Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (6 page)

“Your Highness,” Tessier began.

“Shut up, Tessier,” Phillip ordered shortly, pushing the startled Captain back into a corner. “I don’t care what’s gone on between you and my cousin. No!” He cut across Tessier as the Captain opened his mouth to explain. “No … I don’t care, Tessier. Nothing you can say can excuse your behavior to her. If I know you, you were just infuriated that you’d been practicing your best lines all the way to Frann, and then couldn’t bring yourself to use them on what you considered to be an unattractive girl who wasn’t throwing herself at you.”

The tell-tale flush on Captain Tessier’s face told Phillip he was pretty close to the truth there. “Well, Blaise, I am telling you, here and now, that if you do or say one thing to hurt Jenevra you will be answering to me … as your Emperor. And I will not be inclined to look on any repetition kindly. You have no idea what my cousin has been through. Treat her with anything less than respect again, and I swear I’ll have your head. Do we understand each other?”

“Er, yes, Your Highness … perfectly.” There wasn’t much else Captain Tessier could say in the face of Phillip’s tirade, but the young Emperor-to-be fixed his dark eyes onto Tessier’s face until he was satisfied that his words appeared to have been taken most seriously.

 CHAPTER FIVE

Jenevra paced about her rooms. They hadn’t changed at all in the years she’d been gone. On the western side of the palace, the windows faced out onto the massive expanse of the Northern Coural mountains. She never tired of looking at them: it was one of the few things she had truly missed on the Island. Distantly she could see the high white waterfalls that began with the spring thaw each year; icy, crystal streamers floating down the darkness of the rock faces. The sun was high overhead, throwing a clear light onto the nearer mountains, picking out the high snowfields and brightening the clear green of the budding trees on the lower slopes. Even down at the palace’s level, the air was still crisp and clear. Jenevra threw the windows open, even as a maid rushed in to light a fire in the huge fireplace.

“Please don’t bother with that,” Jenevra told the girl.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” A new voice overrode the order. “The princess will catch her death. And if she doesn’t, I most certainly will!” A slender woman dressed in deep wine colored velvet, bustled into the room. Ash blonde hair was pulled neatly back into a net of gold thread, and tilted dark eyes gave her an exotic beauty. Serena Massili was one of Arrilia Neilla’s oldest friends, and had spent a great deal of time with all of the children in the Imperial family as they grew up. Although not a close blood relative, all of the young royals called her Aunt. She was also sister to one of their other favorites, Admiral Rafael Massili; as flamboyant as his sister was proper, he fulfilled as many criteria of the ubiquitous tall-tale-telling seafarer as anyone could do. As Commander of the Imperial Fleet and Duke of Trevannta in his own right, Admiral Massili had also spent a great deal of time at court, never failing to have new tales of maritime conquest and lovers. Arrilia Neilla and Serena had spent a disproportionate amount of time trying to curtail his more lurid exploits from being aired to young and impressionable ears, but they would always find him holding forth to the children somewhere, as they listened wide-eyed to his tales.

Clasping her hands together primly, Serena scrutinized the scruffy girl in front of her. “Your aunt asked me to help you get ready for dinner.”

Jenevra looked puzzled. “It’s only just afternoon. I have hours until dinner.”

“Indeed, and how long do you think it’s going to take us to have you ready?” Serena waved an elegantly manicured hand at the unkempt princess. “I’ll be amazed if we’re ready by dinner.”

“It’s not that bad.” Jenevra rolled her eyes, taking hold of the end of her braid. “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to re-braid this, and I can sling a clean dress on in next to no time.”

Taking hold of the tangled mass of hair in the braid, Serena shuddered “Re-braid? This? I think not, my dear girl. And as for ‘slinging’ a dress on—we call them ‘gowns’, Jenevra, and ladies never ‘sling’.” Looking around the room and then at Jenevra’s current outfit she asked pointedly, “Do you actually have a gown to put on?”

“I’m sure I must have some here somewhere.” Jenevra shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t take them with me, and I haven’t grown that much since I’ve been away, I don’t think.”

“Didn’t take them with you? What have you been wearing then?” Serena looked at the travel stained clothing her charge was standing in, taking in the overall dullness of the gray ensemble, the stained and wrinkled raw silk tunic, and worn, dirt encrusted boots. As Jenevra indicated that this was, more or less, what she’d been wearing, Serena went pale and called loudly for the maids, shaking her head. “Do we have any of her Highness’s gowns still here?” she asked the first girl to enter.

“Yes, my Lady. We kept them all in the chest over by the window.” The maid moved to a huge cedar chest, opening it up to display a selection of gowns carefully folded and stored.

“Well, lift them out then, we can’t see what we’ve got if they’re stuck in that box, and they’ll need to be aired anyway.” Serena took charge with the quiet efficiency Jenevra remembered. “They look to be in decent condition at least,” Serena held the first one up to the light at the window. “Still, the main thing is, do they actually fit you?” She held the gown out to Jenevra. “Come on, Jenevra! Try it on.”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now. Anna,” Serena addressed the maid standing by the chest. “Help her Highness with this gown would you?”

“I don’t need anyone to help me dress, thank you,” Jenevra objected.

Unimpressed, Serena continued pulling dresses out of the chest as Jenevra disappeared behind a large screen at the far end of the chamber. Anna, the maid, stood to the side of the screen, fidgeting nervously as she listened to the muffled sounds of irritation coming from behind it. Finally, Serena intervened. “Anna,” she said clearly, so Jenevra could hear her. “Would you please check on the princess’s progress with that gown?”

Bobbing a curtsey, Anna rescued Jenevra from the fiendish devices of petticoats, tunics and overdresses. In less than a minute she had laced Jenevra into one of her old gowns, and brought her out for Serena’s critical inspection. “No, no, that won’t do at all.” Serena swept across the room, hands held up in horror. “Anna, call the seamstress, immediately. You cannot possibly be seen like that, Jenevra.”

Jenevra looked down at her feet, which were all too visible beneath a hemline that finished about five inches shorter than needed. “I guess I did grow some, then,” she concluded. “Can’t we just extend this one down a bit, Aunt Serena?” She pulled at parts of the dress hoping it would somehow magically become acceptable.

Half an hour later saw Jenevra standing like a pincushion while Serena and the seamstress discussed a whole new wardrobe. “I only need one dress, for tonight, Aunt Serena. Can’t we just make over one of the old ones?”

Serena and the seamstress exchanged disbelieving looks. “Stand up straight, Jenevra.” Serena’s crisp tone advised. “Slouching isn’t an acceptable stance for a Princess.”

Fortunately Serena was engrossed in discussing material choices and failed to hear Jenevra’s mumbled opinion of what was acceptable for princesses.

When the dressmaker had finally disappeared, with armloads of material and ears full of Serena’s instructions to whip her small army of needlewomen into frantic action, Serena began on phase two of the new improved Jenevra. Calling for a bath to be drawn, she completely ignored Jenevra’s objections that she’d already had a bath. By the time she’d been scrubbed, rinsed, washed, buffed and brushed, Jenevra’s irritation was almost palpable. She sat fuming on a chair in front of the fire, wrapped in a heavy brocade dressing gown, with a maid brushing her hair out to dry. When she tried to reach for the brush herself, Serena had slapped her fingers. Jenevra gritted her teeth, mentally going through meditative exercises she’d used on the Island. After five years of taking care of herself, and appearance not being a priority, she was finding this fuss entirely too much.

Serena took a seat in a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. Yet another maid took a hot iron from the fire and warmed two goblets of wine with it. As sedately as her name implied, Serena nursed her goblet between her hands, smiling benignly at the glowering Princess. “There, Jenevra, isn’t this cozy?”

Jenevra scowled, dark brows drawing together. “I feel like … well, I don’t actually know what I feel like, Aunt Serena, but I don’t like it.”

“Very articulate, dear,” Serena noted, blithely ignoring Jenevra’s mood. “You need to realize that you have grown up now. I know you’ve been away, and it doesn’t look as though you had much time or incentive, but you simply cannot continue with such disregard for your appearance. You are an Imperial Princess …”

“Don’t remind me! All this prissy pampering is just ridiculous.”

“ … And you will be required to comport yourself as such. How else do you expect to secure a husband?”

“A what? What husband? I don’t want one. I don’t need one.”

“Jenevra, don’t be so naïve. Your primary role as an Imperial Princess is to provide the Empire with a beneficial tie.”

“Tie, to who?” Jenevra was becoming slightly rattled now.

“It’s to whom, dear. And ‘whom’ ever the Empire needs to have a closer link to.” The maid brushing Jenevra’s hair finished and left the room quietly. “You do have beautiful hair, Jenevra.” Serena noted. “Just like your mother’s.” She picked up the brush the maid had left and moved over to behind Jenevra, drawing the brush through almost hip-length brown hair, lit from within by strands of deep chestnut, with tones of honey and amber. “I remember brushing her hair like this the day she married your father,” she mused. “We were here, in this room, Neilla, Saphila and I. She sat here, and I brushed her hair. You look just like her, you know, Jenevra.” Serena stroked Jenevra’s hair gently. “She was so beautiful …”

“Can’t have been quite so much like me then.” Jenevra’s tone was brittle.

Serena was startled. Having always taken the admiring glances she received for granted; it never occurred to Serena that an attractive woman would not be aware of her own charms. Standing in front of Jenevra, she pulled the girl to her feet and dragged her across the room to where a large cheval mirror stood. Moving behind her, Serena put her hands either side of Jenevra’s head, pointing her towards the mirror. “You are the living image of your mother. How can you possibly think you are anything less than beautiful? Just look, Jenevra!”

The princess shrugged. “I am looking. It’s just me.” She saw a medium height, slim girl with dark hair and a light complexion gazing coolly back at her.

“You obviously don’t see what the rest of us do then,” Serena couldn’t quite believe that Jenevra could be so indifferent to how she looked. “You really are quite lovely, Jenevra; at least when you’re clean.” That brought a smile to both their faces.

“Chris is the pretty one. We all know that.”

“You’re different, that’s all. Christiana is beautiful, yes. But so are you.”

“You’re biased, Serena. It’s sweet of you, but no-one would give me a second glance if Chris was in the same room.” Jenevra turned away from the mirror. Vanity wasn’t a problem for her, but no young woman likes to dwell on how much less attractive they think they are than someone else, and that obnoxious Captain who’d escorted her back here had made it quite clear she wasn’t up to Court standards.

“Hmm, you’ll soon see when the young men of the court realize you’re back.” Serena was supremely confident of her assessment of the princess’s looks, and ignored the disparaging noises coming from the young girl. “Now, sit down again, Jenevra while I call someone to deal with those growths you call nails. How you ever imagined you would be ready for dinner in a couple of minutes… ”

A ‘Family Dinner’ at the Marissime Court would normally have meant at least thirty people, but Arrilia Neilla had been unusually insistent this evening, and a much reduced group congregated in the small dining room adjoining Arrilia Neilla’s own suite. Huge branched candelabra stood around the room bathing everything in their golden glow. Rich burgundy draperies closed the windows from view, adding to the warmth in the room. Emperor-to-be Phillip Marissime, looking dashingly handsome in his customary black and silver, stood leaning idly on the back of his mother’s chair. Her Lady-in waiting and friend, Lady Lennia Manvi was accompanied by her son, Mikyle, Imperial Guard Captain, and companion of the future Emperor. Commander Rabenaldt attended as a close family friend, as did Admiral Rafael Massili, who was holding forth with another of his outrageous tales, making Lennia blush (something she swore was impossible after so many years at court).

When Serena and Jenevra joined the group, completing the dinner party for that evening, Admiral Massili roared his delight, picking her up and swinging her round until the other ladies managed to persuade him to put her down. “Rafael, do you have any idea how long it took me to get her ready?” Serena fumed. “And here you go ruining all my good work.”