Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (16 page)

Swinging Jenevra out of Pichot’s reach; Tessier said blandly, “Hate to rush, old boy, but I did promise her highness a drink and a dance just a few moments ago. Can’t keep a lady waiting you know?” With his arm firmly about Jenevra’s waist, Captain Tessier strode back into the throne room, leaving Pichot glaring after them.

Jenevra gave him a brief, albeit reluctant, smile. “All right. You apologize for calling me unnatural, and I’ll owe you a dance. Are we even?”

Tessier smoothed his moustache with one finger, looking pensive. “Well, of course, I apologize, dear Princess. Can you ever forgive me?” His tone hovered on the knife edge between irony and sincerity. “Let’s say two dances, and maybe a visit to watch your Flight in action some time soon. I’d like to see how they do.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. “I was serious about helping you with those lessons, you know? I’d feel awfully guilty if I thought I hadn’t helped a fellow officer cover any missing aspect of their training.”

“You are a dangerous man, Captain Tessier.” Jenevra’s eyes glinted with a mix of suspicion, and curiosity. “I think maybe I should go mingle before you manage to convince me. I haven’t seen my brother or Raik yet.” Standing on tiptoe, she tried to peer over the heads of the crowd. Arrilia Neilla, Phillip and Chancellor Menzetti were still greeting people up on the dais. Christiana was standing off to the side, impatiently waiting for Phillip to have some time for her. Lennia and Serena were with her; Serena also casting anxious glances around the room for her own brother. Rafael Massili was near the entrance to the vast audience chamber, bushy red hair flaming like a beacon, talking in his usual wildly gesticulating fashion to Richard and Stephan Couressime, and Raik Rabenaldt. Several ladies were clinging around the edges of the group, but Jenevra dismissed them almost instantly; she didn’t know any of them.

“Would you like me to lift you up so you can see better?” Tessier whispered into her ear, his hands circling her waist sending a shiver down her spine.

“Don’t even think about it!” She hissed. “You still owe me a drink and a dance.”

“I thought you owed me?” Tessier watched as the princess disappeared into the throng; her lithe form slipping between and around people like a rippling crimson mist. Chuckling quietly to himself, Captain Tessier moved towards the other group of Imperial officers, as a roar of laughter erupted from them. Rafael Massili was obviously on top form today.

Sliding through the guests with a minimum of social stops, Jenevra made her way to the side of the Imperial throne where Christiana was still standing. “Still waiting, Chris?” She ignored the exasperated look her sister threw back at her.

Serena Massili, elegant in lilac satin for the occasion and looking, as always, controlled and cool, immediately began fussing around Jenevra’s dress and hair; patting, pulling, and generally ensuring perfection was attained. Frowning slightly, Jenevra batted Serena’s hands away. “Will you please stop pulling at me, Aunt Serena?” Serena merely raised her eyebrows and carried on adjusting imperceptible flaws. “You need to look …”

“Proper … I know!” Jenevra removed herself to stand next to Lennia. “Can’t you make her stop?”

Lennia leaned towards Jenevra. “What do you think she’s been doing to your sister and me for the last hour? You’re on your own.” Lennia and Christiana shared a satisfied grin. “Although, Jenevra, I have to say that you do look good in this gown. You have just enough color in your face for that shade of crimson not to make you look washed out.”

“What were you and Blaise Tessier discussing so intently, Jenn?” Christiana asked slyly. “And please don’t try to tell me it was tactics!”

“Not tactics—training. Is that Phillip waving, Chris?” In the split second it took Christiana to realize that her fiancé was not, in fact, waving at her, Jenevra had disappeared into the crowded room again. On the far side of the chamber, Jenevra thought she had spotted Mikyle Manvi talking to someone. She could see the dark auburn hair of a woman next to him, with another head of almost exactly the same shade of deep red curls standing facing away from her. Sifting through her mental catalogue of visiting Royals, Jenevra decided they must be the children of King Aleksander of Abalos Colles; the girl looked very like his wife, Daneshka. Mikyle had been fostered with the Dhorani family for some time before his teens, learning the skills and duties of a royal household along with their own children. Jenevra knew that Mikyle had remained close friends with the Prince and Princess, although he hadn’t seen them for some years, so it was no surprise to see him catching up with them now.

Intercepted by a Baron from her own home region of Coural, Jenevra was caught up in small talk with him until the Lord Chamberlain finally announced that the greeting ceremony was over, and that dinner would be served. The vast throng of people swept her towards the banqueting hall before she had a chance to find Mikyle again.

A sudden pull on her arm snatched her out of the surging crowd; Blaise Tessier again. “Making a habit of needing rescuing today, Your Highness?” He grinned.

“You know, you’re not funny, Captain!” Jenevra snapped; making the mistake of looking into his face. Biting her lip hard so as not to smile at him Jenevra grudgingly took hold of the arm he offered and headed towards the antechamber with him.

The room was crowded. All of the visiting Royal families were congregated there too, waiting for the lesser nobility to be seated. The Lord Chamberlain, waiting to introduce them, was busy organizing them into the correct order as far as he could. Stephan’s appearance at her side blocked most of Jenevra’s view of the room, even as her talisman suddenly gave a violent twitch, sending sharp waves of pain signaling imminent danger into her mind. Catching her breath, she shaded her eyes with her hand; gritting her teeth against the headache which she was just realizing must be tied to the talisman. It was warning her whenever there was a threat to Phillip.

The Imperial Officers were announced together, and Commander Rabenaldt led his Captains into the hall. Lady Lennia Manvi entered side by side with Admiral Massili. Conall, the younger Prince of Lorthia, escorted Serena Massili. In short order, the Imperial party was called.

“His Imperial Highness, Stephan Couressime, Duke of Coural, and Her Royal Highness, Princess Allegra Dhorani of Abalos-Colles.”

“His Imperial Highness, Richard Couressime, Duke of Orsattin, and Her Royal Highness Princess Artela Balochin of Diruthia.”

“Her Imperial Highness, Christiana Couressime, Duchess of Maressia, and His Royal Highness, Prince Baran of Lorthia, Duke of Liotchka.”

Her Imperial Highness, Jenevra Couressime, Duchess of Coursim, and His Royal Highness, Prince Mikhail Dhorani of Abalos-Colles, Duke of Kansk.”

Stepping forward to take her place at the Prince’s side, Jenevra realized, through a haze, he was the auburn haired man Mikyle had been talking with. Fearing she would be physically ill from the threat she could feel around them all, the princess made the barest curtsey; looked up into familiar hazel eyes and gasped. “Misha!”

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The Lord Chamberlain was propelling them forward as Mikhail Dhorani was also breathing, “Jenna?”

There was no time. They couldn’t talk. With fingers locked rigid on Prince Mikhail’s arm, Jenevra walked slowly to the Imperial table where a steward seated them. Heart thumping wildly, Jenevra could hardly believe that Misha was here, holding her arm. Leaving the Island she had believed that they would never see each other again, and that thought had cut deeply. Yet, here he was, less than a month later; a Prince, here in Salanova.

They weren’t seated anywhere near Captain Tessier; which was probably a good thing she decided. He was far too distracting for her to deal with him as well as the shock of Misha’s arrival. As they stood by their chairs waiting for the final arrivals to enter, Mikhail leaned close, as if brushing something off his sleeve. “Imperial Princess?” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Thunderous applause erupted as the Emperor, Phillip, entered the room with Arrilia Neilla on his arm. They stood for several minutes at the entrance, acknowledging the greeting, before proceeding to take their places for the feast.

Jenevra hardly glanced at Mikhail as he pushed her chair in towards the table. “Tell you?” she hissed back at him, pressing her fingers hard against her forehead. “Prince Mikhail? Who wasn’t telling whom?” She grabbed at the nearest goblet of wine, rolling it in her hands nervously. The man who had been her constant friend and companion, her training partner for the best part of five years turned up as a member of a royal family on her cousin’s coronation. How was she to treat him? The situation called for formality, when they had shared everything, every thought, every joy and sorrow, every pain and triumph on the island. They had a bond deeper than any of the others could know, and yet they were sitting next to each other as strangers. He didn’t even look the same. The deep auburn curls that fell about his face and shoulders today had always been scraped back into a tight braid on the island. She’d rarely seen him with his hair loose like this; it made him look totally different. Regular clothes made a difference too, rather than the gray tunics and pants they had routinely worn. The gray clothing of the island had always shaded his hazel eyes with a pale, almost yellow tone; today his eyes glowed green, reflecting the rich emerald color he wore.

It had only been a month since she’d left the Island, but that month was fast becoming a lifetime.

Abruptly aware that anyone could be watching her, wondering why she was being so awkward with this guest, she forced herself to turn and look at Misha: that face, so dear and familiar. Misha reached out his hand and placed it gently over hers on the table. She could see the questions running through his head too. Suddenly, all she wanted was to get out of the hall, to run out into the gardens with Misha and just walk; walk and talk like they had at the Island; where every day had found them sitting shoulder to shoulder by the fountains or streams in the cool of the evenings, listening to Dai’Nimh or one of the Masters.

“You look different, Misha. It’s the hair.” She reached out touching a curl falling on his shoulder.

“So do you.” He glanced away briefly. “I always knew you were different, but I don’t think I ever realized how beautiful you really are until today. You look like a woman, Jenna.”

“Er…I am a woman, Misha.” A slight smile appeared.

Noticing her pallor and the crease between her brows, Misha knew Jenevra well enough to recognize signs that something was wrong. Passing one hand gently over the gooseflesh on her arm, he frowned. “You aren’t cold, are you?”

“Of course not. Can’t you feel it?” Jenevra could see from his expression that he couldn’t, which puzzled her.

“Sorry, Jenn, no.” He looked concerned. “Anything I should know about?”

“I’m not sure. Don’t you get any sign from your talisman when there’s danger nearby?” She shook her head, trying to clear it. “There’s someone, or something, here that’s a threat.”

“Well, I’m quite dangerous, Jenn. Maybe it’s just picking up on me,” Misha suggested with a grin.

Laughing out loud, despite the throbbing in her head, Jenevra realized she’d been loud enough to make people look at them. Misha did his best to look aloof, until she kicked him sharply on the ankle. “Dangerous, Misha?” she giggled. “You know I always win.”

“Oh really?” Misha’s hazel eyes glinted. “Care to test that theory, my lady? Tomorrow morning?”

“Of course,” Jenevra smiled. “You won’t hold back just because I’m a princess now will you?”

You, my dear girl, have always been a princess,” Misha quipped. “I just never knew why until now.”

Airily choosing to ignore that, Jenevra changed the subject. “When did you arrive? I didn’t know you were going to leave the Island.”

Mikhail glanced along the table towards his parents. “I arrived here late last night, just in time to meet with my parents before today’s ceremonies. They had been told I was coming and brought appropriate clothes with them.” He pulled at the green doublet. “I feel a bit conspicuous not wearing gray to be honest.”

Jenevra smiled, understanding. Gesturing at the low-cut, tight laced crimson gown she was wearing, she said, “I know exactly how you feel.”

Misha stared intently down at her. “Your talisman … hasn’t anyone questioned it?”

Her hand went to the stone she wore around her neck. “No, but we can’t take them off anyway, so what does it matter?”

He nodded, his hand unconsciously seeking the affirmation of knowing that an identical charm still hung around his own neck.

“So, why did you leave the Island?” she pressed. “You still didn’t tell me.”

Misha’s answer was interrupted while servants bustled around serving meats, breads and various savory dishes to the table. Picking indifferently at a chicken leg, he told her of his journey from the Island to Salanova at the request of one of the five Senior Masters, Jai-Nimh, that he rejoin his family for this occasion. He had traveled with another member of the Order, and Jenevra’s eyes lit up when she heard that he was still in the Imperial Palace. If not for Misha’s hand clamping down hard upon her wrist, she would have run out to find him there and then. “Jenna, we were sent here, like you, for a reason. It’s not the time for impulsiveness. He’ll find you when the time is right.”

Pushing some bread around her plate, Jenevra nodded, knowing that he was right. Misha had always been a steadying influence on her: that was one of the reasons Dai-Nimh had put them together; one of the reasons they had been selected together for the ceremony in the Temple before she had left the island. Like two halves of the same coin, Dai-Nimh had said; like the ebb and flow of the tide; Misha and Jenna.

The meal dragged on. Neither of them ate much, too caught up in this discovery of themselves as different people to think about eating. Deeply involved with each other, they neither noticed, nor cared that others around them were noticing how entranced they seemed.

Richard Couressime had been watching them for some time. Pensively, he leaned behind Mikhail’s sister Allegra, and tapped his brother on the elbow. Annoyed at being disturbed from his conversation with the Abaleine Princess, Stephan glared at him. “What?”

“Ask Chris if little sister has ever met Mikhail Dhorani before?” Richard said.

“What?” Christiana’s eyes narrowed as she leaned forward to peer around Stephan at Richard. “No. No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Richard didn’t answer, just nodded his head towards Jenevra and Misha, deep in conversation, eyes glued on each other. He raised questioning eyebrows at his sister. “Well?”

Christiana shook her head. “I don’t know, Richard. I don’t think they could have met, but we don’t know what Jenn’s been up to lately, do we?”

“The Crown Prince of Abalos Colles?” Richard looked skeptical. “With Jenn? You don’t really think so, do you?”

Christiana shook her head again. “I doubt it. She’s never shown any interest in men. They’re probably discussing something really fascinating, like military tactics. You know what she’s like. They’ll probably start moving the salt pots around soon.” She turned to face the young woman seated in between them. “Princess Allegra, you would know. Has your brother ever met our younger sister before?” She pointed towards the oblivious couple.

Allegra thought for a moment. “No … I’m fairly certain I’ve never seen her before, so that would rule out Mikhail having seen her. She’s a few years younger than you two isn’t she?”

“Just a few; she’s, what, nineteen now, Chris?” Richard waited for his sister’s confirmation.

“Well, Misha’s just turned twenty five, so they’re not likely to have been introduced at any social functions yet, are they? Although, Mikhail’s been away for the last few years, so that would put him even further out of possible contact.”

“Away? Where? Where has he been?” Richard sounded just a little panicky.

“I don’t really know. He went away about seven years ago and came back last night. He met us here. I haven’t really had much time to talk to him yet.” Allegra obviously considered the discussion closed, turning her attention back to the entrancingly muscled presence of Stephan Couressime.

Christiana and Richard stared at each other in disbelief. “No,” breathed Christiana. “No, they couldn’t possibly ….” They both looked across at Jenevra and Mikhail again; saw Mikhail brush some hair away from her face; saw Jenevra smiling at him.

“Apparently they could.” Richard looked grim.

Someone else had been watching Jenevra and Mikhail all through the meal. King Aleksander of Abalos Colles had been growing progressively more concerned as it became apparent that there was something brewing between his son and heir and the infamously troublesome Imperial Princess. With a marriage already on the brink of agreement with another Royal family, the last thing Aleksander needed was the kind of trouble that young woman could cause. Frowning, he beckoned his Prime Minister to him, whispering instructions before turning his attention back to his wife.

Finally, the guests spilled out once more into the large audience hall, onto the terraces and into the gardens of the Imperial Palace. Musicians struck up in the hall, and the floor was soon filled with dozens of couples. Out on the terrace, Mikyle Manvi found Mikhail, still with Jenevra. “You two seem to be getting along well,” he noted blandly.

Mikhail simply slapped his shoulder. “You know I never could resist a pretty face,” he laughed.

Conall, the younger prince of Bortka, approached the trio, bowing somewhat shyly in front of Jenevra and claiming the dance she’d promised him earlier. Accepting his arm graciously, while also warning him of her lack of practice at dancing, Jenevra took the floor with him amongst the other couples.

Prince Mikhail’s hazel eyes never stopped following her for a moment; Mikyle’s eyes didn’t waver from watching one of his closest friends. “Taken a shine to Her Imperial Highness, Mikhail?” Mikyle’s tone was non-committal.

Mikhail turned to look at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you don’t seem to be able to tear your eyes away from her …” Captain Manvi left the statement hanging, waiting for Mikhail to speak.

Misha didn’t respond, just smiled slightly and carried on watching the princess whirl around the floor with Prince Conall in a lively dance.

Just as Mikyle was about to needle his friend again, Blaise Tessier appeared next to him. Nudging Mikyle in the ribs, he announced in a voice loud enough for Mikhail to hear, “Your friend seems smitten with our dear Princess, Captain Manvi.”

Mikyle grinned as Mikhail shot an irritated glance at Tessier.

Tessier, sensing another target almost as easy to irritate as the princess under discussion, leaned closer to Mikyle Manvi, confiding in a mock whisper, “She’s cleaned up quite nicely, hasn’t she?” He leered appreciatively at her as she passed close by them on the dance floor. With a sideways glance at Mikhail Dhorani, he wondered what it was that this man had that could make the icy little princess thaw to the point of smiling and laughing. And why wouldn’t she do either for him?

“You don’t understand her at all,” Mikhail snapped, suddenly angry with their conversation. Mikyle, one of his oldest friends and this insufferable lecher of an Imperial Captain talking of Jenevra as if they knew her … as if they could. Neither of them knew her the way he did. It was insupportable.

“But you do?” Mikyle looked at him. “I thought you just met today?”