Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (57 page)

“Commander Rabenaldt,” Phillip interrupted, seeing Raik taking another deep breath ready to start on them all again. “Commander! Sit down please. I called you all back here because of information I have received about a soon to be attempted attack on the Palace and myself.” He held his hand up to prevent the questions and protests already forming. “I trust the information, gentlemen, and you are recalled to counteract the rebels—one of whom should be joining us soon.”

The others looked at each other puzzled.

“My cousin is fine, you’ll be thrilled to hear. Shut up Tessier—she’s fine. We’ll be talking about that more later.” He glared at Tessier whose relief was evident. “She is currently on a mission for me. She has, in fact, been following orders for most of her recent activities … although the whole incident with Mikhail Dhorani was a bit unexpected to be honest. Despite her wishes to the contrary, I’m going to send her Flight on after her; just to make sure we get her back in one piece, so you can relax Sergeant Brogan. Maybe even part of your Border Patrol too, Commander. I’m still thinking that one over.” Standing and walking over to the window, Phillip turned around, the light framing him from behind, catching the golden trim on his black clothing. “Prince Baran, much as I appreciate your help, I really think you should head back to Lorthia for a while. I believe your wife is expecting her child soon? You should be there.”

“Tessier, your Flight will be arriving here in the next day or so. You’ll be commanding them right here. Don’t bother arguing, Captain: it’s an order. You were never going after my cousin.” Phillip said dryly. “She doesn’t need you distracting her right now.”

The door opened and Captain Pichot entered the room, a little taken aback at the group already there. Recovering quickly, he greeted the other officers, Prince Baran and his Emperor politely, taking the seat that Phillip was waving him to.

“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Phillip said; a curiously cold gleam in his eye. “I was just discussing our need to reassess our security measures around the Palace. I thought it pertinent to your current assignment.”

Reiff Pichot merely bowed his head slightly in acquiescence.

“I had a report, yesterday, of an attempt that will be made on my life, and to take the Palace. Apparently, someone from my own guard was overheard discussing these plans with an emissary from a recent thorn in the Imperial side.”

“Corros?” Raik’s gray eyes locked on Phillip.

Phillip nodded, while waggling his hand from side to side. “He’s involved peripherally, we think. This seems to be more particularly the work of the son, Cieren. The young Prince seems to have ambitions of his own. Diruthia being too small to contain him, it appears he feels the need to annex the Empire … my Empire to spread out in.” Smiling benignly, Phillip waved his hands airily. “Well, I’m sure you can see gentlemen, I simply cannot permit that to happen. The Diruthians are planning on attacking us here within the next week, assuming—as they were supposed to—that you were all distributed throughout the Empire where it would take too long to reassemble you. Should they arrive now, it will be to the full might of the massed Imperial War Host. A nice little twist I thought.”

“So will Corros come with his son?” Baran asked, leaning forward on the table. “He’s been fairly outspoken against the Empire recently. I suppose there’s always the chance that Alexander of Abalos-Colles will join with them too now that the princess has killed his son.”

“What?” Pichot blurted.

“Keep up, Captain,” Phillip snapped. “Mikhail Dhorani made the mistake of joining with Prince Cieren and some renegade from the Order. We all witnessed his attack on the Imperial Protector the night she was invested. Apparently he wasn’t quite finished with that, and Captain Couressime merely dispensed some Imperial justice on my behalf. I have written to Aleksander regarding his son’s misguided treachery. I hope that will manage to forestall any move he might make.”

“So, what about the traitor in the Guard?” Raik reminded the Emperor. “You said someone was overheard making these plans.”

“Ah, yes … I did.” Phillip gave a grim smile and walked to the heavy door. Looking out he called to someone and Prince Faris entered the room with two guards behind him. “Prince Faris of Labria. I believe you know most of the men here. Haven’t met this one before though, have you?”

“Captain Pichot?” Prince Faris looked at him with distaste. “Yes,” he said to Phillip after taking a good look at Reiff Pichot. “That’s him.”

“Your Majesty!” Pichot scrambled angrily to his feet. “I must object. How can this foreigner accuse me of anything? He’s never seen me before!”

“On the contrary, Pichot,” Phillip’s dark eyes were hard as granite. “Not only do I trust his word, he was also with someone else who knows you only too well…at a tavern in Ralta several nights ago. You really need to choose your meeting places more carefully—and your partners.” Phillip snapped his fingers at the guards. “Take Captain Pichot down to the dungeon we picked earlier. Make sure he has nothing on him he can harm himself with. I’d hate to think anything would happen to him before we could have a proper trial.”

The guards took strong hold of Captain Pichot, who was struggling furiously now, still vehemently protesting his innocence.

“Pichot,” Phillip grabbed hold of the front of his jacket. “Jenevra was there. Not only did she see you, she heard every word you uttered. If it comes down to who I believe, who I trust, she’ll win every time.” He dropped his hands from Pichot, wiping them as if soiled.

“But Majesty, she’s always hated me. You know that!”

“She’ll be unbearable now,” Tessier observed. “She’s always thought he was guilty of something—now he actually is. Do you think she’ll want to take him apart in trial by combat?” he added hopefully.

“You won’t see your precious Princess again,” Pichot snarled suddenly, stopping struggling to glare at them all with hatred. “They know she’ll make sure those children at the inn are safe first.”

Brogan moved faster than anyone could have predicted, holding his knife to Reiff Pichot’s throat. “What are you talking about?”

Knowing he was doomed anyway, Pichot couldn’t resist jeering. “The inn where the children are, sergeant: the ones from Albor. Thought nobody knew about them, didn’t you? Thought you’d all been so clever. Prince Cieren’s going to be waiting for the princess there. He’s got a surprise or two for her himself. And then, you won’t be holding out for long when he’s bargaining with you over her body.”

“On the contrary,” Phillip said coldly. “Jenevra knows exactly what’s at stake. That’s the mistake everyone keeps making. None of you understand. The Empire comes first … even over her. She’ll die before letting me give this Empire over to Cieren. And I will accept that sacrifice if it comes to it.”

“You don’t mean that,” Pichot said cynically.

“Wrong again,” the young Emperor said with a faint smile. “My cousin is a member of the Order, Pichot. The last instruction she received from her Master in the Order was to defend the Empire—even if she has to die to do it. She doesn’t accept any option on that. Stop Cieren or die. It’s that simple, and she’s just about achieved that anyway by bringing your plans to me.”

“Then she will die,” said Pichot scornfully. “Saifullah will take care of that.”

“Take him away!” Phillip waved, his disgust with the man overcoming his need to wipe the smug look off Pichot’s face. “What is it?” He asked Faris, who was looking thoughtful.

“I’m not sure,” the Labrian Prince said. “Something about that name … if you will excuse me, I must find my brother?”

Phillip turned back to the men in the room. “So, now you know. Jenn overheard Pichot in the inn at Ralta. He was to take over the Palace from the inside, probably holding me hostage for a while until you all surrendered; then killing me. She was not very happy with him. She’s on her way to kill Cieren too if she can; at the very least to try to stop him meeting with Corros.”

Brogan was white-faced. “So she didn’t tell you about Jaiyen? Or her injuries?”

Phillip stared at Brogan, his dark brows drawing together angrily. “Injuries? No, she didn’t mention—. Who is Jaiyen?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll have a long talk with my cousin when she’s safely back here.”

Brogan quickly explained the bare details of Jenevra’s mission to kill Jaiyen, and her belief that she wouldn’t survive the journey. Glancing across at his Emperor’s face, Brogan saw Phillip torn between anger and concern. “If she goes through Bortka, and Cieren reaches those children first …” Brogan didn’t need to finish the sentence.

Phillip nodded. “Commander, will you take your Border Patrol with them?”

Raik disagreed. “You need everyone you can get here, Phillip. If her Flight can’t get Jenn out, a bigger force isn’t going to do it.” His distraction was evident in his informality.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?” Baran asked Phillip. “My guard can add to your numbers.”

“No need really, Prince Baran,” Phillip said. “Go and check on your wife. Let’s make sure something good’s happening in the middle of all this!” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Unless you’d like to volunteer to tell my mother and my wife what’s going on?”

“Now that you mention it, Your Majesty, I do seem to have been away from home rather too long,” Baran said with a grin. He wandered out of the room, pausing only briefly for a quiet word with Tessier.

“Brogan, go organize Shadow Flight,” Phillip instructed. “I know they could do with some rest but …”

“They won’t rest with the princess out there—and the children.” Brogan shook his head again.

“Right, go!” Phillip dismissed the rest of them, turning his attention to Captain Tessier. “So, Tessier, what have you been doing to my cousin? She’s not herself you know.”

“You actually saw her?” Blaise leaned back, sighing in relief, a small smile on his lips. “She’s killing me, you know?” He hesitated, trying to assess how much his Emperor might actually be aware of. He’d always been on friendly terms with Phillip and the Couressimes, but this felt just a little different. “With your permission, I’d like to marry her, Your Majesty. I know she’s an Imperial Princess and you probably have other plans for her, like Prince Faris!” A shadow crossed his face. “But I really do love her. And I’m working on her loving me, I think.”

“You think?” Phillip grinned. “You know, Blaise, the two of you need to try talking to each other. You ‘think’ she loves you. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know what she thinks right now; but then she’s never really been anywhere near being in love before. I’ll be interested to see if you can persuade her.”

“You’re not saying ‘no’ then?” Tessier’s face brightened.

“Correct, Captain. But I’m not saying ‘yes’ either … not yet.” Phillip turned his head as the sound of running feet pounded in the hallway outside, drawing nearer. “We’d better just see if she can get back safely first.”

Faris burst into the chamber, followed by Farid. “Your Majesty,” Faris gasped. “We know who, or rather, what Saifullah is!”

“Sit!” Phillip commanded.

Farid paced impatiently. “Captain Pichot definitely used the name Saifullah?”

Both Tessier and Phillip nodded.

Farid’s face went still, and he began speaking quickly and quietly. “It is an old name, not used very often in our country now. It is more of a title really, rather than a name. Literally, it is “sword of God”, but it means the Captain is in serious trouble if they catch her.” Catching their questioning looks, Farid drew a breath. “A Saifullah is an expert in a particular form of torture. They are trained in using tiny, razor sharp knives, which they use to create a pattern along their victim’s backbone. It’s called the serpent, because the process is excruciating and usually kills the victim. If they can survive the actual pain of the process itself, they also have to do so without flinching and causing the knife to jump into their spine. The knives scrape along lots of the nerve endings along the spine … apparently.” He looked at them both, eyes hard. “Most of their victims die or are permanently paralyzed. Very few survive. The practice has been outlawed in our lands, but we know it is still practiced among the highland tribes. It is possible Prince Cieren has found one. If Jaiyen knew of someone, he might have made the contact for him. Either way, I hate to think of the Captain encountering one of these men. They feel no remorse for their victim.”

Even knowing the princess’s resistance to pain, Tessier felt suddenly sick. He looked at Phillip, a question in his eyes that didn’t have time to form into words.

“Go tell Raik to stay here, Blaise,” Phillip said, drawing a shaky breath. Even though he knew she would be furious at his sentimentality, the prospect of his small cousin being tortured to death was more than he could contemplate when he’d just been talking of the possibility of her falling in love for the first time. “I can’t afford to lose all of my officers chasing after my cousin. Her Flight’s not big enough to make a difference here. Take them, go find her—and don’t bother coming back without her!”

“We can take my ship,” Faris said. “It will be quicker.”

“Can we take the healer with us … Wynn?”

“Take whoever, whatever you need, Tessier. Just get her back.”

 CHAPTER FORTY ONE

The ride into Diruthia could have been pleasant. Summer was deep now and the skies stayed clear as they traveled. Cieren hadn’t bothered tying the princess’s hands. As he persisted in pointing out, he still had the children; she wasn’t going anywhere. He’d talked to her as they rode along, trying to goad her about the deaths of Misha, Colin and Annis. “Jaiyen is really looking forward to a nice long talk with you about Misha. He seems to think you did something wrong there. He’s not awfully happy with you. But, I get the feeling that’s not unusual.”

As with most of his comments, Jenevra refused to take the bait, her mind occupied with wondering how she was going to get the children away from this. She knew she still had a weapon on her, but when she would have the chance to use it … that was the problem. Just getting herself away wouldn’t be too much of a challenge, but she wouldn’t leave the children behind, not now: not even to save herself.

The weather was warm and Prince Cieren allowed the two small girls to curl up next to the princess when they stopped for the night. As usual, the princess slept little. Not only did she want to keep her eyes on the little ones, she also didn’t want to fall into one of her nightmares in front of the Prince. Tallis was kept by the men, but she had managed to throw him several reassuring glances. Several times she had noticed the young boy on the verge of trying to break away, and had caught his eye in time to stop him. She knew the men they were traveling with would hurt any of them with very little compunction.

In the middle of the night, as a light breeze blew through the trees they were camped under, Major Naran walked across the camp, his footfall covered by the rustling leaves. “Prince Cieren would appreciate a moment of your time, Your Highness.” He held his hand out courteously to her, his smile twisting cynically as she glared at him and pushed to her feet, ignoring the gesture.

Tucking her cloak over the two girls, Jenevra followed Major Naran a little way through the trees to where Prince Cieren was waiting. Meeting his arrogant gaze steadily, she stood silently, not willing to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was nervous.

“Ah, Jenevra, how nice of you to come,” Cieren lifted her hand to his lips, noting the involuntary twitch as if she wanted to hit him with it. Sharing a smile with Major Naran as the princess remained silent, Cieren moved around her, lifting her long braid into his hand as he passed behind her; stroking the soft end of it against his face. Standing in front of her, so closely that she could feel his breath on her face, Cieren spoke softly. “I think, Major Naran, I’d like to see how well the princess learned her lessons.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Naran’s smooth voice agreed, his long fingers grasping Jenevra’s shoulders, pulling her back against himself. Sliding one arm across the front of her neck, he raised her head to look at the Prince. Drawing his tongue up the side of her neck before chewing on her earlobe, Naran tightened his grip. “My men have been on the road too long, Princess. They’re ready for a little sport,” he reminded her.

Cieren removed his coat, and the white stock he kept neatly tied about his throat. Pushing Naran’s arm lightly out of the way, he slid his hand around the base of Jenevra’s throat, feeling the fluttering pulse under his touch. Leaning forward, he slid a hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Naran didn’t loosen his grip, just stepped closer so that she could feel both of them pushing against her. As Cieren lowered his mouth onto hers, chewing on her lower lip, licking her lips as Naran had done previously. Naran sank his mouth into the soft flesh at the base of her neck.

Jenevra stiffened, trying to push one or the other of them away, blindly.

“Oh dear, oh dear, Princess,” Naran chuckled. “What have you done?” He held onto her tightly while he looked at his Prince. “Which of the little ones should it be?”

Cieren stood back, watching Jenevra’s face as she realized what was going to happen now. He lifted his hand, looking pensive. Stroking Jenevra’s hair, he said, “I don’t think that will be necessary, Major. I think our guest has just remembered what’s best for her … and for the children. Haven’t you, Princess?” He smiled as she nodded. “Although, should we need to, I think maybe the boy would be best, don’t you?”

“You are wisdom personified as always, my Prince,” Naran acknowledged, tugging the princess back within his grasp. “Now, where were we?”

Jenevra’s mind reeled as the two men mauled her: Cieren pressing himself against her front, pausing frequently to ask for pointers from Naran, purposely to humiliate her. As Cieren’s hand slipped up her shirt and found a breast to fondle, Naran’s hand came from behind, sliding down her shirt in quest of the other. While Cieren’s mouth and tongue explored her neck and throat, Naran pulled her head back to thrust his tongue into her mouth again and again. Wrenching her shirt up, Cieren exposed her breasts to the cool evening air, grasping both, as Naran held her head, ordering her to look into the Prince’s eyes. Before he could go further, one of the soldiers came crashing through the bushes with news that a small patrol had been spotted on the road.

“What a shame, Your Highness,” Cieren turned back to Jenevra, still held in Naran’s grip. “It looks as though we’ll have to postpone our fun until later. Still, I’m sure that little taste of what’s to come has only whetted your appetite.” He kissed her, and turned away. “I know it has mine.”

Midday, the following day, the party split: one group heading west towards the Diruthian capital; the princess, Prince Cieren and the children riding north along the Diruthian east coast with Major Naran and the remaining half of the soldiers.

“Not going to Revka, Your Highness?” Jenevra questioned, a little surprised. “Won’t your father be expecting you by now?”

“Why should I care what my father wants?” Cieren responded acidly. “Or share you with him? He’s old and weak.” He glanced across at the princess, a malicious smirk emerging. “We’re going to my home, Princess … Fetu-Vallis.”

Prince Cieren’s home was a complete surprise. Where she had been expecting some grim overpowering edifice in granite and damp moss, Jenevra found an attractive circular form castle constructed out of a similar yellow stone to Lady Menzetti’s home at Mirizir. The building itself looked well-kept and solid, although the small town that sprawled at the foot of the hill was squalid by comparison; ramshackle houses, more derelict than whole, and miserable looking people with hopeless eyes. The high peaks of Diruthia rose to the left and behind, the sea to the right; leaving the castle protected from three sides. Riding into the keep, she was disappointed to see sturdy, oak doors swing shut behind them, barred by a huge piece of wood that took three hulking men to lift. The only thing she had spotted on the way in was a small trail leading down the slope that seemed to come from the back of the castle. She hadn’t seen any other entrance, but she hoped there might be something, some way out.

The halls were spacious and well-lit, with large brightly colored tapestries on the walls. The main rooms seemed to have large rugs on the floors rather than the rushes she’d been expecting. Cieren opened the door to one room and ushered the children inside. “Say goodbye to the princess for a little while, children: I need to talk to her.”

Surprising her again, he allowed her to hug each of the children briefly, standing quietly as she murmured reassuring words to each of them. She held Tallis’s hand briefly, patting his arm and holding him tightly for a moment. As the door swung shut and was locked by a guard, a feeling of trepidation began to grow. However civilized Cieren was playing at being there was no doubt that they were prisoners.

Opening another door farther along the same hallway, he held the door as she walked inside. Another large airy room; this one with table, chairs, food and wine ready, and a large bed she noted with a slight twinge of panic. Closing the door behind them, Cieren gestured to the table. “Please help yourself.”

A guard knocked on the door and spoke briefly to the Prince. “You will excuse me, Your Highness?” Cieren smiled. “I’m sure you understand there are affairs I must take care of. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” He left the room with a shallow bow.

Alone in the room, Jenevra took the opportunity to check the possibilities for escape from the window. The walls were almost completely smooth, much to her disgust. Possibly she or Spider might be able to find hand and foot holds on them, although it would be tough even for them she realized with a frown. There was no way the children could climb down those walls. Looking along from her room she could just see the window of the room the children were in. Below it the ground came up a little higher, making the distance from the window to ground considerably less than on most other parts of the castle walls. It wasn’t much, but it might make a difference if she could just find a way to get to them.

As the night drew in, she remained alone; wondering when Cieren or Jai-Nimh would make their appearance. Knowing they were stalling precisely in order to increase her anxiety didn’t really help, but she settled for meditating lightly as a form of rest. She didn’t want to give them the advantage of catching her fully asleep. The night passed. Most of the following day crawled by too, with only an occasional check from a guard and one servant replenishing the untouched food and drink still on the table.

Late in the afternoon Prince Cieren paid her a visit. Unlike most men Jenevra knew, Cieren was rarely out of full formal Court attire; long satin and silk coats and shirts with high collars and elaborate braiding and embroidery. Today was no exception; even in his own home the Prince liked to keep everyone aware of his eminent position. His sandy hair fell onto the shoulders of a light turquoise coat impeccably cut of heavy damask, reflecting his pale eyes. He dropped a pair of dove gray gloves onto the table as he entered, brows rising in sarcastic amusement as he saw the princess facing him still in the same dusty clothes she’d traveled in. “Why don’t you let me take your jacket, Princess?” Cieren extended an immaculately manicured hand, a large ruby ring winking dully in the dying light.

“I’m fine, thank you.” Jenevra folded her arms.

Cieren walked up to her, smiling mildly. “Oh, it wasn’t really a request, Princess. Take the jacket off.” His hand caught her arm as she began to back away. “Surely you don’t want me to start hurting those sweet children already, Princess?”

Taking a long slow breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice her need to calm herself, Jenevra began to unwind the long sash she used to keep her jacket closed. Dropping the sash into Cieren’s hand, she shrugged her shoulders out of the jacket and gave that to him too.

Cieren’s blue-green eyes narrowed in frustration as he saw the thin silk shirt she wore underneath the jacket. “That too,” he snapped his fingers at her.

“No.” Jenevra said flatly.

“Yes,” Cieren pulled a knife from his belt. “I think so, Princess.” He slit the front of the shirt open, unfazed by the flash of anger in her eyes. Sliding the knife back into his belt, Cieren wrenched the shirt from her shoulders, pulling her towards him as he did so. In a split second she had his knife at his throat, forcing him to sit on the edge of the large bed, using her sash to tie him to the bedpost. Snatching up her shirt she slipped it on, knotting it hastily in the front as she moved towards the door. “Well, it’s been lovely, Your Highness, but I’m afraid I’ve just remembered a pressing engagement,” she said, pulling the heavy door open.

“Oh, how very disappointing.” Jai-Nimh’s voice came from behind her as he grabbed hold of her wrist tightly, twisting the arm behind her and knocking the knife away. Pushing her back into the room, and into the grip of two of the six large, heavily armed men who had arrived with him, his serene face smiled almost benevolently at her. “We still have the small matter of Misha-Nimh between us, I think,” he pointed at the red cords still tied around her left wrist.

Jenevra shook her head. “No. These are for you—from Graea. Misha died by my hand, as was right. You’ll be pleased to know that Ki-Nimh is doing well.”

Jaiyen’s eyes reflected a sudden flash, gone so quickly she couldn’t really be sure she’d seen it. “Do I really need to send one of these fine gentlemen to take sweet little Tilda for a view of the battlements … or maybe just a tour of the barracks?” Jaiyen laughed lightly as the princess gritted her teeth. “I see Misha managed to get you. You seem to have forgotten everything I taught you about how to block,” he said, pointing towards the wounds still clearly visible on her body as the guards pulled her across to where Cieren was tied to the post, her shirt caught up as she struggled against them. “I always said you weren’t as good as they all thought you were.”