Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (60 page)

“Captain, I need you to hold her still. Can you do that?”

“What?”

“Captain Tessier, just get up on that bed, and hold on to the princess.” Wynn shook his head, turning his attention back to Jenevra as Tessier jumped onto the bed, holding her head gently in his hands, murmuring quietly, reassuringly, to her; his stomach clenching as there wasn’t even the slightest flicker of consciousness from her.

Farid stood next to the healer, strips of sheet already being thrust into his hands. Bending, he retrieved a small vial he had found on the floor, standing back up slowly as he read it.

“What’s that?” Wynn asked Farid.

“Rakthan,” Farid muttered, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on the princess. “The seal was on the floor, but there’s over half a vial gone.”

“What?” Wynn was incredulous. “Half? Half a vial? You’re not serious?” But he could see from Farid’s glittering eyes that there was no mistake. “Great Pajan, it’s a miracle she’s still alive. Of course, it remains to be seen what sort of damage this has done.”

“Back first, then,” muttered Wynn, marshaling his thoughts. “Farid, can you hold her back still while I try to get these out without doing more harm?” He took a deep breath as Farid placed strong hands on the princess’s sides. Pulling slowly and carefully, Wynn got all three of the grotesquely long needles out of her back.

“Dear Gods!” D’Agostino shuddered as he saw the third one come out. “How did that not go all the way through her?” He held more strips out to Wynn, staring now at the princess’s back, blood still dripping slowly from the mutilated flesh. “Somebody needs to pay for this,” he muttered angrily, moving away and tearing more strips from the sheets with real venom.

Laying a heavily wadded roll of sheet along the length of her back, Wynn wrapped the princess’s torso with the makeshift bandages to hold it in place, all the way to the top of her neck. That done, he turned to the next major task, the broken leg.

Spider had found a wooden high backed chair in the corner of the room and had broken it down to reasonable sizes for Wynn’s needs. Tying longer lengths together, Wynn made a splint for Jenevra’s leg; binding them tightly to the mangled limb. “We’re almost ready to get her down,” he told them. Then we have to really do some work.”

“We’re running out of time, healer,” Farid reminded him as sounds of swords clashing came from around the castle.

“It will take as long as it takes,” Wynn said doggedly. “Why doesn’t one of you watch the door?” He added as Faris ran in to the room to join them; smugly pleased with himself for locking a large number of the Prince’s troops in their own barracks, and then telling Brogan and his men where to find them.

Tying more splits to the left arm before loosening the ropes that were keeping it stretched taut, Wynn had all of them lift the princess onto the bed. Laying more or less flat, her hair falling back from her face, they could see her extreme pallor, eyes that were sunken and bruised looking, and lips that were bitten raw rather than allow herself to cry out … until she was too far gone to know.

With swift precision Wynn undid her arm splints. “Hold onto her, and stuff that pillow in her mouth. This is going to hurt.” He twisted the arm with both hands: nasty grinding noises making the men cringe, until he was happy that he could feel the bones were more or less in the right places.

Jenevra’s eyes opened for the first time since they had found her as the pain broke through forcing her into a brief consciousness, and Tessier kissed her face with relief as he saw her look at him. “It’s alright, Princess. We’ve got you now.” His smile died as she lost consciousness again. Shaking her gently, he called her name.

“Captain, please don’t wake her up again,” Wynn pleaded. “She’s really going to be better off out cold for the next one.” He started unwrapping the splints from her leg. “Gods, I hate this,” he muttered, more to himself than anything.

“Why?” Spider asked him curiously.

Wynn looked at him, using a small knife to cut the front of Jenevra’s trouser leg open. “Because next to actual amputation this is the one that hurts the most: I hate doing it, but you absolutely have to straighten the leg as soon as possible. Not to mention the amount of Rakthan they gave her.” He turned to the men standing around him. “Captain, you need to lie across her shoulders; Faris, across her hips. Spider, you need to hold that left leg absolutely still. Lie on it if you need to. Farid, I’m going to need you to pull on this right foot as hard as you can. Don’t let go until I tell you! Gods, I hate this! Ready? Go.”

As they each followed his instructions, Jenevra struggled to move; letting out a high rending scream ending on a sob that tore at all of them.

Wynn snapped the bone back into place with a sickening crunch as the princess passed out again. He reached quickly for the pulse in her neck again, murmuring a prayer of thanks to Pajan, the healing god, as he felt it. Wrapping the leg in its splints and bandages again, he nodded at the men. “Now we can get out of here!”

“Someone’s coming!” D’Agostino, watching at the door, whispered loudly.

Picking their swords up again, the men quickly positioned themselves along the walls by the door, or behind the bed; ready to add the element of surprise to however many came in.

“Cieren, I told you not to—” Jaiyen broke off as he saw the princess lying on the bed; his nephew’s son on the floor with an arrow through his throat. Sweeping his sword free of its scabbard he turned to face the intruders.

Saifullah followed him into the room, also startled to see the princess removed from her earlier position. “My Malak.”

Farid’s sword stopped him. “Malak? You dare to call her Malak?” Without hesitating he drew his blade across the torturer’s throat.

Jaiyen eyed the furious men in the room. Coldly contemptuous of their ability the old man raised his sword against all of them.

As Tessier started to move against Jaiyen from his position by Jenevra, a small shining object flew past his ear, taking the Master by surprise as it cut deeply into his carotid artery. One of Saifullah’s razor-edged knives had found its final resting place. Jaiyen dropped his sword; an expression of utter surprise on his face as he fell to the ground, gasping through the profuse bleeding until, suddenly, he was dead.

“That’s for Graea,” Jenevra mumbled behind Tessier, falling back onto the bed unconscious.

In their anger at the treatment of their beloved Princess, the few guards the men encountered as they left the castle were disposed of without compunction. Collecting the children and their horses, they rode south. Tessier had wanted to carry Jenevra in front of him, but Wynn had point blank refused, insisting on a well-sprung coach from Cieren’s stables for her. He also insisted on taking her back as far as they could by Faris’s ship. The ship might take a little longer, depending on the winds, but it would be a smoother journey for the injured Princess, and the healer wanted her to stay as straight and flat as possible.

From Lake Kata it was a short ride to the Palace. Tessier had sent Farid ahead with Tallis to let them know they were coming, and they soon had Jenevra settled in her own rooms.

Phillip and Christiana arrived at Jenevra’s room almost as soon as she was there. The Emperor’s face was grim as he took in the small figure lying unconscious on the bed in front of him. “What do you need, healer?” he asked Wynn. “Whatever it is, just tell them,” he gestured to the guards standing just inside the room. “They’ll make sure you have it.” He glanced at Tessier who was standing by the bed, his gaze riveted on the princess. “How is she…really?”

Blaise shook his head, not really trusting his voice.

“Umm…I think Your Majesty might prefer to leave for a few minutes,” Wynn suggested deferentially. “I need to check Her Highness over and get that leg pulled out on weights.” He waved to a couple of his assistant healers who’d been scurrying around finding the supplies Wynn needed.

Phillip moved closer, taking his cousin’s hand in his. “I think I’ll stay,” he said briefly. “Chris, you might not want to see this.”

“She’s my sister,” Christiana glared at him. “Of course I’m staying.”

Rolling Jenevra gently onto her front with Tessier’s help, Wynn removed the bandages from round her torso. The long roll of material he had placed along her back had to be soaked to peel it away where the blood had dried it onto her skin; but he washed her back carefully as it came off.

“Jenn!” Christiana was in tears as she finally saw the damage done to her small sister. “What did they do? Can’t you do anything?” She sobbed at Wynn, as she looked again at the livid red lines scored from Jenevra’s neck all down the length of her back.

“Not really, Your Majesty, no,” Wynn said softly. “It will fade slightly in time, but the scarring will always be there. We’re still not entirely sure of what damage the process may have done other than the obvious. Time will have to tell us that, I’m afraid.” He began to place fresh bandages along the back, wrapping them around her again. “The best we can say for it is that it’s all clean, no sign of any infection—then we’d have a much bigger problem.” He gave them all a very direct look, even his tufted hair seemed to be taking the situation seriously and was lying flat against his head. “We’re very lucky that she’s still alive. Let’s just make sure she stays that way before we start worrying about the long term effects.”

Phillip cast a look over at Tessier. “How are you doing with all this?”

“I’ll cope,” he grated; but his eyes had a haunted look to them.

When Wynn was finally satisfied that the princess had had every medical need attended to, he suggested that they leave her with her sister and maids so that they could change her clothes for something more suitable than the battered trousers she’d worn since leaving the palace. “Just call me if there’s any sign of her waking up,” the exhausted healer told them as he left the room.

Christiana clambered onto the bed, sitting next to Jenevra, stroking her hair, tears spilling slowly down her face as she contemplated what her sister had been through.

Phillip kissed his wife, squeezing her hand and promising to return later. Placing a light kiss on Jenevra’s cheek, he left the room with Tessier following reluctantly.

 CHAPTER FORTY THREE

The next few weeks were strangely subdued in the Imperial Palace.

Although the princess was there, she remained unconscious for two weeks. The servants moved about silently, conversation in the court itself was mainly conducted in hushed whispers, no-one quite sure whether they were in mourning or not. The strain on the Imperial Family was clear. The Empress and Dowager Empress were spending most of their days in the princess’s room, watching and waiting for some sign of change. The Emperor strode around, coldly furious that his cousin should have paid so dearly for the ambition of the Diruthians.

The Imperial War Host, under Commander Rabenaldt’s command once again, had witnessed the collapse of the Diruthian rebellion. Corros had ridden onto the field unaware of the deaths of his uncle and his son, unaware of Captain Pichot’s capture and unaware that he would be facing the entire Imperial Army. Phillip coolly informed him of his losses and accepted his surrender before the battle could even take place, sending Corros back to Diruthia in the company of a furious Captain Manvi and his Flight. Surprising most people, Mikyle Manvi seemed to be taking Jenevra’s injuries almost personally, angrier than anyone, his mother included, ever remembered seeing him. Stephan and Richard Couressime had returned to Salanova with Captain Manvi’s Flight, but had stayed rather than go to Diruthia.

Captain Tessier had returned to his duties as Captain of Eagle Flight, although he was obviously not focused on his work, spending as much time as he could hovering near Jenevra’s room, ignoring Serena Massili’s protests that it wasn’t proper for him to be there. Fortunately, Jann Crevaux was extremely competent, not to mention highly sympathetic to his Captain, and kept the Flight on its toes.

Captain Pichot’s Flight was now commanded by his Senior Lieutenant, Neill Malov, a Maressian Baron deeply committed to the Empire and not a huge fan of his previous commander.

Kian Menzetti, knowing he had some time before Jenevra would be ready to talk, had returned to Mirizir, to acquaint his mother with everything that had happened, leaving Shadow Flight under Brogan’s direction; mainly concentrating on their usual training routine. As always there was a member of the Flight outside Jenevra’s room on guard constantly; reporting back on her condition to the Flight at the end of their shift. It was Kallan Bana who got to take the news of the princess’s return to consciousness back to the barracks, just over two weeks after their return to Salanova. It was still too early to tell how she would do in the long run, but Kallan reported that she had been heard to ask what the Flight was up to, and to ask for Brogan to report to her. With a grin he told the Flight that the Emperor had firmly squashed that idea; but they were all secretly delighted that she’d thought of the Flight first.

Once conscious, it was only natural that Jenevra’s normal impatience would manifest again. The tethered leg soon became a source of increasing frustration for her, confining her to a bed when she felt fully capable of at least sitting up by the window. Every day she glowered at Wynn as he announced that it still wasn’t time to release the limb from its tension.

“You do want to walk again, don’t you, Your Highness?” he enquired cynically. “And if you think I’m going to allow you to sit at that window so you can shout orders down to that Flight of yours—”

Each time Captain Tessier tried to visit the princess he was turned away. One thing that was crystal clear in Jenevra’s mind was that it was her weakness that had caused this entire situation. If she had stuck to her training and discipline, she would never have allowed feelings for Tessier, or for the children at the inn, to take precedence over her duty to Phillip or the Order. Making that mistake once was enough. It had killed Colin and Annis, and come close to killing her. Never again. So, she simply refused to see him, or the children.

Arrilia Neilla, Lennia, Phillip, Christiana, her brothers, and even Raik popped in fairly regularly to keep her company. None of them brought up anything she had gone through, and Jenevra only knew what she saw in her nightmares. As her mind cleared of the drugs Wynn had been using to keep her still and pain-free, all of the training she’d had on keeping her emotions in control was brought to bear on just keeping from screaming during the daytime, as images would pop into her mind at odd times. Days and then weeks went by: a tension built up in her that she didn’t recognize. More and more often she’d drift off inside her head, switching off from whatever was going on around her.

Christiana could see her withdrawing from everything and, after a particularly stressed afternoon with her, asked Wynn if there was anything they could do about it. The tall healer had sighed and told her they just had to be patient. “You often see it in patients where the injury takes a long time to heal, or when the injury happens through some kind of traumatic experience. The event and the pain seem to get mixed up in their minds. ” He explained. “We don’t know exactly why, but they seem to slide into this malaise. Maybe she’ll come out of it when we take the weights off her leg tomorrow.” He looked hopefully at the Empress. “What she needs is to talk about what happened. Has she said anything about it to you?”

Christiana looked at him disbelievingly. “You want me to talk to her about that? Are you mad? She needs to forget about it, not think about it more.”

Wynn shook his head. “You’re wrong, Majesty. She can’t start putting it behind her until she’s sorted it out in her own mind. She needs someone she trusts to help her do that.” He looked meaningfully at her. “I really think she needs to talk to Kian Menzetti,” he drew a breath, knowing his next suggestion wouldn’t go down well. “And Captain Tessier.”

Dubious, but willing to take whatever chance she could to help her sister; Christiana took Tessier in to see Jenevra that evening. Things began well enough. Jenevra wasn’t distressed by his appearance, which was a good thing in Christiana’s eyes. But the last few minutes changed everything. As Tessier leaned over the princess to kiss her forehead, he stroked the hair away from her face and murmured something. The joy in her eyes drained even as he watched. Terror filled them. Suddenly unrecognizing him, he saw her try to move away from him in fear. As he left the room—guilty and confused—he could hear the Empress trying to calm her sister down again.

The following day, Wynn took the weights and ropes off Jenevra’s leg, leaving it down but still splinted and bandaged. Smiling at her obvious relief, the healer warned her sternly about following orders. “We still have a long way to go, Princess. You have to stay off it until I tell you, and then we’ll work on strengthening it again. Any relapse and you’ll be back flat again for another six weeks!”

Jenevra was so ecstatic to be unencumbered; with a stronger hope that she would eventually walk again, that she even agreed to see Blaise again when he came to see her that afternoon. “Look!” she exclaimed, sitting up against the pillows. “No strings!”

Captain Tessier nodded. Standing at the end of the bed and avoiding her eyes, he pulled at his jacket. “I’m glad, princess. I’m going down to see Baran and my sister for a while.” He scratched uncomfortably at his eyebrow and fidgeted with the ruby hilted sword hanging at his side. “I’m taking your Flight with me.” He turned to go, unwilling to see the look on her face.

“What? Wait! No … don’t go.” Watching him walk towards the door, not once turning to look back at her, she could feel a dark pressure building inside her. “That’s my sword!” she shouted. “You can’t
do
this. They’re my Flight!” Knowing beyond a shadow of doubt that he really was going she felt an overwhelming sense of loss.

Suddenly she felt like she was drowning: suffocating pressure clamped her chest, and her vision slid away. She could hear her blood churning like the pounding of the waves the night she killed Misha. “
You’ll lose everything you ever cared about.
” She heard Jai-Nimh’s voice echoing smugly as blackness enveloped her mind. In the depths of darkness she could hear a voice screaming.

It took two weeks for Shadow Flight to reach Lorthia, and two days for Baran and Clera to realize that something other than Phillip’s direct orders had brought them there. They knew the basics of what had happened to Jenevra after Baran and Conall had talked to the men.

Clera shook her head pityingly as they sat together after dinner. “Clueless, Blaise … you really are. Even I can tell her Flight is furious with you, and I only see them when they ride in.” She slid off Baran’s knee and dragged another chair over in front of her brother. “What’s happened between you and Jenevra?” She laid her hands over his and squeezed them. “Whatever it is, it’s hurting you. You need to talk it out.”

“That’s what she needs to do,” Blaise retorted angrily. “The healer wanted me to talk to her, but I can’t. I don’t know what to say to her.” Like a dam bursting within him, Blaise suddenly needed to tell them everything. Raking his hands through his hair he began pacing round the terrace, all the details of his trek into Diruthia spilling out: the castle and the Saifullah, the broken limbs and torture, the long, slow recovery and the gradual withdrawal of the princess from everyone around her: and finally, how he’d left, taking her Flight and her sword with him. “How can I talk to her about that? How can I remind her of it all? I just couldn’t bear to be around her and not be able to hold her, to touch her …” He broke off, unable to go on, and Clera jumped up, putting her arms around him.

“Blaise, that’s awful. I know it must be hurting you for you to be like this about it. But have you thought about how Jenevra’s feeling?”

His head snapped up. “What do you mean have I thought about her? I’ve thought about nothing else!”

“No,” she said, slowly. “I’m not sure you have. You’re thinking about it from your point of view. That you don’t want to remember what happened to her. You couldn’t stop it happening to her, and that’s what you don’t want to think about.”