Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (51 page)

“I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Jenevra said quietly, from Oran’s side, where he was helping her to unfasten the padded leather breastplate she’d been wearing.

“Really?” Tessier almost sneered, but there was real anger in his eyes. “Well, I do.” He began pacing around, waving his sword. “I want to know how you managed to kill sixteen grown men, Captain. I want to know how you appear to have done it without using a sword. I want to know what it is you think you can do that makes you so damn blasé with your life.” He glared at her, adding in a dangerously soft voice, “And I want to know now.”

“Captain, I …” Jenevra closed her eyes, willing him not to do this.

“Don’t tell me no, Captain!” Tessier snapped. “Not after today.”

Baran and the others appeared in the doorway. “Don’t be an idiot, Blaise,” Baran warned, catching the puzzled weariness in Jenevra’s face. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Ah, more of them,” Oran interjected, cheerily. “It’s still not quite a fair fight, Nimh’a. There are only five of them: but if you let them keep their swords I suppose it’s as good as we can do—if you’re going to insist on this?” He looked at Tessier.

“I am.”

“Oran-Nimh …” Jenevra’s shoulders sagged.

The old man, gazed steadily at her. “Just try not to hurt them too much, Nimh’a.” He beckoned the four men standing at the door into the room. “It will be good for you all,” he assured them, walking to the side of the room under the balcony once more, before waving for them to begin.

Rubbing at her nose with her unbound hand, Jenevra moved to the center of the mats in a whisper of dark silk, looking apologetically at the new arrivals. The sweat stained robe uncovered by the removal of the breastplate also had the outline of a single cresting wave outlined in white on sleeve and back. “This is not my choice,” she said. “Just remember that. I don’t want to do this.” She stood calmly as Tessier raised his sword to the side. The others fanned out in a circle, hesitantly drawing their swords too.

“Whenever you’re ready gentlemen,” Oran called.

Tessier was first, letting out an angry cry as he brought his sword down towards the princess.

Sliding swiftly sideways, Jenevra moved inside his reach, bringing her hand down sharply on the nerve in his wrist, sending his sword spinning from dead fingers. The same hand rose to catch him under the chin: his own momentum putting him on the floor.

Amused and intrigued, Karl and Hugo joined in, coming at her from opposite sides. Ducking under their blades, Jenevra span a quick crouching circle, taking their legs from under them, before turning to meet Jann Crevaux’s surprise attack that wasn’t.

With four of them sitting on the floor looking startled, Jenevra met Baran’s eyes. Sensing in his grin something she had suspected for some time—that he had some familiarity with the Order’s training methods—she shifted her stance as he came towards her. Holding his attack off, but unable to put him on the floor as easily as she had the others, she became aware of the other men back on their feet again and closing in. Moving her technique higher, she kicked both Crevaux and Hugo in the head with a spinning butterfly kick, leaving her clear to move out of the circle, almost forcing them to face her in a line. Watching them regroup a strange lassitude began to take hold of her. The throbbing of the talisman began crashing through her head again, and the men she faced seemed to be moving through treacle they were so slow.

Turning sideways, she flexed into a solid stance, calling them on with her left hand; the deep pulse of the talisman almost robbing her of sight as she launched towards them, barely conscious of her movements. In a matter of seconds, they were all falling through the air like leaves caught up in a whirlwind, landing heavily on the mats. As they tried to rise they were met by hands or feet until, as Jenevra sent her left palm, fingertips tightly angled, towards Tessier’s heart, Oran’s cane slammed down onto her wrist, deadening it, at the same time as he shouted the Order’s command for immediate halt.

Oran’s hand pressed hard against her chest, holding her back until her vision cleared. Blinking hard, rubbing her eyes, Jenevra looked up into the old man’s gaze, then around at the others. Confronted by a couple of bloody noses, cut lips and five flushed faces, she knew she hadn’t heard the end of this. Sinking to kneel on the floor, she refused to look at any of them as Oran ushered them all out into the care of Gethin and his establishment.

Oran placed a hand on her shoulder. “This has happened before, hasn’t it, Nimh’a?” Clarifying, he added, “Losing control like that … it’s happened before?”

“This afternoon,” she confirmed. “Ki-Nimh sent me after a Diruthian patrol, muto,” she referred to the style of unarmed fighting against an armed opponent. “It was the last man when I lost it, and did this.” Unwrapping her right hand, she placed it on her knee.

Grimacing, Oran sent for a small bucket of crushed ice, carefully sliding her hand into it when it arrived, and pushing the ice chips around to cover her hand entirely. “You know why this is happening, don’t you?”

“No,” she said softly. “I thought maybe I was just angry this afternoon, but now … I don’t know.” She stood up, holding the ice bucket in the crook of her left elbow with her right hand still in it, and walked to the open screens, gazing out onto the peaceful courtyard. Leaning her head against the wooden frame, she sighed. “This is turning into the longest day of my life, Oran-Nimh.”

“Longer than the day I had you hold the water buckets?” He asked smiling gently, thinking back to one of the punishments he’d had to mete out to his most difficult pupil: a technique she had revised for Will Theiss using horseshoes. “Come, Nimh’a, walk with me. There are things you need to know.” Taking her arm, he walked her out into the cool air of the courtyard, his soft voice and the tinkling chimes of wind bells almost taking her back to her time on the Island; the smell of bamboo and water bringing a temporary peace to the turmoil in her mind.

Knowing his information would focus her once more on her purpose, and believing it unlikely he would see her again in this life, Oran-Nimh bowed as deeply to Jenevra as she did to him when he released her back into Raiden’s care. Taking her face between his hands the old man had looked deep into the troubled blue eyes. “I know this was hard to hear, Nimh’a.” he said. “It changes everything we all thought we knew. But you can do this.” He shook his head slightly as she began to protest. “There is no choice, Nimh’a, you know that. You have the strength. Dai-Nimh knew what he was doing when he gave you the talisman; knew what it might mean. Personally,” here a smile lit his eyes. “I think he rather hoped it would be you. He was very proud of you, Nimh’a. You were like his own child, you know.”

Biting down hard on the inside of her lip again, Jenevra bowed deeply one last time to her old teacher. With her hand still stuffed into the bucket of ice, she padded slowly through the house alone, along hallways of dimly lit rooms closed in by wood and paper screens behind which muffled laughter, or the occasional splash of bath water could be heard. Walking up through four floors, along wooden stairways smelling of wax and sandalwood, Jenevra mentally adjusted her plans.

On the fourth floor, a large room was noisily occupied. Recognizing Hugo’s loud voice, Jenevra hesitated, glancing at the sliding screen. Trying to decide whether or not she should disturb them, she leaned against the wall; hearing a rustle of bedclothes and a woman’s soft voice from the room next to it.

“That’s never happened before. You’d better try again.” Captain Tessier’s voice came clearly through the screen in the quiet of the night and Jenevra gasped, jumping away from the wall as if it had scorched her. Before the princess could move, Jann Crevaux slid the door open in front of her. Wrapped in one of the black house robes, obviously freshly bathed, he stopped short as he saw her startled expression. “Your Highness,” he greeted her warily. “Are you alright?” He gave a quick, almost embarrassed glance back over his shoulder to the corner of the room, before turning to face her again. “I heard there’s a painting master here too,” he gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I thought I’d go and find him.”

“I came to apologize,” she said, looking around the room at Hugo, Karl and Baran. “You too, Lieutenant,” she smiled sadly at Crevaux who, for the first time was close enough to her to look clearly into her eyes, and finally saw past the grimy, sweat-streaked face, past the straggling hanks of hair, past the wildness, to the young girl trapped in a world she was made for, but hadn’t chosen.

Touched by her lonely sadness, Crevaux began to understand something of the complicated need his Captain felt for her, and smiled. “No need for apology, Captain. We’re all big boys now. We can choose our fights if we want to.”

Baran, languishing under the kneading hands of two skilled masseurs, raised his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he advised. “You told him you didn’t want to fight, and I told him it was a stupid idea too.” Peering more closely at her he added, “What’s happened? You haven’t been training down there all this time have you?”

Flexing her hand in the crushed ice, Jenevra looked down into the bucket. “No, I’ve been talking with Oran-Nimh.”

“Not good news, I take it?”

“Let’s just say I’ve had better days, Baran.”

Baran was just reiterating that Tessier had brought it on himself, when the screen in the far corner of the room slid open and Tessier stalked into the room fastening soft brown trousers, a copper colored robe flaring out behind him. His hair was disheveled, and his mood didn’t seem to have improved since the fight; a dark scowl on his face. Catching sight of the princess in the doorway he stopped dead in his tracks, guilt rising in his eyes as he turned to try to close the screen behind him before Jenevra could see the young woman there. Too late. The ebony haired courtesan emerged from the sleeping room, her robe hanging around her waist; sliding her arms around Tessier, trying to pull him back into the room. Cursing, and pushing her hands away, Tessier froze as he saw Jenevra’s face.

“Much better days,” she muttered bitterly, slamming the screen shut.

 CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

In a large suite occupying the entire top floor of the House of Dancing shadows, dismissing the maids and sinking deeper up to her chin in a huge, round cedar tub of hot water, Jenevra finally felt a little of the tension leave her. The marks on her body were still vividly clear, although the herbs and oils in the bath seemed to be helping with the soreness and stiffness just a little. The cuts on her hands and feet were far less angry-looking thanks to Wynn’s herbs, other than her right hand which she periodically placed back into the bowl of ice sitting on the steps of the tub. Between the finger and thumb of her left hand she was idling twirling the stem of the Baris oak leaf she’d collected in the forest, watching the colors in it as it moved, and wondering how she could feel so angry with Tessier. After all, she reasoned, she had made sure he understood that she wasn’t interested in him; she’d told him that on several occasions now, and she’d even fought him. Why shouldn’t he go amuse himself with a whore if that was what he wanted?

Closing her eyes and pulling her arms down under the water, leaving the leaf to float on the surface, she tried to put it out of her mind. Contemplating what Oran-Nimh had told her, she knew she couldn’t leave Virat with her Flight; she couldn’t risk going to Mirizir to see Graea. Sifting through her options, she began to put plans together, uncertain why tension kept cramping her stomach as the vision of the woman sliding her arms around Captain Tessier refused to leave her.

Raiden picked a deep cornflower blue silk robe up from the frame where it hung over smoldering incense, and slid it over her shoulders. The thick silk shimmered in the dim starlight, shining waves wrought in silver and pearl threads adorned the hem, sweeping up the back of the robe in a single cresting wave. Lifting her hair out, he twisted it into a roll, securing it simply with one slim stick, while she fastened the braided ties that held the front of the robe closed.

Opening a smaller screen, Raiden hung a small lantern on a pole, casting its dim glow onto a narrow pathway leading further up the dark rock of the hillside to a solitary maple tree beaten almost horizontal by onshore breezes. Silently, he led the way along the path with a second lantern, Jenevra following him. One of the tree’s lower limbs provided a hook for the lamp, while several large silk cushions had been placed on the ground below it; the lamplight flickering amongst the coppery leaves making the tree look as though it was on fire. Settling Jenevra onto the cushions, Raiden bowed, promising to come back within the hour, and left her to her thoughts.

Focusing deeply on meditating, Jenevra let the wind play through her mind, the sound of leaves rustling taking her back to the whispering bamboo groves of the Island. Slowly sinking into the deeper state, she reached for the visions this time, desperately hoping to contradict Oran-Nimh’s information. The very act of trying to see the visions rather than pushing them away, seemed to bring them with a clarity she’d never experienced before; the misty veil that always shrouded the figures was gone, leaving them as crisp and clear as if they were standing before her in full daylight. With an anguished, stifled, groan, Jenevra recognized Jai-Nimh’s training partner, confirming her need to leave Virat that night and alone.

Her head drooping, and hands still loosely folded on her lap, Jenevra sank into the nightmare before she could pull away; she had left herself too open and was too tired to fight it even though she wasn’t fully asleep. The faces appeared in their usual manner, figures walking towards her across a vast plain of slaughter, crying her name in hatred, weeping over the bodies of their dead. Feeling harsh tightness pressing against her chest, Jenevra struggled to breathe against the weight of grief surrounding her. As usual, her gaze then turned to the body she held cradled within her own arms. Raik’s face gave way to Ki-Nimh’s, to Stephan’s and Richard’s; face after face of people she knew and loved, each one dead, and she knew it was her fault that they lay bereft of life in her grasp. Christiana’s face changed into Arrilia Neilla’s, into members of her Flight and then into Tessier’s. Jenevra gasped aloud as a spear of pain shot through her at Blaise lying lifeless; the gasp choking as the face changed again.

Waking from the trance abruptly, she jumped to her feet, holding her hands over her face, trying to slow her breathing enough to actually take a deep breath. Now she knew there would be no return from this journey. The death she had been fighting against seeing all these years was her own.

Tessier was still angry. Several jugs of iced wine hadn’t helped his temper, and the spirits he had started on hadn’t taken effect yet. The more he thought about the day, the tighter his jaw clenched. Everything that could go wrong with the princess had. From her cutting off his air at lunchtime, the disparaging remarks in the pond, her solo venture into the forest that could so easily have ended with her raped, dead, or both: then the conversation with Kian back at the inn where, just for a moment, she had looked at him with real warmth, and what had he done? Cut her dead with a look as cold as any she’d ever given him. Tessier shook his head, pouring another large glass of whatever the burning liquid was that they’d brought for them. All he wanted was for her to want him, to need him; Gods above, even to love him if that was possible. So you challenge her to a fight, he mocked himself bitterly. Knowing she’s hurt and exhausted, you just have to prove what a man you are by going five on one—and losing! And then, the woman. How could you? Idiot! Slouching across to the balcony, Tessier stood watching the waves crashing on the black rocks far below them. Cup in one hand, he leaned negligently on the rail, the coppery robe flying loosely as the wind picked up.

“The tides are crossing,” a new voice said, behind him. “An ill-omened time.”

Glancing quickly at the newcomer, Tessier recognized the young man Jenevra had fought earlier that evening. Long black hair caught up at the top of his head, flowed down past his shoulders, which were sharply defined by muscle. Tanned and fit, the man stepped out onto the balcony next to Tessier, bowing his head slightly in greeting. “Raiden,” he said, holding out a hand.

Gripping it, Tessier responded, nodding towards the loud sound of snoring as he did. “And that,” he said, “Is His Royal Highness, Baran Wargentin, Crown Prince of Lorthia.” A faint smile pulled the corner of his mouth as Baran gave a particularly loud grunt and woke himself up.

Raiden looked out over the sea, where the twin moons were slowly revolving, their slivers of light moving from the bottom of their orbit, to their inside edges, causing the strange shifting of influences known as the crossing of the tides. Widely regarded throughout the Empire as a time of malign influence, few people would risk making important decisions, or traveling far from home during the next four days.

“Actually, Captain,” Raiden said. “I came to see if there was anything you wanted. Anything the House can get for you?” Looking away, he added softly, “Kasumi did not meet your requirements earlier. Is there anything … else … you would care to try?”

Resting both hands on the rail, Tessier shook his head; the wind whipping his hair back from his face. Lowering his head, he turned to look at Raiden. “Unless you’ve got a way of getting me into the good graces of the young woman I fought earlier?”

A curious light entered Raiden’s eyes, and he leaned back against the balcony rail, arms folded across his bare chest. “Jenevra?”

Tessier tossed down another glass of liquid fire and shuddered.

Tapping Tessier on the shoulder, Raiden beckoned him to the far end of the balcony. “She’s right there.” He jerked his head, gesturing up the side of the cliff, where a slight figure knelt in glimmering firelight. “You were angry with her earlier, I seem to recall. Not to mention Kasumi.”

Tessier’s eyes were fixed avidly on the princess, but he slumped visibly as Raiden’s words hit him. “Damn it, I know how it looked, but nothing happened. I swear it didn’t. She’ll never believe I love her now.” He raked his hands through his hair despairingly. “And who could blame her? I’m so stupid!”

Snoring himself awake again, Baran staggered out onto the balcony to relieve himself. Weaving unsteadily on his feet he leaned heavily on Tessier’s shoulder, peering blearily at Raiden. He belched, scratching at his head. “I may have had a little too much.”

“Prince Baran,” Raiden acknowledged, bowing his head.

“What’re you doing?” Baran asked the two of them.

“She’s up there.” Tessier pointed up the hillside.

“She?” Baran mocked. “Gods, Blaise, you’re not still blaming her for today are you? It was all your own fault. If you didn’t want Jenna to see you with a whore, then you shouldn’t have been with one! It’s really very simple.” Staggering across the floor to his sleeping mat, Baran rustled around noisily for a couple of minutes. “You know, Blaise, you could just try apologizing,” his voice came from the shadows. “Jenna did when she was wrong; and she was looking to apologize again tonight, when it wasn’t even her fault.” A loud thud as his head hit the floor told the two men that the Prince was asleep.

Slamming his hands on the balcony rail, Tessier cursed in frustration. “Apologize? How can I do that? She won’t even see me, I’ll bet.”

“You really care for her?” Raiden’s voice was hard.

“I love her. I want to marry her, but she doesn’t believe me.”

Nodding as his eyes searched Tessier’s for the truth and found only sincerity in them, Raiden smiled.

“Before you make any sudden move, Princess …”

Jenevra’s eyes snapped open.

“… this may be a good time to remind you that you don’t seem to have any clothes on.”

Recognizing the voice, she froze. “Get out! Get out now!”

“Mmm, no, I don’t think so, Princess. It’s such a shame to wake you. You look so peaceful when you’re asleep, but we need to talk,” Tessier murmured into her ear. “It would appear that it’s my turn to have you at a disadvantage.” He kissed her ear lightly. “And awfully pretty disadvantages they are too.”