Part 9 (1/2)
”But the Drakhaoul can only meld with one of the Nagarian family.” She turned to look at him, the flames staining her pale face with fiery shadows. ”Or is that just a legend? Could it meld with anyone?”
”If Eugene wants the Drakhaoul's powers for himself, then Francia is in real danger.” Jagu prodded at the fire with a stick, sending a sizzle of sparks up into the starry dark. ”He's conquered the five princedoms of Old Rossiya; why would he stop there? His agents must know that our navy is half the size of his northern fleet... and no match for his alchymical weapons.”
”But if we arrest Linnaius,” she said, her voice low, ”Eugene's in-genieurs will soon find it impossible to continue to manufacture alchymical weapons.”
”Our mission is to destroy the Drakhaoul, not to go after Linnaius,” he said sternly. ”No matter what our personal desires may be, we must obey the Maistre's orders.”
To his surprise, she let out a little giggle. ”Oh, Jagu, must you always be so punctilious? We're not at the Forteresse now.” He saw her adding another dash of the monks' liqueur to her tea.
”Go easy there, Celestine,” he said, reaching for the flask. ”A little too much of that stuff and you'll wake up with a pounding headache.”
”You're such a spoilsport,” she said, s.n.a.t.c.hing the flask away and dangling it just out of his reach. ”If you want it, you'll have to come and get it.”
He made a lunge and missed. Laughing triumphantly, she took another long sip of her tea.
”Give that here!” He lunged again, catching hold of the flask. But she wouldn't let go and he ended up almost falling into her lap.
”Ask nicely, Jagu.” Her breath was sweet with the gentian liqueur. Was she drunk? Her cheeks were flushed in the firelight and she was looking at him with a teasing, provocative smile.
”Please.” He knelt beside her.
”On one condition, then.” Her speech was becoming slurred.
”You have a little more too.” She uncorked the flask and held it up to his lips; the liqueur poured out, trickling down his chin.
”Enough!” he said, trying to wrest the flask from her hands. In the tussle, she fell backward and he found himself lying sprawled on top of her. The flask rolled away across the dried leaves.
In the chilly Arkhelskoye tavern, he had managed to restrain himself. But now his self-restraint suddenly snapped and he pressed his mouth to hers. He heard her let out a m.u.f.fled sound, more like surprise than protest.
What am I doing? Panicked, he pushed her away from him. Panicked, he pushed her away from him.
”Why did you stop?” she murmured. Her lids were drooping. ”That was nice...”
Because if he didn't stop immediately, he'd never be able to hold himself back.
She nestled her head against his shoulder, like a sleepy, trusting child.
Taking advantage of her when she's had too much to drink? I'd never forgive myself.
When they boarded the Dame Blanche, Dame Blanche, Captain Peillac handed Jagu a sealed letter bearing the Commanderie's crest. Captain Peillac handed Jagu a sealed letter bearing the Commanderie's crest.
”It seems we have been engaged to perform before the Emperor and his new bride in Mirom.” Jagu pa.s.sed Celestine the message.
”'The s.h.i.+p will put in at the port of Khazan, where you will disembark and receive further instructions,'” she read. ”What does the Maistre want us to do in Muscobar? What can have happened while we've been away?”
But Jagu seemed in no mood to talk; he was busy transcribing the pencil sketches he had done aboard Chaikin's boat to make a rough map of the coastline between Arkhelskoye and Seal Cove.
”Must you do that now?” Celestine asked, kicking her heels against the wooden side of the bunk. ”Can't this wait until we reach dry land?”
”We need something to show for this mission,” he said, not even glancing up from his work. His face was drawn in a frown of what she a.s.sumed to be concentration. ”I don't like to return empty-handed ...”
So his simmering moodiness was caused by their failure to secure the golden crook? ”The Maistre will understand. He knew that the monks were unlikely to hand over their prized relic. At least we've learned enough to prepare for a return visit.” No, there had to be more to it than that. There was something else troubling him and, knowing Jagu, he was likely to keep brooding over it for days rather than share his fears with her. She tried a change of subject.
”I hope my hair will have grown enough to look presentable at court. Perhaps I'll have to buy a wig!”
”At least you can still practice,” muttered Jagu. ”I can't remember the last time I touched a keyboard. I'll need to lock myself in a music room when we reach Mirom. Maistre de Joyeuse always used to say-” He broke off. ”I'm sorry.”
”It's all right, Jagu.” His comment had been entirely spontaneous. ”You know it's better to talk of him, to keep him alive that way.” She smiled, although her heart still ached whenever she thought of Henri. ”In fact, I was going to suggest that we perform 'October Seas' at the recital. With words by Mirom's favorite poet, the Empress and her court will love it.”
A large trunk was awaiting them at the Khazan customs house. Jagu had it carried to their lodgings and set about the task of trying to open the rusted catches with his pocketknife.
”I can't wait to see what's inside!” Celestine hovered excitedly behind him.
”d.a.m.n!” Jagu shook his right hand. He had managed to open the final clasp, so Celestine threw open the lid as he knelt back on his heels, nursing his injured finger.
”Look, Jagu.” There were clothes, neatly packed in layers of lavender-scented tissue, leather folders of music, and many other personal necessities they had been obliged to do without for so long. She plunged her hands in among the soft folds, drawing out her mulberry silk concert gown with a cry of delight. ”There's a letter here. It's in code. Here; you're the cryptographer.” She turned to pa.s.s it to him and saw that he was trying to trim the broken nail, just as if he were a fine lady of the court.
”It'll soon grow again,” she said.
He hardly looked up, frowning at the damage. Over the years they had worked together, she had come to accept that the fastidious care Jagu took of his hands was one of his personal quirks. She rummaged in the trunk and found her ivory box of cosmetics; inside lay a porcelain pot of almond oil hand cream. ”Here.” She pa.s.sed it to him. ”This will restore a dewy softness to my lord's chapped skin.”
He looked up at her, unsmiling at her little joke. ”A keyboard player must always take good care of his hands,” he said, scowling. ”They are his livelihood.”
”Just decipher the letter,” she said, raising her eyes to heaven, ”then when we know what our orders are, you can get back to your manicure.”
With a sigh, he took up the letter and went to the desk to work out the encryption. About ten minutes later, he looked up and said, ”We're to be guests of the Francian amba.s.sador to Muscobar, Fabien d'Abrissard. A coach has been arranged to take us cross-country to the River Nieva. From there, we travel by s.h.i.+p to the capital.”
The coach jolted violently and Celestine grabbed at the leather strap to keep herself from being flung into Jagu's lap.
”Another pothole,” he said, grimacing. ”The Emperor needs to put some money into improving the public highways in Muscobar.”
”You'd rather be on horseback, wouldn't you?” Celestine said, righting herself and smoothing out her skirts. It felt odd to be wearing a dress after so many weeks dressed as a boy.
He gave a terse grunt. He was a Guerrier; of course he would rather be outside in the fresh air.
In Khazan, Celestine had indulged in the luxury of a long bath, sc.r.a.ping the ingrained dirt of travel from her body, lathering with sweet lavender-scented soap. Jagu had shaved off the many weeks' growth of dark beard and, with clean-washed hair and smartly dressed in a well-tailored jacket and breeches of charcoal grey, no longer looked like a vengeful prophet or mad Azhkendi monk.
”If only it were winter, then we could travel by troika. Wouldn't that be romantic? Wrapped up in furs, skimming over the snow, listening to the chiming of the sleigh bells...”
”It was good of the Francian amba.s.sador to send this coach to bring us from Khazan to Mirom,” Jagu allowed.
”Amba.s.sador d'Abrissard and the Maistre are old friends, I believe,” Celestine said. She couldn't help smiling as she remembered the first time Ruaud de Lanvaux had introduced them...
”Why are they doing that?” Jagu pointed out of the window at the farmworkers who had stopped at the side of the road as they drove past, all bowing respectfully. ”We're not royalty.”
”As I understand it, the peasants here are little more than bond slaves to their n.o.ble landlords. Or so Count Velemir told me once.
That's why they behave so deferentially. I wonder if the new emperor will change all that... although it won't make him very popular with the Mirom aristocracy...”
Celestine joined Jagu up on deck as their s.h.i.+p slowly approached the city of Mirom, to hear Jagu let out a low whistle.