking and parrying each move. They had even fought blindfolded with almost mystical perception; halting when Ki-Nimh shouted the order, with their swords each an inch or two away from the other’s throat.

The Flight watched them with a growing saddened understanding. Jenevra and Mikhail were like two halves of the same person; so closely linked that sometimes it was hard to understand how they could ever be apart. The focus and closeness they had was something no-one else would ever have with either of them; an intensity of purpose and shared understanding that created a wall around them. When they fought there was a connection between them; their eyes never leaving each other. They began to really see that ‘their’ Princess, their Captain, would never be with anyone the way she was with Misha; although there didn’t appear to be anything remotely romantic in the connection between them. It also became clear to most of the men how hard it was for each of them to know that they couldn’t remain together; this bond was reaching the time when it would be severed forever. Misha’s marriage to Princess Artela had already been announced, and it was really only a matter of time until Jenevra was promised to someone for the Empire’s benefit.

Several weeks of good food, plenty of rest and carefully planned exercise soon brought both Jenevra and Misha back to glowing good health, although Jenevra had seen a return of the nightmares. Her sleeping was so erratic anyway this made very little difference to her recovery. She developed a habit of walking down to the sea most evenings. Mirizir sat on the coast, huge sand dunes breaking the strong sea breezes before they reached the estate.

Lady Menzetti loved to walk along the shore too, so they tended to go together, strolling and talking; sometimes just sitting in silence watching the sea. Over the course of the weeks at Mirizir, Jenevra had spent more time talking to Lady Menzetti (who was insisting that Jenevra call her Graea) than she had ever spent talking to any other woman. It had been something of a revelation.

“They knew I wasn’t the one when my health began to fail,” Graea had told the princess. “I had been with them for three years then, but my breathing just wasn’t right any more. The Master at the time allowed me to leave my training. They sent me home, and I went back to Court where I married Francesco.”

“The Chancellor’s name is Francesco?” Jenevra’s eyes twinkled. “I always just think of him as ‘Chancellor’.”

Graea laughed lightly, giving Jenevra a tiny glimpse of the vibrant young woman Graea had been in her youth, before her health declined. “He can be a bit pompous, can’t he?” she smiled. “But he’s still Francesco at home. No-one is born old, Jenna! He was quite the dashing young Count you know. He still makes my heart skip a beat, even now.” Graea’s smile faded. “He was very angry about what had happened to my health on the Island.”

“He knew where you’d gone?” Jenevra was incredulous.

“You can’t go into a marriage with that sort of secret lying between you, Jenna. We’d been in love with each other since before I left for the Island. He waited all those years, not knowing if I was ever coming back, never hearing from me; not even knowing where I had gone or why. You know how that is.” She had looked out at the sun setting on the sea. “He really hates the fact that I’m too weak to stay at Court with him all the time. The mountain air takes my breath away in winter. I’m much happier here by the sea. When Kian was born, I became even weaker.” She turned her head toward Jenevra. “You know, having you and the Flight here, with Kian, has really done me good. I haven’t felt this alive in years.”

“But won’t the Chancellor be angry if he finds out you’ve had us here … you know, three of us from the Island?”

“Yes,” Graea responded matter-of-factly. “He’ll be livid. He and Kian haven’t spoken for years. Not since Kian stayed on the Island after his training. And I think we all know how he feels about you!”

Jenevra chortled. “It’s not like he makes much of a secret of it.” She sat down on the sand, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them. “You said, you weren’t ‘the one’,” Jenevra remembered the start of their conversation. “The one what?”

“The Eligia Shala,” Graea replied. “Dai-Nimh told you the prophecy, didn’t he?”

Jenevra shook her head. “Never mentioned it that I recall. It can’t have been important if he didn’t mention it … although the words sound kind of familiar.” She let it go.

Graea looked as if she was about to speak, but sighed instead.

They sat in a companionable silence for a while, watching the sun sink below the horizon; watching as the twin moons of the summer sky rose pale and luminous, mirror images of each other in the darkness. “They’re like Misha and me,” Jenevra murmured.

Graea gazed intently at her. “What do you mean by that?”

Jenevra shrugged. “Each of us reflects the other. Our strengths and weaknesses complement each other. When we work together like we’ve been doing again here, it feels so right. We know each other so well. I can’t imagine ever being so connected with anyone like I am with Misha.”

“He’s betrothed. You do remember?”

“Yes, I remember. I’m not talking about marrying him. I just can’t imagine being this close with anyone else.”

Graea rubbed gently on the young girl’s back, hunched up to the side of her, and then patted Jenevra’s shoulder. “Come on then, help me up. If we don’t start heading back, they’ll send out a search party!”

“Don’t give up on the idea of love just because you can’t be with Misha, Jenna,” she continued as they walked slowly back through the chilly sand, both barefoot. “I had a training partner on the Island too, and we were as close as you and Misha. It’s the nature of the training, to rely on each other … to have that level of trust. I still remained in love with Francesco.”

“Yes,” Jenevra sighed. “But you were already in love with him before you went. How will I ever find someone who understands me like Misha does?”

“Why on earth would you want that?”

“What?”

“Why do you want a man who understands you? You need to keep them guessing. Half the fun is learning to understand each other over time. You won’t get true passion from a man who thinks he understands you. The real secret after your time in the Order is to find a man you respect too much to kill—or one who makes you laugh.” She gave the young girl a knowing look.

Jenevra laughed. The respectable Chancellor’s wife walking demurely next to her, barefoot on a beach, talking about killing people was just too funny.

“I’m serious,” Graea said; and something in her tone made Jenevra pause. “The night the Emperor made you Protector, Misha challenged you. If Kian hadn’t called the halt would you have finished that stroke you were making?”

Jenevra considered the question carefully. Most people assumed she had stopped because of Misha’s mother’s scream, and she had made no move to disillusion them. In fact, Ki-Nimh had been directly in front of them and had called the same command he would have done in training for an immediate cessation. Would she have finished that killing stroke? Surely not. Surely she loved Misha too much for that to be possible?

 CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

^“
Yes, Kian? Did you want me?” Lady Menzetti asked as her son entered the breakfast room several days later. Kian paused only to bark orders at Jenevra and Mikhail who were disappearing rapidly down the hallway.

“You think that’s a real problem, Mother?” Kian asked, continuing a conversation he’d been having with his mother the evening before, regarding the young pair of royals.

“Not really. I think they would like to be in love with each other—maybe they even are a little bit: but Jenna at least is still putting the Order and the Empire ahead of her own feelings. I’d worry more about Misha.” Lady Menzetti stepped out of the room onto the pathway outside the huge windows. “Walk with me, Kian. We have things to discuss before you leave.”

“I’m leaving?”

“Jenna just received instructions to escort Misha home for his wedding immediately. Neither of them was thrilled about it, which is why they were disappearing as you arrived.”

“And I’m going with them?”

“I really think it would be a good idea for you not to leave them alone together, Kian. Apart from anything else you are the only three not on the Island. You should be with them.”

Gazing out over the gardens, arms folded inside his loose gray sleeves, Kian nodded. “Maybe Jenna and I can go to the Island after the wedding,” he mused. “We can find out what’s going on then. You will be staying here, Mother, won’t you? I don’t think you should be chasing around too much …”

“At my age?” Graea finished for him. “No. I’ll be here. Just keep me informed, Kian. Try to keep them safe.”

“I’ll do what I can. You know I can’t make any promises; the Order requires obedience, and Jenna has the added complication of the Empire and this Protectorship on top of that.” He kissed his mother’s hand gently; wiping a tear away from her cheek. “I know you’ve grown fond of the princess; I’ll look out for her as much as I can.”

“She’s just too young for all this, Kian,” Lady Menzetti turned away from him. “You truly don’t understand what you’re all asking her to give up. And she’s just starting to realize it.”

Jenevra was discussing plans for leaving Mirizir with Brogan. The Flight would be glad to get back on the road, she knew. Mirizir had been necessary and useful, but they needed more purpose than that. “Although I don’t call having to attend a wedding a real reason,” she huffed, thoroughly irritated with the mission. “Still, once we’ve done that, I guess we can go on down to Lorthia. Caddoc’s sons should be good for some hunting … and there are all those huge mountains down there too,” she added, brightening slightly at the idea.

Brogan groaned. “Well, that’s you and Baudoin ecstatic then, Captain!”

“Maybe we could even ask Admiral Massili for a ship,” she pondered out loud, an excited gleam appearing in her eyes. “We could sail round to Jantara.”

“Maybe we should just get to Kansk first, Captain.” Brogan noted dryly. “Let’s get our first task completed; deliver everyone where they should be. It’s just a thought.”

Sticking her tongue out at him, Jenevra grinned. “Does it ever get boring, Brogan? Being right all the time—”

But Brogan wasn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes were focused behind her, watching something with a puzzled frown.

Turning to see what was happening, she saw Misha charging towards them on a solid-looking black horse. Understanding immediately, she began running towards him, reaching up with one arm. With barely a hitch in the horse’s stride she swung up behind him and they headed out of the estate together.

“Dammit,” Brogan grumbled. “Bernardo! Bran!” As the two men came towards him, the Sergeant told them to follow Jenevra and Mikhail. “If the Captain argues, just bring the Prince back—tied up if you have to. The Emperor’s orders were to get him safely home, so we can legitimately do that. She’ll follow.”

As they loped off towards the low building the Flight had been staying in, Brogan ruffled his rapidly graying hair with both hands, sighed and walked in the same direction.

Holding lightly onto Misha as they cantered through woodland a mile or so from the Menzetti estates, Jenevra smiled. “Where are we going?” she called. “Not that I care!”

Misha glanced back over his shoulder. “I thought we’d head on up the coast a little. If we go this way we can use the river to disguise the tracks before we cut across.”

“Good idea! They’re bound to send Bernardo after us.”

“That’s what I thought. Jenna, are you alright with this? I didn’t ask you, but I just couldn’t stay there … not today.”

“I’m here aren’t I? I chose to come, Misha.” She slid her hands further round him, resting her cheek against the back of his shoulders.

An hour later they rode out onto a large expanse of rough green sea grass, bordering more dunes and a vast sandy shore. Not another soul was in sight; no sounds except the sea and wind, with the occasional cry of a lonely cormorant. Sliding down from the horse Jenevra surveyed the view with a deep satisfaction. “This is wonderful,” she said. “It’s so peaceful.” Pulling her boots off, she wriggled her toes into the sand, beaming delightedly.

Misha looked on bemused. “I have never understood that about you. What is this thing about having bare feet?”

Bounding up one of the large dunes, Jenevra stood at the top, wind whisking strands of her hair out of its braid. “It just feels good. Like the wind … or the sea!” She hurtled down the far side of the dune where Misha couldn’t see her.

Cantering easily onto the beach he soon caught up with her. Leaning down and catching her up in one arm, he swung her up in front of him; elated as she leaned back against him comfortably. Riding through the low surf, they headed further up the coast until they came to a large rocky headland. Walking the horse, they turned up into the dunes again. Although the sun was high, the north wind was strong, whipping sand up around them. One of the dunes had a deep hollow just below its crown slightly sheltered from the wind, surrounded by marram grass, and they sat quietly watching the sea together.

Watching her as she turned her face up to the sun with her eyes closed, Misha reached out and just tucked a piece of hair back behind Jenevra’s ear. She smiled at the touch, pushing her feet deep into the cold sand again.

“I’ll miss you,” Misha murmured into her ear, strong arms going around her and pulling her closer to him.

Jenevra opened heartbreakingly blue eyes, gazing directly up at him. She touched his face gently. “We’ll spend our whole lives doing what other people want us to. This is our day, Misha: the only day we’ll ever have where we can just be ourselves. There’s no Order, no Palaces, no Emperors, no Kings. It’s just us—for the first time—the only time.”

Sensing the despair deeply hidden like his own; Misha said nothing. After a long moment of searching each other’s faces as if truly seeing them for the first time, Misha sighed deeply, closing his eyes in reluctant resignation as he realized that the deep friendship he saw in her eyes wouldn’t be strong enough to make her willing to break the Oath they’d sworn on the Island. Holding her tightly, as if by doing so she could never leave him, they sat watching the waves crashing pointlessly on the shore; his thick curls tangling in her hair as the wind blew around them.

Thinking back over the time he had known her, Misha remembered something. “Jenn,” he said. “When we were ill; when you were still unconscious …”

“When you came to find me?” she noted with a gentle smile.

“Yes. Well, I saw mists.”

“Mmm, me too. It’s always like that when the talisman speaks to me.”

“Speaks?” Misha’s eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown.

Jenevra’s smile deepened. “That’s what I call it. I don’t know how else to describe it. But it’s usually the same; mists, and shadows of people talking to me.”

“People? That’s what I wanted to ask you. I thought I saw a shadow of a person. I’ve never seen that with my talisman—or heard voices. I just get the mists and kind of an impression in my mind, as if I know something I hadn’t known before.”

“Funny,” Jenevra commented. “I thought we’d have the same experience with the talismans. Never occurred to me that it would be different for each of us; although,” she looked pensive. “I suppose it makes sense. We think differently, so thoughts come in different ways.” As if aware of its being discussed, the talisman deepened its customary pulse inside her; warning her of danger if she didn’t pull her mind away and stop talking about it.

“It’s bothering you now, isn’t it?” Misha said gently. “You get kind of a tight look around your eyes,” he explained as she looked at him. “Still telling you I’m a danger to you?” His smile took the sting out of the question.

Nodding, Jenevra sighed. “I wish Dai-Nimh had had more time to explain it,” she said. “Maybe the danger is in me. Maybe it just tries to warn me of things I might do.”
Oaths I might break
, she thought glancing sideways at Misha’s familiar profile. Shaking her head, she pushed both hands deep into the sand, pulling them up and letting the silky grains slip through her fingers, like the time they had left.

Riding back to the estate along the coastline, Jenevra sat silently behind Misha again, leaning closely into him. Neither of them spoke; there was nothing to say. Their day was gone, sinking with the sun. As they neared the estate, Jenevra spotted the slight figure of Lady Menzetti walking along the beach with the tall form of Ki-Nimh. Squeezing Misha round the waist to stop, she rubbed her face against his back, trying to take some part of him with her. “I’ll go talk to them.”

“Jenna—” Misha stopped as her fingers touched his lips. With one last lingering hug he let her go; watched her walking slowly along the sands to their Mentor. Reaching the stables, Misha found himself face to face with fully half the Flight and a totally irate Brogan.

“Do you have any idea of the danger you put her in? I swear if you weren’t a Prince I’d kill you!” Brogan’s fury was impressive, his bulky form swelling with his anger.

Misha stared back at him with defeated eyes. Pulling a heavy bladed knife from his belt he handed it to the ranting sergeant. “Go ahead.” He said dully. “Do it. Save me from a lifetime without Jenna.” He glared at them all. “Just think what a wonderful revenge you can have; you’re taking me to be married to someone I don’t care about and you’ll take the better part of me away with you!” He stomped off into the shadows.

“Damn if that didn’t just take all the fun out of it!” D’Agostino muttered.

On the beach Jenevra approached Graea and Ki-Nimh. “Sorry,” she said as she reached them.

Graea’s eyes were filled with sympathy. “Are you alright?” she asked simply.

Jenevra nodded. “We just rode and talked.”

“We’ll talk later, Jenna.” Graea made her way slowly back to the house.

The princess stood silently on the sand next to the man who had guided her for the last five years, waiting for his recriminations.

Ki-Nimh gazed steadily out across the ocean in front of them. In the customary gray of the Order he looked as stern and unyielding as steel. “What possessed you?”

Jenevra scrubbed at the sand with her foot. “I don’t know, Ki-Nimh.”

“That’s no answer, Jenna, and you know it. There is always a reason. What was yours for abandoning your Flight and the orders of your Emperor?”

“Selfishness, stupidity … because it felt good. They’re all wrong Ki-Nimh, I know. It was just—” She stopped; not knowing how to explain such a gross dereliction of duty. No excuse would satisfy.