Part 13 (1/2)
Linnaius had suspected that might be the case. ”We're talking of prodigiously powerful daemons here. I've never attempted anything this dangerous before.”
”The only way to fight fire is with fire,” said Eugene stubbornly. ”And the only way to defend the empire is to set free my ancestor's Drakhaoul, the Drakhaoul of Helmar.”
”But the other five? 'Seven, they were Seven, the Dark Angels of Destruction,'” Linnaius quoted from the ancient curse he had uncovered in the monastery library in Azhkendir. ”If they are all let loose through the Serpent Gate, they could bring about the end of the world.”
”As I said before”-and Eugene placed one hand on Linnaius's shoulder- ”I have complete confidence in you to prevent such a catastrophe from occurring.”
”I appreciate the compliment, Eugene, but we are about to open a gate that leads to the Realm of Shadows. Even if it's only for a few brief seconds, we must prevent even the smallest trickle of darkness from leaking through into our world. Who knows what nameless horrors lurk near the Gate, waiting for just such an opportunity?”
”Where's your sense of adventure?” Eugene burst into laughter. ”A search for a fabled island far beyond Serindher; an Emperor's rubies; it's the stuff of legends, Kaspar. How soon can we leave?”
CHAPTER 8.
Celestine's little entourage took rooms at an inn in the village of Helmargrd, which lay close to the Swanholm estate. The construction of the palace had attracted many craftsmen to the area and they in turn had brought their families, so that what had once been a huddle of farm cottages around a wooden church had grown into a bustling and prosperous small town.
It had been Celestine's inspiration to invent the role of concert manager for Andrei, and Amba.s.sador d'Abrissard supplied the necessary papers for ”Mr. Tikhon.” The concert manager's first task was to send a letter informing the palace majordomo that Celestine de Joyeuse had arrived at the Empress's request and was awaiting further instructions. But when Celestine saw how poor his skills were, she composed the note herself, adding-at his request-an enigmatic postscript in Francian which she hoped would pique Astasia's curiosity.
The reply, which came promptly, was delivered by a neatly dressed flunkey wearing the blue-and-grey livery of the House of Tielen.
I regret to inform you that Princess Karila has been taken ill and so the birthday recital may have to be canceled. However, her imperial highness, while aware that you have postponed engagements abroad at her request, would not wish you to have been inconvenienced. She requests that you visit the palace at your earliest convenience to discuss rescheduling the concert.
Lovisa, Countess of Aspelin ***.
The carriage began the long, winding descent into the valley, and Celestine let out a little gasp of delight as she caught her first glimpse of Eugene's palace. From the limpid waters of the lake in the landscaped park, to the geometrical designs of the formal gardens set out in the Francian style, all had been executed to impress. Even the carriage drive had been cleverly designed to reveal Swanholm's splendors to the visitor from different perspectives. But it was the facade of the central building, with its two subtly asymmetrical wings, that impressed her the most. Clean lines, the sheen of steel-grey slate tiles, and the many windows offsetting the soft pallor of the stone, with little ornamentation save the tall pillars supporting the magnificent portico, each one as smooth and slender as the birch trees in the surrounding woodlands.
And yet all this elegance conceals a malevolent and dangerous canker: the Magus's laboratory. Is he here, I wonder? Can I sense his presence? Or... can he sense mine? The thought sent a little frisson through her. The thought sent a little frisson through her. But then why should he suspect? He has no reason to know that I am on his trail...or even that I'm still alive. I have the advantage of surprise. But then why should he suspect? He has no reason to know that I am on his trail...or even that I'm still alive. I have the advantage of surprise.
”Don't do anything rash,” Jagu had said to her before she left the inn. He had stopped her, one hand on her arm. The concerned look in his eyes had startled her.
”Don't worry, Jagu, this is merely a reconnaissance mission.”
”So you're the Francian singer.” Eyes the frosty blue of an ice-bound lake stared suspiciously at Celestine. ”My name is Lovisa. Please follow me to the music room.”
Celestine curtsied. She had not missed the note of disapproval in the way the Countess of Aspelin p.r.o.nounced the word ”Francian.”
Alone, Celestine explored the music room. The fortepiano boasted a pretty marquetry case decorated with ornate clefs intertwined in a pattern of songbirds and lyres. When she tested a few keys and played a little run of notes, she discovered that the instrument was not just attractive to look at, it was also in tune.
The doors opened and Empress Astasia came in, accompanied by the countess. Celestine sank into a deep curtsy.
”Welcome to Swanholm, Demoiselle,” Astasia said, smiling warmly.
”I am so sorry to hear of your stepdaughter's indisposition, highness. Would you prefer to cancel the recital?”
”After you have taken the trouble to alter your schedule to travel all this way? No, I won't hear of it.” Astasia turned to her lady-in-waiting. ”You can leave us now, Countess,” she said pointedly.
As soon as they were alone, Astasia hurried over to Celestine. ”You said you had something to impart to me,” she said softly. ”Something of personal significance.”
Celestine nodded.
”I have little skill at the keyboard,” said Astasia, ”but if I were to attempt to accompany you, perhaps you could tell me the news you bring between verses?”
This was going better than Celestine could have hoped; her message must have piqued the young empress's curiosity. ”An ingenious conceit, highness.” She lifted a book of songs from the top of the fortepiano and began to leaf through the pages. ”Do you know 'The Waterfall'?”
Astasia settled herself on the seat and took a look at the music. She pulled a wry face. ”Too hard.”
”This one is just right. 'Summer Evenings.' A beautiful melody, a deceptively simple accompaniment. And in my native tongue, which is not so familiar to the Tielens, I believe,” Celestine added mischievously.
”I've never played this one before,” Astasia stared at the notes, biting her lower lip as she concentrated, ”so not too fast, Demoiselle, I beg you.”
”In summer... when the swallows swoop overhead...” Celestine began. Celestine began. ”Empress,” ”Empress,” she sang, fitting the words to the melody, she sang, fitting the words to the melody, ”your brother is alive. ”your brother is alive.”
Astasia stopped playing abruptly. ”Alive?” Celestine saw her violet eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. ”Where is he? In Francia? How is he?” She clutched Celestine's hands in her own. ”And how do you know?”
”He is in remarkably good health, all things considered,” Celestine said, touched by Astasia's response. ”After his s.h.i.+p was wrecked, he was washed ash.o.r.e nearly dead and was nursed back to health by an old fisherman.”
”My poor Andrei.” Astasia let Celestine's hands drop. ”He must think that we abandoned him.” She looked utterly stricken at the thought.
Celestine could not help but feel sorry for her. ”Your brother finds himself in a very difficult situation. Your husband has taken the throne of Muscobar that was rightly his. If he were to come forward now, what would the Emperor do?”
”I'm sure Eugene would welcome him to court,” Astasia said, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with unshed tears. ”For my sake.”
”Think again, imperial highness. Some dissident elements might see your brother as a significant rival to your husband's authority.” With Andrei and Jagu, Celestine had very carefully rehea.r.s.ed what she should say. ”His reappearance could cause considerable damage to the stability of the empire.”
”But Andrei would never do anything to hurt me,” protested Astasia.
”The consequences could be disastrous,” said Celestine firmly. ”He was very reluctant to have me tell you the news-let alone your parents-for fear it would place you all in an impossible situation.”
”So where will he go?”
”His wish,” Celestine said, ”is to see you once more, then to begin a new life. Far away from Muscobar.”
”H-how far?” Astasia stammered.
”I have a letter for you.” Celestine slid finger and thumb into her decolletage and discreetly extracted a thin sliver of folded paper from beneath her lace fichu.
Astasia opened the letter and read it; Celestine saw her wipe away a stray tear as she handed it back. ”I daren't keep this, in case anyone was to find it. Especially Countess Lovisa.”
Celestine nodded and swiftly slipped the paper back beneath her fichu.
”I want to see him so much.” Astasia seemed to be talking to herself. ”If only I could leave the palace. But I'm watched, day and night. It's just that I can't bear to think he's so close by and yet I can't, I daren't risk-” She broke off suddenly, looking directly at Celestine. ”I have an idea, Demoiselle. There is to be a masked ball here at Swanholm for Dievona's Night-a Tielen tradition, I'm told. If I could arrange for you and your accompanist to be invited...”
”For Dievona's Night?” Celestine considered the proposition, wondering what plan Astasia was hatching. ”Well, my next recital is to be given in Bel'Esstar. The weather is clement and the seas are calm. If we delay our departure to attend the ball, I think we shall still make Allegonde in good time.”
”Would you say that we are about the same height?” Astasia asked. ”And the same build?”
”Well, yes...”