Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (58 page)

“The only reason that’s there,” she retorted, “Is that I allowed Misha to trap his sword in me. That’s when I took his head.”

“You see,” Jaiyen explained patiently to Cieren, untying him as he spoke. “This is why I told you not to be alone with her. She is far more devious than you have yet learned to be.” Pushing Jenevra onto the bed, he tied her tightly to the bedpost in Cieren’s place.

Cieren glowered sulkily; glaring at Jenevra as the cause of his lecture. “Is he here?” he asked Jaiyen. “Where are we doing this?”

Jaiyen lifted his shoulders lightly. “Wherever you want to. It’s only a slightly messy procedure. It depends on whether you prefer to watch a master at work, or the princess here.” He slid his fingers into Jenevra’s heavy braid, pulling her head back. “You did remember to check this for weapons?”

Cieren sighed again. “No, I forgot. I’ll do it now.” He pulled out the thong that tied the braid and raked his fingers through her hair until it was completely unbraided, falling in its thick mass down her back. “Wonderful hair, though,” he murmured; his face close to hers. “Wonderful.” Grabbing the back of her neck he planted a kiss on her lips, the ring cutting her cheek as he slammed his fist across her face in anger when she tried to turn her head away.

Jaiyen’s expression was bland. “Saifullah has arrived, Cieren. You should really go and welcome him yourself. The princess and I have matters to discuss now; before she becomes too … incapacitated.”

“Why don’t you just get on with it?” Jenevra said coolly, as Cieren left the room, the two guards trailing after him. “Just kill me and take the talisman. I really don’t care anymore.”

Jaiyen pulled a chair up, sitting facing her. “You know it’s not about the talismans, Jenna. They’re simply a tool. They don’t have any real power in themselves, except that they brought you here. But you know that.” His pale eyes regarded her steadily. “You know why we’re here, Jenna. The end of the Order. With luck, the end of the Empire too. At least, the end of your Empire. What is the point of having the skills they teach on the Island if you can never use the power they give you? Just sitting on the Island telling stories isn’t exactly fulfilling your potential, is it? Admit it, you felt it too? You didn’t want to be trapped there forever. You’re too wild.”

“You are so wrong, Jaiyen,” Jenevra said softly. “I wished I could stay there forever. I’ve never been happier.”

“Bah!” Jaiyen stood up, brushing her comment aside contemptuously. “You simply liked being the center of attention: the girl who could do no wrong in the eyes of Dai-Nimh.”

“So why did I have to answer to the Master’s Council every week? If I could do no wrong, why did I spend hours justifying myself?” Anger flashed again as Jenevra remembered all the times she had stood in front of the Masters at this man’s insistence on her unsuitability for the Order.

“Because there is no place for women in the Order!” Jaiyen snapped. “I never hid my opposition …”

“Even when I proved I was better than most of them. Yes, I remember that too.” She was past hiding her disdain now; cold fury beginning to assert itself as she began to sense the futile stupidity behind the past few weeks; the deaths … so pointless.

“Better?” A vicious gleam lit his eyes. “We’ll see about that. Just consider this in the small amount of time you have left; the Order you know is finished. The Diruthian army is on its way to attack Salanova and the Emperor will already be dead by the time they reach it. Everything you thought you were helping to protect will be gone. And that’s only the beginning. Remember this, Princess—if you had turned and walked away from the Island any of the times I gave you the chance, none of this would have happened. Every death is on your hands. Dai-Nimh is dead because of you. Misha is dead because of you. Quite literally in his case. Every man on the Island died because of you; because you wouldn’t leave. Your family will be extinguished soon, because you couldn’t lay your own pride aside to save them. You’ll lose everything you ever cared about.” He walked to the door. “But very soon you will break. You will deny the Order; and every single death will be meaningless: your ultimate failure. I’m looking forward to that part.”

Beginning to struggle against the tied sash that was holding her as soon as the door shut behind him, Jenevra held back a small grin of triumph. So, he still didn’t know that Pichot had been caught? Things were still hopeful for the Empire; although not so much for her if she couldn’t get herself and the children out of this place. Wriggling one arm free she quickly extricated herself from the sash and moved over to the door. Surprised to find it unlocked, she opened it and peered out into the wide hallway. The single guard outside her room fell pole-axed as she used her three fingered throat jab, followed by a quick twist to break his neck. Whilst mentally deploring Cieren’s security measures, she wasn’t about to waste an opportunity, and dragged him along the corridor by the ankle to the room she thought they had left the children in earlier. Tapping softly on the door she whispered through it.

Tallis whispered back. “Is that you, Princess?”

“Tallis? Yes. Slide that knife I gave you before under the door would you? Then I can get this door open.” She knew she would need all of her energy if she was going to get them all out of there, so trying to use the strange “gift” she’d developed wasn’t really an option. Smiling as a thin round bladed poniard appeared in the gap under the door she picked it up. Inserting it into the lock, she probed around until she heard a loud click telling her she’d tripped it. Swiftly entering the room, she hugged the children, pulling the guard in behind her and shutting the door.

Using the knife to tear up bed sheets as she was talking to them, Jenevra explained that Tallis was going to go out of the window first. She would lower him down to the ground using the sheets. Then Tilda and Teshia would go. Tallis would be able to untie the girls as they reached the bottom. “I’ll come down after all of you,” the princess said. “But you have to promise me something first.”

The three children nodded solemnly, and she smiled at them. “Good. What I need you to promise is that you will leave as soon as all three of you are on the ground. You can’t wait for me … understand? Tallis, you’re on your honor for this one. You’re responsible for getting the girls away from here. Head south, towards Bortka, then to Salanova. If you manage to get to the Imperial Palace, go to the stables and ask for Master Alvaro. Give him the knife.” She handed the small blade back to Tallis. “He’ll help you get in to see the Empress.”

The children’s eyes were wide, their gaze moving over the dead guard sprawled in the corner of the room. “Where will you be, Princess?” Teshia asked nervously. “Won’t you be with us?”

Jenevra finished tying a knot over the end of the last piece of sheet. “With luck, I will be with you; but you can’t wait for me. Just get going. Keep to the shadows. I will find you all again, I promise. Tilda, this means you have to be really brave about being in the dark. Can you do that for me? No crying?”

The little girl nodded, thumb stuck in her mouth.

“Right,” Jenevra took a deep breath, opened the window and looked out. “Tallis? Let’s try this out then.” She tied one end of the rope around the boy’s waist and helped him out of the window. “Don’t worry, Tallis,” she grinned at him. “When this is all over, I’ll take you mountain climbing. This is nothing! Just remember—as soon as the girls are down, you go.”

It was a good forty five feet to the ground, but the sheet rope was just long enough. Hauling it back in quickly, Jenevra lowered Tilda and then Teshia down to Tallis: the girls at least were light. Waving at them to get going, she was pleased to see them move off into the shelter of some low bushes along the top of the cliffs. Tying the sheet onto a heavy table which she pulled across the room, she let herself out of the window; glad she’d decided to use the rope as the stone walls of the castle were almost totally smooth. A sudden noise in the room above her told her that their escape had been discovered. Before she could do anything an axe severed the sheet rope, dropping the princess most of the way; landing awkwardly with an arm under her and a loud crack from her leg. Even before she tried to sit up and failed she knew she’d broken it. Cursing under her breath she hissed towards the bushes for the children to get going. Torches approached rapidly, voices harsh as they reached her. Feeling true pain for probably the first time in her life, Jenevra passed out as they dragged her back into the castle.

A sharp smell brought her back to her senses, unaccustomed agony flaring through her in nauseating waves. Trying to lift her head, she found she could barely move. Her arms were held up to the sides; the left one sending vicious shooting pains into her shoulder and hand. Slowly gaining consciousness she began to realize where she was; tied standing at the end of the bed in the room she had been in earlier. Her arms were pulled out as wide as they could be, raising her as high as possible without her feet leaving the floor. All of her weight was on her left leg, the right one hanging, twisted, agonizingly.

“She’s back with us,” she heard Cieren’s voice through the haze in her head. “Hello, Princess, how are we feeling?” He pulled her head back to look into her eyes. His face was close to hers, his breath hot on her skin. Moving around behind her, burying his head in her hair, he sniffed in its scent. Cieren felt the princess tense. Relishing the sense of power it gave him, he slid his hands around her, grasping her breasts in his hands while standing pressed tight up against her; feeling her try to twist away from him, unable to do so. Smiling maliciously, the Prince pulled her hair back, shifting round in front of her to kiss her again, sliding his tongue into her mouth, biting her lip viciously when she tried to pull away. Moving away, Cieren poured himself a goblet of wine, threw several pillows to the top of the bed and settled down to watch the princess. “Much better,” he approved, raising his cup to her.

Unable to move enough to toss her hair forward to cover her chest, Jenevra hung at the end of the bed, mind whirling as she realized how little chance there truly was of escaping this. Every movement she tried to make sent splintering spikes of pain through her leg into her back.

“Saifullah, welcome.”

Barely conscious, Jenevra heard Jaiyen’s voice with the sound of the door opening and closing.

“You did not mention this was a woman, my friend Jaiyen.”

“I was not aware it would make a difference, Saifullah.”

“It does not truly, Jaiyen,” Jenevra could hear the newcomer’s voice coming closer to her; a soft voice with an accent that rang with familiarity. “It is unusual, but a rather pleasant surprise in many ways. You do realize that she may not last for the entire procedure?” There was no emotion in the voice, just a soft statement of fact.

“There’s no rush, Saifullah.” Jaiyen’s voice came again. “You can take your time with this one. You can carve every last inch of her. Just be sure she breaks before she dies.”

“She will.” The voice of the one being called Saifullah spoke from behind her. A soft hand lifted her hair from her back, brushing it forward to fall down the front of her shoulders, much to Cieren’s disappointment. The hand caressed the curve of her spine, gently, almost comfortingly, lightly touching the sword scars on her left flank. “Yes, friend Jaiyen, it will be a pleasure to work on such a beautiful canvas.” He began to move around to the side of the bed. “And does the face have the beauty to match the back?”

Jenevra looked down, thick curtain of hair falling across her face.

Jaiyen snapped his fingers at Cieren, who was only too happy to oblige, crawling to the end of the bed and pulling Jenevra’s head back, brushing her hair to one side; fondling her breasts again. “Later, Cieren.” Jaiyen said, tiredly.

A tall, gaunt man came into focus in Jenevra’s hazy vision; hands quietly folded in the sleeves of a long robe similar to that worn by Faris when they had visited the palace. Labrian! That was why the accent had sounded familiar. A neatly kept graying beard hung from the man’s chin in an almost perfect V-shape, joining well trimmed moustaches. Deeply set dark eyes gazed serenely at her. “Yes, quite beautiful,” he mused, cupping her chin to raise her eyes to his. “And not unaccustomed to pain for one so young, I see.” He reached forward, tenderly tracing the scars, cuts and bruises still visible on her with one finger. “I think I shall call you Malak, dear child. It means angel in the language of my people.” He removed his outer robe, revealing a long purple tunic and trousers, covered with rich embroidery in a dark magenta thread. Folding his sleeves back meticulously, he began to unroll a soft packet he carried with him, talking to the princess all the time in that same curiously gentle voice, describing in intricate detail the process that was about to begin. “You understand, my beautiful Malak,” he whispered as he opened the roll to reveal a selection of tiny bladed razor-edged knives. “The fear of the process is just the first stage of the pain.” He held the flat blade of one of the knives against the skin just below her right eye, amused when she simply closed her eyes.

Soothingly, Saifullah stroked her hair over the front of her shoulders again, not wanting any of it in his way as he worked. Holding the back of her head forward with one hand, he caressed the soft skin at the nape of her neck with the blade, then turned the edge and began to cut, whispering to her continuously. Noting only a slight gasp, Saifullah’s hooded eyes looked questioningly at Jaiyen. “You have not given me a mute, my friend?”

Jaiyen laughed abruptly. “You could wish, Saifullah. Believe me this one is far from mute!”