Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (54 page)

Five days passed. Jenevra lived her life as Coretta without any regret, but also without any information presenting itself. Remiel and Fara had brought her several pieces of information that they had come across out in the markets and guild houses, but none of them proved to be the lead she was waiting for.

“What ship is that?” she asked Remiel, pointing out through the windows at an unusual shape of sail and deck. “I haven’t seen one like that in the last week. Where’s it from?”

Remiel peered past her, drying up a tankard with a cloth as she washed it and handed it to him. “Labrian,” he noted, dismissing it. “We don’t see them in here very often. Most Labrians don’t drink. It’s something to do with their religion.”

“Labria’s out west isn’t it? Across the ocean, I mean?”

Remiel nodded. “There’s a fair bit of trade goes on between them and us. Mainly perfumes and silks from them: we send food, wheat, that sort of thing. It’s only about a two week journey across to their nearest ports: much longer if you go down around to their southern kingdoms.”

“It looks like a fast ship,” Jenevra noticed the long lines, the low slung deck of the vessel tying up at the harbor. “I wonder if they’ll be going on up to Diruthia?”

“Well now, that’s a right surprise, to be sure,” Remiel commented as five men swathed in dark mantles entered the inn, taking seats at one of the tables nearest the window. “They’re from the Labrian ship,” he explained to Jenevra’s puzzled look. “Very unusual to see them in here. Better take a jug of water with you as well as ale.” He raised his voice in greeting to the Labrians. “Welcome, gentlemen! Hurry up now, Coretta; don’t keep the gentlemen waiting.”

Jenevra picked up a tray with five cups, a jug of ale and a jug of water on it and headed over to the table. “Ale, gentlemen, or would water be more to your tastes?” she asked, placing the tray down.

“You may leave both,” a heavily accented voice said, pushing his hood back.

Glancing at the speaker with a smile, Jenevra’s eyes widened. “Jatar?” she gasped before she could think.

The man leaned forward, a strong tanned hand clamping down on her wrist. “What did you call me?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord, nothing.” Jenevra tried to pull her hand free without attracting anyone else’s attention. The face she was looking into was an almost exact replica of Farid Jatar except, now that she was looking longer, she could see that it wasn’t him. This face was younger, less careworn; although she wasn’t sure when she’d ever thought of Farid as looking troubled. “You … you reminded me of someone … I thought. But I was wrong.” She pulled again, but the hand didn’t let go.

“Who is Jatar?” the young man demanded. “Do you truly know someone who looks like me, or is that just a mistake you made because you do not see many people from my land. Maybe you think we all look alike?”

“No, sir,” Jenevra finally managed to pull her hand away from his crushing grip. Taking a step back from the table she asked, “Can I get anything else for you gentlemen?”

The Labrian shook his head, although his eyes continued to watch her as she moved around the room looking after other guests.

As evening fell, Coretta’s task was to ensure that lamps were lit outside the inn, and to place candles on all of the tables. Stretching up to lift one of the large lanterns down, she found it being lowered to her. The young Labrian was holding the lantern with its door open. Lighting it she stood while he hung it back up. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.” He pushed his cloak back again, revealing a similarity to Farid Jatar that had to be beyond coincidence. “I must ask you again, who is Jatar?”

“A man I know,” she replied simply. “Who bears a striking resemblance to you. I was startled earlier because I thought you were him.”

“Does he have another name, this Jatar you speak of?”

“He might do; if I knew who was asking and why.” Jenevra gazed into the dark eyes watching her face. “How do I know that you don’t mean him any harm?”

“Would you accept my word?” There was a slight smile in the young man’s eyes, but his face remained grave.

“I would accept his, but I don’t know you. Why should I accept your word?”

“You don’t know our people then? Our word is sacred to us. We do not give it lightly—it is a matter of faith.”

She smiled. “Well, that certainly sounds like him. If it is, as you say, a matter of faith, then you won’t mind giving me your name first.”

Pressing his hands to his heart and extending them palms up towards her in a gesture she had seen Farid make on numerous occasions, the young man bowed slightly. “My name is Faris Jattarn. I am searching for my brother who I believe is living in your empire. Our father is very ill and unlikely to live much longer. It is his wish to be reconciled to my brother before his death. My brother’s name is …”

“Farid …” Jenevra finished the sentence for him.

“Then you do know him?”

“I think so; although, you should know, he claims to have no family. I know a man who calls himself Farid Jatar, who is incredibly like you to look at; a man of deep faith and commitment. But he’s not here. In fact, at the moment I can’t tell you exactly where he is.” Jenevra looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Faris bowed again. “I understand. It is enough that I know he is here, somewhere. I will keep searching for him.” He looked surprised as Jenevra suddenly turned away, hiding her face in the shadows, dragging him in front of her. “Is something wrong?”

“Shh,” she hissed at him. “I don’t believe it. What on earth is he doing here?” She peered around Faris at a tall cloaked figure entering the inn, obviously trying to be subtle about his presence there. Eyes narrowing in thought, Jenevra swore softly.

“You know him?” Faris asked quietly.

She nodded briefly. “I do. But I certainly didn’t expect to see him here.” She looked up at Faris. “Thank you for your help with the lantern. I’m sorry I can’t be more help with finding Farid. Possibly if you stay here he may show up. He’s with some other people who are probably looking for me. If they track me here, he’ll be with them.” She turned towards the back of the inn.

“You don’t want this man to see you?” Faris surmised. “He is not one of the men with Farid then?” A gleam of white teeth split his dark face. “You need to get in without being seen?”

Jenevra nodded. “I can slip in through the kitchen.”

“Which is your room?”

Raising her eyebrows, she smiled again. “Your brother wouldn’t consider that an appropriate question, you know.” She pointed to the corner room; the window facing the harbor was open to allow the evening’s cool breezes in.

Faris strode over standing underneath the window with his hands clasped together. “Do you think you could make it up there, with a little help?”

Chuckling softly, Jenevra ran at him, using his hands as a step to propel her up to the window. Grasping the window ledge, she pulled herself up easily, turning round and sitting on the sill to wave at Faris. “Much quicker. Thank you again.”

“I would guess that you have done that before,” the young man observed. “You are not altogether what you seem, I think. We will talk again soon: tomorrow maybe?” Before she could answer he was gone, disappearing back inside the inn.

Jenevra slipped out of her room, craning her head over the banisters to see if she could spot the hooded man in the main room; but there was no sign of him. That meant he was probably upstairs; he could walk out on her at any moment. Sliding silently along the hallway, she listened briefly at the doors, trying to identify the voices inside. Three doors away from her own she found the one she was searching for. The room next to it was unoccupied, so she went in, settling down to listen through the walls to whatever she could manage to hear. For the second time in recent weeks, she had a strong impulse to do something without knowing why, and placed one hand against the wall and the other on the talisman still hanging around her neck. That same faint glimmer surrounded her arm that the healer had noticed in Ki-Nimh’s tent, and Jenevra was puzzled—and delighted—that she could hear the conversation as clearly as if she was in the room itself. Setting the questions aside for a time when Ki-Nimh might help her with the answers, she settled in to listen.

The conversation turned her pale with anger. The information she needed was right in front of her now, yet she knew she would have to wait a little longer before acting on it. The Emperor’s safety was now directly threatened: another side trip would be necessary. Furious at the delay she sank onto her bed, trying to contemplate all possible courses of action open to her. Once again using the talisman left her feeling as though she’d just run twenty miles in heavy snow, and she gasped for breath.

Morning dawned pale and misty on the edge of the ocean. Jenevra had barely slept; thinking and planning through the night. Dressed in her gray clothing, Remiel and Fara knew she was leaving them before she said a word. Thanking them profusely, she promised to come back at some time in the future.

“Our evenings won’t be the same without your stories my Coretta,” Remiel said sadly. “They’ll all be complaining, you know.”

Hugging them both warmly for their generous hearts, and accepting a small bundle of food from Fara, Jenevra wrapped the gray cloak around her, and headed down the length of the harbor. Stopping at the Labrian ship, she called to the watch to fetch Faris.

Curious as to who was asking for him, Faris came up on deck.

Pushing her hood back, Jenevra smiled at him. “Any chance you’re planning on sailing up the coast at all?”

The Labrian vessel was even faster than Jenevra had suspected. She stood at the bow, a deep satisfaction welling in her at the freedom such speed inspired.

“You have sailed before.” Faris came up behind her, noting the ease with which she moved around the ship; not the awkward stumbling of the land-bound. He had been surprised to see her arrive that morning, but was always willing to try a small adventure. He’d understood immediately that she was no ordinary tavern wench, but her appearance with her twin swords prominently displayed again was something of a shock. Women in his country traditionally didn’t wear men’s clothing, nor did they carry swords: in fact, he knew that any woman other than his own sister would have thought twice before speaking to him directly. But Faris had traveled to the Empire long enough to know that women behaved differently here: he’d simply never met one quite like Jenevra. Knowing his brother, Faris could only marvel at how Farid had managed to come to terms with her. Farid had always been the more serious of the two of them; less willing to accept differences, especially within tradition. Of course, that had been before Ghaliya.

“Not on any ship as fast as this one. It’s wonderful.” Leaning against the deck rail, Jenevra folded her arms lightly and glanced across at Faris. “I suppose I should really tell you my name,” she said.

“You mean you’re not really Coretta?” Sarcasm shaded Faris’s voice.

“My name is Jenevra Couressime. I’m the Emperor’s cousin.”

Faris said nothing.

“Honestly, Faris. It’s true. I wouldn’t lie to you—Farid will tell you that. Anyway, aren’t you hiding a title or two from me?”

“It may be so,” Faris conceded. “How did you know?”

“You need to tell your men to stop bowing every time you walk past.”

Faris smiled. “So, Your Highness … that’s why you want to get to Salanova quickly? To get back to the Court?”

Jenevra pulled a face. “Not exactly, Faris. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you for a couple more favors…”

 CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Robed in a rich blue silk, Faris Jattarn, Prince of Labria, sat deep in conversation with Emperor Phillip Marissun. Arriving unannounced as an emissary from his father, King Asad V of Labria, the young Prince and his entourage had been swiftly and formally welcomed to the Palace. Upon the Prince announcing his desire to speak with the new Emperor personally and sending a gift of a dagger to him, Phillip had dismissed all of his attendants, including a fuming Chancellor.

The Prince’s attendants had all remained in his quarters, except for a handmaiden who knelt at his feet, veiled in black from head to toe, much to Phillip’s secret amusement. He wondered how Christiana would take it if he decided he needed a young woman at his side constantly. Being a wise man he reasoned that his health would be better if he never raised the question.

“Your Imperial Majesty, may I speak freely here?” the Prince was asking.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Phillip waved a hand at him.

“No, Your Majesty … I mean can we speak freely?” Faris nodded meaningfully at the walls.

Suddenly serious Phillip leaned forward, eyes almost as dark as Faris’s own glittering dangerously. “Are you suggesting someone may be spying on us?” He whispered. “Very well, Your Highness, how important is what you want to discuss?”

“I have information about a plot to assassinate you, Your Majesty.” Faris whispered back. “We have to talk where we cannot be overheard.” He leaned down towards his handmaiden. “There is a large fountain in your grounds here? With a dolphin?”

Puzzled, Phillip nodded. “Very well, Your Highness; let’s take a walk.” A sudden thought occurred to him. “I take it your maid will be joining us?”

“Of course,” Faris gave a dazzling smile. “She never leaves my side.”

As they strolled through the gardens, Faris related details of information Jenevra had given him: details she had overheard from the man at the inn. He also told Phillip much of what had been happening to Jenevra and the Shadow Flight, including Mikhail Dhorani’s death and the involvement of Jaiyen and Prince Cieren of Diruthia.

“And you’re absolutely sure about where this information came from, Your Highness?” Phillip queried as the two of them sat by the splashing dolphin fountain. “Because I know for certain that the person you heard this from can be incredibly unreliable.” He grinned broadly as he heard disgusted noises coming from underneath the handmaiden’s veil, where she knelt at Faris’s feet again.

“I can see how you might think that, Your Majesty,” Faris agreed. “But I did see the man myself. If we need to I think I can probably identify him for you.” He poked at the veiled figure with his red leather boot. “Handmaidens are traditionally silent!”

“Not that one,” Phillip smiled; certain of his guess now. “Why are we hiding, Jenn? Not like you to be unobtrusive.”

“Funny, aren’t you,” he heard Jenevra’s voice from under the veil. “Do you really think I’d be baking under all this if I didn’t think it was necessary? If you can just accept the information and make plans on it, I can get back to what I need to do.”

“Which is?”

“Cieren and his great-uncle are on their way to meet up with Corros. I need to get there first. If I can stop the two of them, I’m sure Corros won’t bring his army out of Diruthia. It’s only their prodding that’s encouraged him to think he can. I would recommend you pull all of the Flights back in anyway, to counter that other threat Faris told you of. And yes, before you even ask, I’d know him anywhere.”

“You can’t do this alone, Jenn. Why aren’t you taking your Flight with you?” Phillip was genuinely concerned for his cousin.

“Please, Phil, can you just take my word for it that it’s easier this way? I have to go alone, and now.” She sighed deeply. “Order needs have crossed with Empire needs, and by leaving my Flight, I’ve basically just committed treason, I think. I don’t want the Flight to be accused too. They’re probably going to track me to Ralta in the next day or so. If you send your recall there, you should get at least my Flight back. Everyone will be astounded that you knew where to find them. You’ll just make yourself look even more omnipotent!”

“Oh yes, I like that idea. I can do all that, can’t I?” Phillip grinned. “I’m the Emperor! And, by the way Jenn, it’s not treason if I know about it. If you think about it, you could even consider it a follow on from our discussions before you left for Mirizir.” The grin disappeared and his tone turned serious. “Just as long as we all know I won’t be sacrificing the Empire to get you back if your plan goes wrong!”

“Fair enough; I don’t expect you to do anything to get me back, you know that,” she approved. “So, if you were to go back to Ralta with Phil’s orders, Faris, your brother should turn up there too. That’s good. I like a nice neat solution—especially when people have been so helpful.” Both men could hear the smug tone in Jenevra’s voice.

Phillip rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose you or your brother would like to consider marrying an Imperial Princess would you?” he said hopefully, ignoring the gasp from Jenevra.

“I cannot answer for my brother, Your Majesty, but, honored though I would be, I fear this particular Princess would cause a revolution in my country.” Faris grinned, digging his finger into Jenevra’s shoulder, as muffled objections and curses emanated from the shrouded figure at his feet. “Be silent woman!”

“I didn’t think you’d mind, Jenn,” Phillip noted. “It’s not as though there’s anyone special.” A wicked chance to provoke his cousin was at hand, and he didn’t mean to lose it. “Obviously, if there was someone you had feelings for, I might think about it. Like the gallant Captain Tessier, maybe?”

“Great Tore!” She exploded, eliciting a sharper kick from Faris. “Don’t you people have anything better to do with your time? I do not want to discuss Tessier.”

“I do … and I’m your Emperor.” Phillip’s voice held nothing but disbelieving amusement. “I mean, I could order you to marry him, I suppose. He is a Duke in his own right, after all. It wouldn’t be too bad a match.”

Phillip and Faris continued their discussions strolling around the grounds, Faris reminding his handmaiden every few minutes that she was supposed to walk demurely behind him, not stride out impatiently in front. As the Labrian Prince and his party prepared to leave the Imperial Palace, pleading a prior trade negotiation that the Prince was committed to, Phillip extended the invitation to visit again soon: perhaps he would care to join him in a hunting trip on his return from the business trip? “And please tell your handmaiden to be careful,” he murmured, leaning forward to shake Faris’s hand. “I’m really rather fond of her.”

Leaving Faris to return to his ship, moored in Lake Kata, half a day’s ride west of Salanova, Jenevra took a horse and headed north towards Bortka; the quickest land route to Diruthia. Alone, she made good time; crossing the border by the following evening; the solitude working wonders on her mood. A further days hard riding brought her across the Falling river, southwest of Bereznay; onto the road leading to Colin and Annis’ inn. She’d decided that a brief stop would be in order. She wasn’t likely to be this way again for some time, and at least she could check that the innkeeper, his wife and the three children orphaned by the massacre at Albor were all safe. Part of the conversation she had overheard had led her to think there was a threat, and she wanted to warn them.

Trotting into the courtyard as the evening darkened, she was glad she’d made the diversion. The talisman was throbbing through her head again, screaming danger to her which, she supposed, was only to be expected given her mission. She led her horse into the stables, conscientiously rubbing him down and feeding him before she entered the inn; pleasantly surprised that the stables seemed full. It looked as though business had picked up again at the inn. As she was walking across the yard towards the glowing lights of the tavern, two small figures hurtled out towards her.

“Princess! It’s really you! You came back!” Teshia and Tilda threw themselves onto her, squealing with delight; clinging onto her tightly.

“Yes, alright girls, don’t crush me,” Jenevra grinned at their enthusiasm; pushing the pain in her head aside. “Come on then Tilda, up you come.” She swung the younger girl up onto her back; while Teshia skipped alongside her. “I promised you I’d visit, didn’t I?”

They were going through the doors of the crowded inn when Teshia said brightly. “That’s what he said … that you’d be coming soon. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Suddenly wary, Jenevra glanced down at the prancing six-year old. He? “Teshia, who is ‘he’?”

“That would be me, Your Imperial Highness.” Prince Cieren of Diruthia stood by the fire, an expression of deep satisfaction on his face and his hand resting on Tallis’s shoulder. “We had a feeling you might swing past this way, so I’ve come to extend an invitation, so to speak. Oh, I wouldn’t bother going for those swords, Princess,” he observed as she swung Tilda down from her back. “Everyone in here is mine. As your small friend there said, we’ve been hoping you would drop by.”

Cursing inwardly at the lack of care she’d taken; letting her happiness at seeing the children again override every facet of training she’d had; Jenevra still faced Cieren calmly. “Where are Colin and Annis?”

“Safe enough, for now,” Cieren wrinkled his nose in distaste, swatting at a chair with his gloves before sitting down. Even now he was impeccably dressed; not one piece of clothing showing sign of wear or travel; his only concession to the road being a long pair of riding boots rather than his usual shoes. Smoothing down the imaginary wrinkles in his pale turquoise coat, he picked at a phantom speck of lint. “Of course, everybody’s continued well-being depends entirely on you,” he said, pointedly.

“I thought it might,” Jenevra hooked a chair out, sat down and put her feet up on the table. “Well, I’m here now, so you don’t really need the others, do you? Enlighten me, Your Highness. What do you want?”

“We’ll start with your weapons, Princess. All of them.”

Thankful that she’d left the Spirit Sword behind, she removed her cloak and took the twin swords off, laying them on the table in front of her. She took a long knife from the belt around her waist and two long thin daggers from her boots. “There.”

“Oh, really, Princess, you don’t expect me to believe that’s all you’re carrying do you?” Cieren sneered. “Jaiyen’s told me about all those other things you carry with you. Of course, I can always have my men search you—thoroughly?” He tapped his fingers on his arm. “All of it, Your Highness … now.”

She hesitated, anger flaring in her eyes.

“Try it, Princess,” Cieren said softly, glancing meaningfully at the children. “Just give me a reason.” Moving across the room to where she sat and leaning forward onto the table he stared into her eyes; looking for fear but finding only contempt. “Now.”

Schooling her face to impassivity, Jenevra pushed away from the table. From various places she produced six other small knives and two lengths of sharp thin wire. As Cieren held three fingers up at her, she sighed slightly, pulling a third length of wire out of the collar of her jacket. “Happy now, Your Highness?”

Cieren grunted noncommittally, signaling one of his leather-clad men to pick the small arsenal up from the table.

“So, now what?”

“First, I think a short lesson may be in order. Then, we ride to Diruthia, Your Highness. I have a friend with this overwhelming urge to see you, as does Jaiyen. Jaiyen was severely put out that you eluded us after your little spat with Mikhail. How did you get away from that beach?”