Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (21 page)

Phillip looked troubled. Although he had heard what Raik told him about the Order, he still remained unconvinced of Jenevra’s abilities. Besides, if the information Christiana had shared with him was true, Mikhail had also trained with them, and for longer. He had the exact same skills. He looked at his cousin as if seeking an answer. It was there in a look on her face that he had never seen before, and it chilled Phillip to the bone.

Jenevra looked to the back of the room. The man with Graea Menzetti had gone, but the lady nodded her head at Jenevra, giving her another signal that commanded obedience within the Order. Puzzled, Jenevra turned to face her cousin, ignoring Christiana’s hissed admonitions. “Prince Mikhail wishes to contend for the Protectorship?”

Misha nodded.

“Does King Aleksander absolve me of any further charge against his family?” Jenevra issued the formal acceptance, requiring the family of the challenger to agree not to call for a blood debt should their challenger lose.

Aleksander nodded his silvered head; his face reflecting his anger at Mikhail’s impulsiveness.

Dropping the cloak behind her, Jenevra stepped down from the dais. Reaching the foot, she turned and bowed formally to Phillip. “My Lord Emperor?” Steely determination radiated from her as Phillip nodded formal assent and stood, arms folded, at the top of the dais.

“One challenge only. It ends here.” Phillip’s voice echoed around the chamber.

The room was hushed as Jenevra moved to face Misha: a small, slight figure facing the man in front of her.

Stephan and Richard stood by Christiana on the dais, three pairs of piercing blue eyes focused in hatred on the tall figure in the center of the floor. “You have to stop this,” Christiana whispered frantically to her brothers. “He’ll kill her.”

“No, he won’t, Chris.” Richard tried to calm her. “Phillip wouldn’t let that happen; nor would Raik. They’ll stop this before she gets hurt.”

Arrilia Neilla came to her side, holding onto her hand tightly. “You are Empress now, Christiana,” she said under her breath. “You cannot let any of them see you upset by this. You have to look as if you have every faith in Phillip’s decision … whatever your feelings might truly be. Just remember, whatever happens, accepting this Protectorship was Jenevra’s choice.” She looked her niece in the eyes gravely as Christiana began to learn one of the hardest lessons of being an Empress; squeezing Christiana’s hand as her niece raised her chin and looked straight ahead.

Raik and the Imperial Captains moved hesitantly to one side, standing on the edge of the crowded room with the seven members of the Shadow Flight; six of who were looking smug. “Five crowns on the Captain,” Gervaise D’Agostino couldn’t resist. Brogan shot him a scathing look.

Blaise Tessier leaned across to D’Agostino. “She’s that good?” He subsided thoughtfully as all six nodded seriously at him. Arms folded across his chest, he leaned against a pillar, thumb and forefinger stroking down his moustache and beard; brown eyes glowing golden in the candlelight. Watching the princess, Tessier felt a tension in his stomach that he recognized from battle, but couldn’t quite understand why it was happening now. And, he had to admit, he was intrigued by the impression she had made on the seven men next to him in the few weeks she had known them.

Jenevra looked over at the group. “Sergeant Brogan.” She called. “Take the Spirit Sword of the Shadow Flight.” She stared coldly into Misha’s eyes. “Should anything happen to me, this sword is to be delivered only to the Emperor.”

“Yes, Captain.” Brogan saluted his young commander and marched back to the side, clutching the sword tightly; determined that it would never lie in the hands of Mikhail Dhorani.

“Ready, Princess?” Misha drew his swords; his gaze steady, voice unwavering.

Bryce Baudoin burst through the doors of the throne room, causing a stir. Rushing to Jenevra, he slid landing on one knee in front of her. “Urgent news, Captain,” he gasped.

Brogan groaned softly, hands on his head. What timing! “Baudoin!” he called sharply. “Over here!”

Jenevra nodded at Baudoin to join the other Shadow Flight members, who rapidly filled him in on what was happening. “Ready Your Highness,” she said to Misha, drawing her swords with a steely hiss.

Moving in almost identical stances they began circling slowly. So many times they had done this in training on the Island, but never with metal—never in anger. They knew each other’s moves so well; knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Misha attacked first; bounding towards Jenevra so fast that several ladies in the room screamed out loud. Just as on her first day with the Flight, Jenevra simply wasn’t there when the blows landed, rolling out from under them, landing back on her feet. She let Misha attack again and again, gasps and squeals accompanying each one from around the room. Coldly focused, Jenevra moved in spinning and slashing, swords clashing as they met Misha’s.

As they fell into the rhythm of the fight, they moved in intricate patterns, swords tracing whistling paths through the air, metal ringing; they jumped, rolled, kicked and pushed each other; more like a wrestling match with swords than the formal sword play the courtiers were used to seeing. They were equally matched and several minutes passed during which there seemed to be no pause in the momentum of the fight. Breaking apart, Jenevra noted that Misha had a torn sleeve and a cut above his left eye. Taking heart from that, she hadn’t often managed to land blows on him during training, she attacked again with renewed vigor, pushing him back towards the far end of the throne room, towards the doors. She could see something in his eyes. Not the playful gleam she was used to seeing there, and certainly not fear, but something else … sadness, a lost hope … and she knew. Anger swelled anew as she realized what he was doing, and how far from their orders it was. Pushing again, she locked her swords with his, coming right up against him. “I know what you’re doing,” she grated at him. “And it won’t work. I won’t kill you.”

“You’d better,” he panted back at her. “If you lower your guard, I will kill you.”

She kicked his legs, but he was used to that maneuver and landed on his feet. Twisting his swords around hers again, he pulled her close, whispering hoarsely, “If I can’t be with you, why should I leave you for someone else?”

With an angry shout, Jenevra jumped straight into the air, kicking Misha’s head hard enough to send him to the ground. Landing and whipping round, she brought her swords down towards his unprotected head. A scream from Daneshka, Misha’s mother, was the only thing that stopped her stroke. With uncanny control the blades halted a hairsbreadth from his neck. Drawing a ragged breath, Jenevra looked up and found herself face to face with the tall gray-haired man—Ki-Nimh, her mentor. Standing straight, she met his eyes, finding a calm acceptance there. Signaling her to silence, he bent down to look after Misha, as she turned to face Phillip and the Imperial Party at the other end of the room. Striding forward, furious at the situation Misha had forced; she sheathed her swords as she bowed in front of Phillip and Christiana. “My Lord Emperor; I believe the challenge is complete.” As Phillip nodded, she took her place, to all appearances calmly, at the right side of the throne again; fingers laced tightly on the hilt of the Spirit Sword that Brogan had rushed to place in her possession again.

“Your Majesty,” Phillip addressed King Aleksander. “Your challenge was met in a fair fight. I trust your son will recover fully shortly and rejoin us for the remaining celebrations. There is no fault here. We will not speak of this again.”

Aleksander bowed deeply and left the room, following Misha’s unconscious form. Muted talk broke out around the throne room as the tension started to ebb. Many guests were staring at Jenevra in undisguised amazement.

Phillip beckoned Bryce Baudoin and the Shadow Flight to the dais. “You had news for your Captain?”

“Your Imperial Majesty,” Baudoin knelt before his Emperor, awed at being addressed personally. “I bring a message for you, and for Captain Couressime.” He paused, looking up to find Phillip waiting patiently for him to continue, a slight smile on the Emperor’s face. “My Lord, there is rumor of an attack on a village near the Bortkan border with Diruthia. Outlaws maybe, we have no full report yet.” Baudoin bowed his head.

Phillip turned to Jenevra, inwardly pleased that she wouldn’t have to demand this mission to prove herself … not after the performance they had all just witnessed. “Captain Couressime,” his lips twitched. “Dear cousin; can I prevail upon you and your Flight to discover the truth of this rumored attack on our people? I feel this is a timely event for my new Imperial Flight to show its worth.”

Chancellor Menzetti stepped to Phillip’s side, bowing slightly. “Majesty,” he began in a mildly reproving tone. “Surely you cannot be thinking of sending Her Imperial Highness out after bandits? As Imperial Protector, should she not remain here, at your side?”

Phillip’s eyes met Jenevra’s in satisfaction, and a slight smile pulled his mouth. “I think not, My Lord Chancellor,” he said smoothly. “The people need to see our Imperial Protector around the Empire, knowing that my hand will reach them swiftly when needed. Maybe, in time, Shadow Flight will come to the Palace; but for now, I want them visible and mobile. My Palace Guard is quite adequate as it stands.” Dismissing the Chancellor’s objections with an airy wave, Phillip returned his attention to Jenevra. “Go and discover the truth of the situation, Captain.”

“As my Emperor commands.” Jenevra bowed and joined the Shadow Flight at the base of the steps, leading them out of the crowded room into the coolness of the hallway. Once there she quickly dismissed them to finish packing, to meet in the courtyard in half an hour. Still shimmering in her silvered mail, she strode away towards the Imperial suites, leaving behind her a group of men proud to call themselves part of her Flight. Questions hammered at her brain, but she had no time now to stop and think about them. Maybe on the journey, she thought, maybe then she could take some time just to think about what had happened. She was angry; furious at Misha for putting her in that position; angry with Chancellor Menzetti for forcing the situation with Corros; even angry with Ki-Nimh for not coming to see her, for not stopping the fight between two of his own pupils.

As the adrenaline rush of the fight faded, anger began to dissolve into a deep sadness that everything she had thought she knew was gone. Misha’s attitude to her had changed somehow, bizarrely, in just a few weeks and now she had come close to killing him; everything that had occurred in those crowded balls and banquets had only shown her how alone she was. Thoroughly irritated for giving in to these feelings Jenevra found her hands shaking and her eyes burning; although no tears fell. Blindly, she bumped into someone, shaking her head and apologizing, trying to move past them; but strong hands held her shoulders securely, gently. Blinking slightly, Blaise Tessier came into focus. She pushed past him, irritably, “What do you want, Tessier? I warn you, I’m not in the mood right now.”

Taking a pace backwards, the Captain turned to walk quietly alongside her. “You were very impressive out there, Princess. I certainly didn’t expect to see that level of swordsmanship.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Jenevra said shortly. “He was doing it deliberately.”

“What?”

“He was trying to get me to kill him. That was the point.”

Tessier glanced at the princess. “I thought you were friends?”

“Go away,” she said bitterly, anger still smoldering.

“So you’re taking your Flight out,” Tessier’s tone was conversational; he could have been asking about the weather. “They certainly seem impressed with you: they were willing to place wagers on you winning before a stroke had been made.” He saw her face tighten and tried again. “Although I have to say, Princess, you could stomp all over me wearing that outfit, and I’d let you cut my heart out!”

That worked. Jenevra stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, shoulders slumping, eyes closing momentarily. Turning towards him she lifted her hands, “Captain, what are you doing?” Her eyes were almost black in the dimly lit hallway.

Moving closer, Tessier’s fingers brushed softly against her cheek as he gently pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

Startled at his cool touch against her skin, Jenevra backed away, into shadow. “Why can’t you just leave me alone? We’re colleagues, Captain,” she reminded him. “That’s hardly appropriate.”

“Really?” Cynicism tinged Blaise’s voice as he folded his arms. “And I suppose there’s never been anything inappropriate between you and your ‘colleague’ Dhorani? Did you just call it training?”