Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala Read online

  A little embarrassed at waking later than she expected Jenevra realized that her sodden clothes and boots had been taken down to the kitchen to dry by the large fire there the night before. In their place, she had been provided with warm woolen pants and tunic. They were a little big on her but, cheerfully unbothered by this, Jenevra pulled a jacket over them, her thick braid of hair tucked inside. Stuffing her feet, now warmly encased in woolen socks too, into a pair of boots, she headed downstairs to the taproom.

  The Innkeeper came beaming across to greet her, having been filled in on all he needed to know by his wife. Pleasantly surprised, as his wife had been, by the quiet affability of their honored guest, he suggested that a table in one of the bay windows might be suitable – near enough to one of the huge hearths to keep warm, but also slightly out of view of the main room, and with a view of the street too. When Jenevra would have helped them with setting up for the day, she was roundly chided by the couple to stay where she was, warm by the fire, with a plate of fruit and cheese to hand. Inwardly appreciating the chance to rejoin normal society gently, Jenevra sat with her chin resting on the heel of her hand, watching the snow beginning to swirl ever faster in the gray light of the day.

  The First Flight of the Imperial Army – Eagle Flight (or Border Patrol as they were more commonly known) – rode into Frann amid another chilly swirl of sleet. The few townsfolk out in the icy weather scrambled to get out of their way as the troop of mounted men trotted proudly down the main street, blithely sure of their warm reception. Their Captain, mounted on a prancing palomino, came to a showy halt outside the tavern, signaling his men to dismount also.

  Watching from her window seat, Jenevra’s eyes gleamed amusement as the Captain pulled off large gauntlets and began dusting himself down. Adjusting his uniform as best he could and giving a final swat at the feather in his hat to remove the worst of the wet, clinging snow, he flung open the doors of the tavern, calling loudly for the innkeeper.

  “Good Morning, Sir. Welcome to the Partridge. What can we do for you gentlemen today? Ale? Dinner? We have a fine roast coming on nicely in the back—”

  The Captain waved him to silence, shrugged his heavy cloak off into the hands of one of his men and settled himself into a large carver chair. Leaning forward to warm his hands by the fire blazing merrily in the large hearth, he glanced up at the innkeeper. “All of that,” he said lightly. “And rooms too. We may be staying for a day or so.”

  As the thirty or so men of the Flight filed into the large taproom and took seats at various tables, the Captain looked up again as the innkeeper didn’t move. “Is there some problem?” he inquired, a twitch of his eyebrow defying the man to admit it.

  “Well, yes, sir. That there is.” The innkeeper replied. “I don’t have enough rooms for all your men, sir, and that’s just the honest truth. There is another tavern on the edge of town, but they only have two or three rooms. I’m afraid the only other thing I could be offering you would be a barn… ” He hesitated and swallowed as he saw the Captain’s face harden. “But it’s as clean and cozy a barn as you could wish to find, sir.”

  The Captain pulled thoughtfully at his neatly manicured moustache, and nodded. “Sort it out as best you can,” he ordered. “Make sure they’re all settled somewhere warm and dry.” Waving one of his own men across, he pulled out a large money bag. ‘Sergeant,” he said. “Go along and make sure everyone is recompensed adequately for their lodgings. It looks as though we’ll be here at least for the night. I expect you and Lieutenant Crevaux to be here. Divide the others up as you see fit.” Apparently satisfied that all would be dealt with as he expected, the man turned his attention back to the innkeeper, ordering hot ale for all of the men staying at the Partridge with him, and whatever food was ready.

  From the window seat, Jenevra had a good view of most of the room. The men were all in the regular brown uniform of the Imperial Army, but the Eagle emblazoned on each man’s arm in gold thread, left the observer in no doubt that this was the Empire’s elite. And who, Jenevra wondered to herself, did the High Commander of the Imperial War Host, Raik Rabenaldt, feel was good enough to lead this troop? The current possibility for that role appeared to be the self-absorbed man sitting by the central hearth, smoothing out the flaws caused by the sleet to the ridiculous feather in his hat.

  It was in the details, she decided as she watched him. His uniform was fitted to perfection. That wasn’t particularly unusual for an officer; especially one of such high rank. But this was his everyday, working uniform, not the Imperial Blue ceremonial regalia, which she would expect to be pristine in every way. Even as he sat there, he seemed to be constantly straightening his jacket, rubbing one or other of his buttons, or twitching a piece of braid into attention. Two of his men were already working on cleaning his boots. The narrow moustache and beard gave nothing away— apart from vanity Jenevra thought— noting with slight contempt the careful trimming that shaped the stubble along his jaw perfectly. Jenevra pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she contemplated the man. She reminded herself that Raik Rabenaldt was not stupid, and would not have appointed anyone he thought unworthy to that position. Whatever this man appeared to be, it remained a distinct possibility that he might be a whole lot more.

  She had a fair idea that this arrival was no coincidence. Why would the Empire’s most senior Patrol be out in mid-winter in a tiny town like Frann unless there was a compelling reason … like escorting an Imperial princess? A slight smile shaded her lips as she considered the impression she would make on the soldier across the room. A courtier to the tips of his fingers, he couldn’t fail to note the untidy hair falling around the face, shadowing the angles. With the sloppy clothing, and chipped fingernails clasped around the mug she was holding, there was no way he could suspect her of being the woman he had been sent to meet. Even as she thought it, a surge of hope twitched inside her. There was still time to get away from here. She could at least make it to Salanova without being surrounded by the empire’s finest. As was usually the case with Jenevra, thought and action were almost simultaneous, and she slid out from her place in the window seat, heading for the main door.

  What she hadn’t noticed, locked in her own thoughts, was that the officer she was so dismissive of had been watching her equally carefully; wondering what a young lad, of apparently few means, was doing lounging around in an inn. As she reached the door, the officer called out to her.

  “You, lad!”

  Jenevra stopped, her hand turning the handle ready for a quick escape. Turning her head only slightly, she glared at him from under her bangs. “Are you talking to me?”

  Rather surprised by the lack of respect in the youth’s voice, the soldier’s brows drew together, and he pointed directly at her. “Yes, you. And that’s ‘sir’ to you. You know, a stint in the army would do you good. Smarten you up, teach you some respect.”

  Flashing a dismissive look at him, Jenevra made no reply, but hurried out through the door, leaving a wide-eyed and almost speechless man behind her. Head down against the biting cold, she walked into the solid bulk of the sergeant, returning from distributing the men for the night. “Oh, sorry,” she muttered, glancing briefly up in apology, and hastening her step out onto the street.

  The sergeant rumbled a response as he tried to get through into the warmth of the inn. Halfway through the door, he stopped dead, to a chorus of complaints as the icy wind blew into the room. Even as the officer called out to him, the sergeant turned and left the inn, looking for the figure he’d just passed. Just catching a glimpse of Jenevra heading for the back of the inn, the sergeant picked up his pace to follow, knowing of old that if he didn’t get there quickly, she’d be gone.

  The large barn the innkeeper had spoken of seemed to house the majority of the Imperial Flight’s horses. Making an assumption that there was probably at least one extra horse, for her, Jenevra moved softly amongst them until she found one that seemed slightly smaller, and quieter. Stroking his nose, she
turned to find a bridle and saddle, only two find two large men blocking her way, slamming her full tilt back into her childhood. The sergeant she recognized. Not just from the inn; she’d known him all of her life. The same was true for his companion. Taller, than most, with a bush of dark hair sticking up from his head, dark beard, and merry blue eyes, he stood with his arms tightly folded, reprimand in his glance.

  “Bernardo!” Jenevra gave him a hugely genuine smile.

  “Princess,” he beamed at her remembering his name, wiping it off immediately as the shorter man elbowed him in the ribs.

  “And Sergeant Brogan.” She turned to his friend, a slightly guilty grin emerging. “You knew it was me, then?”

  “You haven’t changed much,” Sergeant Brogan noted, with gruff indifference to rank. “Going somewhere?” He added, nodding pointedly towards the horse.

  “I was just going to pop along to Salanova,” Jenevra smiled innocently at them.

  “And you’ve told Captain Tessier that, have you?” Brogan folded his arms in mirror image of Bernardo’s stance.

  “Who? Oh, you mean the idiot in the inn? Tessier, is it?”

  “Brogan, what on earth’s going on out here?” A voice interrupted them.

  Brogan’s head slid down into one of his hands, and he rubbed at his face, muttering, “Oh gods,” under his breath. His movement, as he turned to face the newcomer, allowed Jenevra to see that it was the young lieutenant who had accompanied Brogan earlier.

  “What’s going on?” He repeated. “Horse thief?”

  Brogan and Bernardo drew deep breaths at that; Jenevra just grinned.

  “Lieutenant,” Bernardo began. “It’s not what you think.” He took a step back to let Jenevra take a pace forward. “This is the princess.”

  Lieutenant Crevaux took a long look at the scruffy figure in front of him. Puzzled, he looked at Brogan and Bernardo, both of whom met his glance with a nod of their head in confirmation. “You are Princess Jenevra?” He said, doubtfully.

  Jenevra nodded. “Bit of a disappointment really, aren’t I?”

  Lieutenant Crevaux choked slightly. “No, no, Your Highness…well,” a smile began to twitch his lips. “Really?” He asked. “I mean, seriously, Brogan…”

  “Really, Lieutenant,” Brogan said. “Bernardo and I have known her Imperial Highness for many years. Sadly, there is no mistaking her.” He winced as Jenevra punched him in the arm.

  “Well, in that case,” the young lieutenant drew himself up. “May I have the privilege of being one of the first to greet Your Highness on your return?” He made a small bow.

  “That’s nice,” Jenevra said. “Now that all the formalities are met, and we’ve all been introduced, can I go?”

  “No, you can’t.” Brogan took firm hold of Jenevra’s arm and began walking. “You’re coming in to meet Captain Tessier, and then you’re coming to Salanova with us. You can’t go wandering round on your own. You’re a member of the Imperial family.”

  “So?” Jenevra dragged her feet. “How do you think I got here? And no-one knows who I am. He didn’t even believe I am who I am,” she tossed her head indicating Crevaux who was following with Bernardo. “Come on, Brogan. I can just meet you all at Salanova. No-one need ever know I got there on my own.” Catching the look on his face, Jenevra subsided, allowing herself to be marched into the inn, directly up to the officer pacing moodily in front of the hearth.

  “Captain,” Brogan started to explain, but was cut short.

  “You, boy, are starting to get on my nerves,” Captain Tessier poked a finger at the princess’s chest. “I’ve a good mind to clap you in irons and you can see how a spell in the dungeons in Salanova suits you.”

  Jenevra’s eyes narrowed at the finger prodding her. “Move it, or lose it.”

  “What?” Tessier’s voice rose angrily.

  Attempting to avert disaster, Lieutenant Crevaux stepped between them, gesturing at Sergeant Brogan to make the necessary introductions.

  “Captain,” Brogan announced loudly. “I have the honor to present Her Imperial Highness, Princess Saphila Jenevra Couressime. Princess, I present Captain Tessier.”

  Jenevra smiled rather sardonically at Sergeant Brogan, even as she held out her hand, with chipped fingernails, for a stunned Captain Tessier to kiss—as befits an Imperial Princess. “Thanks, Sarge,” she said.

  “Oh, gods,” Brogan said again, catching the look on his captain’s face.

  Embarrassed beyond belief, Captain Tessier took the first opportunity to leave the inn, ostensibly to check on the men stationed elsewhere in the town; in reality, he needed time for him temper to cool. Lieutenant Crevaux took the chance to speak to the princess, asking her why she hadn’t introduced herself straightaway to the Flight.

  Jenevra sighed. “I don’t really know.” Her eyes went distant for a moment. “I guess it’s just that I’ve been away so long. I don’t even feel like an Imperial Princess, much less act like one again. Although, there are plenty of the Imperial family who would tell you that I never did act like a Princess. Brogan would tell you too.”

  “How do Brogan and Bernardo know you, Your Highness?”

  “Can we dispense with the ‘Highnesses’, please?” Jenevra looked round for Sergeant Brogan but he was nowhere to be seen. “Brogan’s known me for years,” she began to explain. “When I was really small I would try to get out of the Palace, and as often as I could, I’d follow the Border Patrol. Commander Rabenaldt was their Captain then, and I’ve known him since I can remember, so I would try to follow him. It usually ended up with Brogan and Bernardo having to take me back to the Palace.” She smiled gently then. “I’m surprised they didn’t grow to hate me; always getting stuck with chasing a small child round the Palace … but they never did. They always looked out for me. There are few people I trust as much as I trust them.” She shook her head. “It’s a good thing they were here to identify me to your Captain. I don’t think he’d have believed me if I’d told him.”

  Sharing a smile, Lieutenant Crevaux chuckled quietly. “No, I think you really managed to shake him. He’s usually very calm and collected. He’s an excellent Captain,” he added loyally.

  Jenevra found that by early evening she was exhausted. It was the most company she had been in for such a very long time, and simply the volume of that many people in one room was overwhelming. Excusing herself, she wandered upstairs to her room. A brief note, pushed under her door a few minutes later, was her only communication from the Captain, informing her that they would be leaving the following morning, whatever the weather conditions. Holding the very edge of the paper into the fire, she watched as the note burned, fiery motes flying up the chimney and into the frosty night.

  The ride to Salanova was uneventful. Captain Tessier rode at the head of the Flight, insisting that the princess should ride in the middle of the column for protection, much to her frustration. Already the feelings of being surrounded and trapped were growing in her, and her temper was fraying quickly.

  Lieutenant Crevaux and Sergeant Brogan were kept close to the front by the Captain, leaving Bernardo and the Flight’s best horseman, Kallan Bana, to ride with the princess.

  Salanova, the capital of the Maressime Empire, was a good four days from Frann in good weather. The late snow slowed them down considerably. Aware that Captain Tessier would like to be able to blame her for the pace, Jenevra made every effort to improve her riding, never complaining, never asking to stop for rest. Two days ride from the city, they made camp for the evening sheltered in a small grove.

  Jenevra needed some space, a little time alone. Giving Bernardo the impression she had female needs to take care of, she disappeared into the trees, walking into the darkness and quiet with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  Establishing their camp with quiet efficiency, the men were soon gathered round a fire, while Bernardo began cooking. As a kettle of tea came to boiling, and they began dipping out mugs of it, Brogan asked Bernardo if he’d seen the princes
s. Before Bernardo could answer, and unaware of his friendship with the young Princess, Captain Tessier interrupted loudly. “How would he know, Brogan? Tell me, how would anyone know … that … was an Imperial Princess? Great Tore, how would anyone know it was even a girl?”

  “That’s a bit harsh, Captain,” Lieutenant Crevaux objected.

  “Why?” Captain Tessier said. “How can that possibly be harsh? You saw her.”

  Brogan, spotting the tell-tale signs of rare anger in Bernardo put a warning hand on the tall man’s shoulder.

  “I mean how can she even be a Couressime?” Tessier continued. “If she’s the sister of Christiana Couressime, then I must be the High Priest of Tore! Christiana is beautiful—stunning even. Dammit, even the brothers are good-looking too. If that stunted, scrawny thing is related to them, it certainly brings meaning to “runt of the litter!”

  Bernardo, Brogan and Crevaux were not the only ones to voice protest at this; it being an unusually vicious comment from their Captain. Normally, he was charm itself with women … any women. Always seen around Court with at least one adoring young woman hanging onto his arm; Tessier was rarely without a flattering comment or a suggestive wink for anything in a skirt. Not one man around the fire could remember him ever reacting like this to anyone, much less a member of the Imperial family.